Must Love Horses

by Vicki Tharp

  She rubbed a hand over the two-seater table, the top scarred and worn at the edges from years of use. There wasn’t much else to see. A one-room cabin didn’t take long to tour. He decided to skip showing her the bathroom, with its baby-shit green shower, toilet, and sink. No point in scaring her off.

  “Very…retro,” she decided.

  “It gets the job done.” He pulled out one of the ladder-back chairs. The joints were weak and the chair racked when you sat in it, but as little as she weighed, it wouldn’t matter none. “Sit.”

  She did. “You live alone.”

  “For now. Alby and Santos have the other cabin. This one was Mac and Hank’s before they moved into the foreman’s house. If they hire anyone else, I guess they’ll bunk here.”

  “What about the cabins you’re building?”

  “Guest cabins.” He retrieved the first aid kit from the bathroom. “Hank’s talking about the Lazy S doing their own guided pack trips into the mountains, hunt trips, things like that.”

  He set the kit on the table, grabbed the other chair, and scooted her chair sideways. He tilted her head to give him a better angle to the light dangling above the table. He dabbed at the wound with a gauze pad soaked in hydrogen peroxide, but every time the pad brushed her hairline, more sand rained down into the wound.

  “This isn’t gonna cut it.” He tossed the pad into the trash, returned to the bathroom, and came back with a couple of bath towels and some shampoo. “On the counter. I’m going to wash the sand out of your hair.”

  “I could go back to the barn and shower and take care of this myself.”

  “You could.” He folded one of the towels as a neck rest and laid it on the counter beside the sink. “Or you could lay your ass on the counter and we can get this done.”

  Sidney didn’t move. She could take his offer or leave it. It didn’t matter to him.

  Yeah, tell yourself another lie, like you buy tickets to the World Series to eat the hot dogs.

  Then she stepped to the counter and he couldn’t help the grin that slid across his face. She boosted herself up and lay back with her neck on the towel, her head hanging over the sink and her legs dangling off the far end of the counter.

  He pulled a plastic pitcher from the cabinet above the sink and glanced down at her face as he waited for the water to warm. Even though her eyes were closed there was an animation to her features, an excitement that radiated from her. He opened his mouth to ask her about it when she started talking.

  “I can’t believe I’m working for Hank Nash. Hank freaking Nash! I mean, I knew Mac’s last name was Nash and I knew her husband’s name was Hank, but holy cowboy, I didn’t put the two together.”

  Mac had told Boomer all about the buckle bunnies that flocked around Hank like he was a monstrous, juicy carrot. Boomer chuckled. “You know he’s married, right?”

  “I don’t care about that. Training for him and Mac, having their support, their stamp of approval…” Her voice wavered and she swallowed hard a couple of times.

  He finished wetting her hair, then plopped some shampoo into his palm and started working it into the soft, bright strands.

  “Training for Hank could do amazing things for my career.”

  Working the suds across her scalp, he gently scrubbed and massaged. She groaned, deep in her throat. Boomer’s jeans shrunk a size as he thought of more fun ways he could get her to moan.

  “You know, if the construction thing doesn’t work out for you, you could make a mint washing hair at a beauty salon.”

  “I think I’ll file that under Things I’d Rather Kill Myself Before Doing.”

  “You should keep your options open. You’re pretty amazing at it. Of course, it isn’t as amazing as, say, being a bull-riding champion—”

  “Bull riders only have to hang on for eight seconds. I have far more impressive skills.” He refilled the pitcher and poured water over her forehead and rinsed away the sand, suds, and dried blood.

  She opened her eyes and her face lit. “Oooh, impress me.”

  “Well…” He dug way back into his childhood. “At the age of six I was a master of the atomic wedgie.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Handy skill.”

  “By ten I could burp the alphabet backwards. By thirteen I’d perfected my directional detonations…” And by twenty-three you were your company’s next best thing to a sniper. By twenty-seven you’d lost your leg, your career and your wife. Yeah, pretty fucking amazing.

