Must Love Horses

by Vicki Tharp

  Was Sidney sorry about what Mac had said, or that it had brought his trustworthiness into question, or was it more selfish than that? Was she sorrier that his mood was foul and she couldn’t enjoy what little time they had together? She shrugged because the truth was, she didn’t really know.

  “Don’t worry about me and Mac. We’re solid.” He smiled, but it was the type of tight smile a dad gives his kids right after telling them everything will all be fine after the divorce.

  * * * *

  “Let’s stop here for lunch and switch out the horses,” Boomer said as he and Sidney stopped at a narrow stream at the base of a tree line. From there on up was an expansive swath packed with trees that continued until the vegetation hit critical altitude and thinned out until the landscape was rocks and short scrub brush.

  Donkey came hee-hawing up the trail behind them. They had allowed him to run loose. They didn’t have an extra hand to pony another animal, and wherever Rio went, Donkey went. So far, Donkey’s favorite activity was running ahead of them on the trail until he got in front. Then he’d suck back to a speed that had the snails outpacing him, his ears tipped back toward them, and, if Boomer wasn’t mistaken, a Cheshire Cat smirk on his fuzzy gray face. Boomer hadn’t had that much trouble staying in the lead since his Marine buddy Mark “Mayhem” Grundy had made coming in first on training marches his life’s focus.

  They stayed on the near side of the stream because the bank on the far side looked like a bombed-out rock quarry. At least the near side had a patch of grass for the horses to nibble.

  Boomer swung his leg over the saddle and hopped down, careful to keep most of the pressure off his prosthetic. After watering Rio and One, he tied them to a couple of nearby trees with enough slack in the lead rope that they could eat, but not enough that they could get themselves tangled in the rope.

  There was some crazy inverse mathematical proportion with horses and their propensity to fuck themselves up. If they were well-trained or worth major dinero, you could bubble