  Her smile slipped from her face and she sat up. Water dripped onto her shirt. “There.” She pointed at his eyes. “What was that?”

  He wrapped the other towel around her shoulders. “What was what?”

  “What were you thinking right then? It was like someone kicked sand on your fire.”

  “It was nothing.”

  “Liar.”

  Suddenly he wanted a drink, wanted some pills, wanted to get the fuck out of his head.

  Her eyes held his, a dense, lush forest full of private, probing questions.

  Questions he had no intention of answering.

  “What about kissing?” Her eyes darted to his lips.

  His mental gears ground at the unexpected change in subject. It made him like her that much more. “What about it?”

  “Are you amazing at kissing?”

  “Uh…” His brain jumped the track trying to shift gears so fast.

  “If all the women you’ve kissed were given a multiple-choice test, would they say: A, Yowza, my toes curled and my insides went jiggly; B, It wasn’t as bad as kissing my brother; or C, I’d rather French my pug?”

  He nudged her legs apart, stepped between them, and cupped her jaw. “Kissing is very subjective.”

  “If you acquire an adequate polling size—”

  He leaned down and kissed her. He kissed her to shut her up, he kissed her to stay out of his head, he kissed her because he wanted to.

  Her lips were warm and dry from being out in the sun all day. She nipped and sucked his upper lip, diving in deep when he opened his mouth to hers. She was bold and voracious, exploring his lips, his teeth, his tongue. She smelled of dirt and horse sweat, and a lightness more intoxicating than the booze could ever be.

  He groaned when she wrapped her booted heels behind his ass and squeezed him closer. Because he wanted nothing more than to carry her to his bed and slowly, painstakingly explore every inch of her tight, lithe body. He broke the kiss.

  Her eyes remained closed, then fluttered open, a lazy, well-kissed smile spread across her lips. “Yowza.”

  A huff of a laugh escaped him. He pressed his forehead to hers while his racing heart slowed and they both caught their breath. He dropped his hands to her strong thighs and stroked the length of them—which didn’t help the whole wanting-to-go-caveman thing.

  When he could talk again, he said, “Yowza is right.”

  Her eyes explored his face. He felt everywhere her gaze landed, nose, cheeks, chin, lips. Back to his eyes.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’re waiting for me to wish it away, to take it back, to regret I kissed you.”

  “Do you? Regret it?”

  Seconds ticked by. Her eyes brightened from forest green to lush pasture. “About as much as I regret streaking at Aaron Edelstein’s bar mitzvah.”

  His heart shrunk by a third. “So…a lot?”

  “Aaron Edelstein was a pompous, pretentious prick. My streaking was the most excitement the town had seen in ages, and, as a bonus, my parents never made me go to an event I didn’t want to again. So, no regrets, not a sliver.”

  He smiled and helped her off the counter. “Good to know.”

  A few minutes later he had Sidney peroxided and all lubed up with a generous dose of triple antibi
otic cream. “That should about do it.”

  “Thank—”

  Two heavy feet landed on the front porch and the cabin shuddered, snuffing out her just-kissed glow.

  “Oh no,” she said.

  The lever handle on the front door rattled and turned, and Sidney scrambled to her feet. The door slammed open, cracking against the wall and bouncing back. Sidney caught it on the backswing before it slapped Eli in the face. The horse brought a bold hoof inside.

  “Get out!” Sidney hollered, even though it looked like she was fighting the giggles. “Go. Get.” She waved her hands and shooed him back, step by step, until he had all four feet off the porch and on the dirt.

  She turned to Boomer and said, “Well, I guess my ride is here. Sorry about that.”

  Boomer stepped out onto the porch, tucking his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans. Sidney tapped Eli on the knee. The horse’s legs folded like a card table and Sidney climbed on. She gently squeezed her horse forward with her calves. He squashed the prick of jealousy as he remembered how those heels had felt locked around his thighs.

  Sidney pointed to her head and said, “Thanks.”

  Boomer tipped an imaginary hat and watched the pair leave, Sidney’s hips swaying back and forth in step with the horse’s long, ambling strides. He stepped back into his cabin, where the scent of his shampoo and Sidney still lingered. He grabbed a short glass and a tall bottle of whiskey and poured himself three fingers. Because he liked the burn as the liquor went down, he poured himself two more.

  His first assessment of Sidney had been as spot on as a sniper’s bullet at point blank range. He breathed in deeply as her scent faded away. She smelled…she smelled exactly like trouble.

  * * * *

  The week passed in a blur of dust and sweat and cold meals eaten way too late and hot coffee drunk way too early. Too much work and not enough Bryan. Sidney had caught glimpses of him in the distance, nailing shingles on the top of one of the cabins, and had been with him and everyone else at mealtime.

  Shortly after breakfast, with the sun still low in the sky, the breeze blew with a teasing hint of warmth. The days were warming up fast as summer approached and the white caps on the mountain peaks slowly rolled up.

  In the round pen, Sidney worked Thing Two—the sorrel gelding with a blaze down his nose double the width as the other sorrel’s, Thing One.

  Though all the horses had progressed well since she’d increased the training to two-a-days, Two was the calmest, so she’d picked him to ride first.

  He was saddled and standing at the end of the reins like an old broke kid’s pony. She stepped forward and scratched the base of his neck with her fingernails. Two’s lips quivered as he bobbed his head and rocked side to side to make sure she got the itchiest spots.

  “Ready?” Bryan called from behind her.

  “Is the Pope Jewish?”

  He climbed over the top of the round pen and dropped in on her side, dressed in tan camo cargo shorts, a plain gray T-shirt, his running prosthetic, and an expansive grin. “You’ve got nuthin’ to worry about. You did your homework.”

  “Don’t mean I won’t fail the test.” Really, she wasn’t worried. Much.

  “One way to find out.”

  Crap. Tossing her baseball cap out of the pen so it wouldn’t blow off and spook the horse, she handed Bryan the lunge whip and said, “Remember, this first ride, I’m a passenger. Two is going to look to you for all the cues. Don’t let him stall out. I’m safer if you keep his feet moving.”

  “Got it.”

  He unclipped the lead from the bosal and backed to the center of the ring.

  She gently pulled the horse’s head around and gathered up the reins. Right before she put her foot in the stirrup, she noticed Hank and Mac walking down from the big house. Alby approached from the barn, and Santos rode up on his horse, Taco, and settled his hat back on his head. In the distance, the kitchen screen door slapped and Lottie came out drying her hands on her jeans. Dale materialized from somewhere, she didn’t know where.

  “No pressure,” Bryan deadpanned.

  She focused on his grin, on his sarcasm, on the complete faith he seemed to have in her abilities, and heaved herself up. She didn’t throw her leg over at first; she kept Two’s head turned toward her while she slapped at the saddle and flopped the stirrup on the other side to make sure he didn’t spook when she swung her leg over. When he relaxed, she stepped down to the ground, praised him, then did it again.

  On the third try, she threw her leg over then nodded to Bryan. She kept Two’s head tipped inward while Bryan made Two move his feet. They did several tight circles. When Two didn’t offer to buck, she gave him his head for a few strides, then circled him again.

  Soon, they moved up to the trot and then to the canter. When Two became reluctant to move forward, Bryan slapped the end of the whip on the ground and made him speed up.

  Twenty minutes later, she and Two were both out of breath, her pulse stampeding in her ears. She climbed off, patted Two on the neck and loosened the girth, unable to keep the cheek-busting grin off her face.

  “What the hell, Sid?” Alby called from the sidelines.

  “What?”

  “We didn’t come here to watch the pony class at the rodeo,” Santos piped in. “No kicking out, no bucking, no crow-hopping.”

  “I want my money back.” Alby turned away in mock disgust.

  “Sorry, not sorry, boys.” She waved them off. Riding the buck out of a horse was fun until you landed wrong and cracked your spleen, your spine, or your skull.

  She turned. Bryan was close. Real close. Block-out-the-sun-and-the-rest-of-the-universe close.

  “Holy. Fuuck.” He drew the last word out, his voice low and full of awe. She took it as a compliment.

  “You really like that word.”

  “It’s pretty universal. It can be a noun, an adverb, an adjective, a verb—transitive, intransitive, and active. It can be used to convey dismay and disbelief, ignorance and incompetence, exasperation and enjoyment, anger and…”

  “And?”

  “And amazement, to name a few.”

  “Wow, were you like the English teacher’s pet or something?”

  “My mother was the English teacher everyone dreaded. She made grammar Nazis nervous.” His grin was oversized and infectious.

  He reached out and ran a tentative hand down her arm. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

  Her pulse stuttered and slowed. “Wait, what?”

  “You heard me.”

  “I have dinner with you every night.”

  “No, you have dinner at the house with everyone else and I happen to be there. Not the same thing.”

  “Uh…” Dinner? Like a date? “Uh…” With my supervisor? “Is that a good idea?”

  “Best one I’ve had in a while. Right up there with ditching the jockstrap while swimming and kissing you the other night.”

  Sidney swallowed hard. Her heart stumbled, and her girly parts heated just thinking about that kiss.

  The latch on the pen’s gate dropped with a resounding clang. Two did a quick sidestep and looked behind him.

  Bryan leaned down and whispered in her ear, a hint of his minty mouthwash wafting over her. “Think about it.”

  Bryan stepped back. Dale reached her first, with Lottie, Mac, and Hank not far behind.

  Dale stuck out a hand and Sidney shook it. “Wow. Impressive.”

  “Nice job,” Hank said.

  Mac stopped beside her husband, her I-told-you-so smile bright on her face.

  Dale said, “You impress Richard Hockley like that next week, we may get the string sold before the training is even done.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Sidney forced a smile. So much depended on next week. What if the other horses weren’t as easy as Two? What if t
he man wasn’t impressed, what if she failed, what if her career crashed before she even got it off the ground…what if, what if, what if?

  The oxygen levels must have dropped, because her head spun and she took a step to catch her balance.

  Bryan waved his hand in front of her face. It was just the two of them in the round pen again. “Where’d you go?”

  “Nowhere. Sorry. Ready for the next horse?”

  “Bring it on, Irish, I can take whatever you dish out.”

  “You obviously don’t know me that well.”

  “We can remedy that over dinner.”

  She wanted to say yes, knowing she should say no. She compromised and said nothing.

  By the time they were done with the last horse, there wasn’t a muscle on her that wasn’t sore or stretched or strained. Her legs were soft as Jell-O left out in the sun, and the buckskin had landed one wicked crow-hop that might or might not have dislodged Sidney’s right kidney.

  “So, about that dinner,” Bryan said.

  They stood in the barn aisle, the horses settled into their pen for the night. It was early evening, her lunch long gone, and even dinner with the devil on the backside of hell sounded viable. Not that Bryan was the devil.

  It was that his body invited sin.

  The powerful way he moved, his massive shoulders, his muscular chest…his ass. What she wanted to do to him, with him—

  “If you keep looking at me like I’m a chocolate sundae after you’ve been told you can’t have dairy, we could skip dinner and get straight to dessert.”

  “No,” she said, maybe a tad too fast. “Dinner is good.”

  The cool breeze vanished and the temperature spiked. Or maybe the heat was from his proximity. Sidney wiped the sweat from her upper lip.

  “My cabin?”

  “Not a good idea.”

  “Why?”

  “Honestly?”

  With a sly grin he said, “Unless a lie fits better.”

  She paused, considered a good white lie, like her goldfish needed a walk, or that on Friday nights she always polished her spurs. She settled on, “I don’t trust myself around you.”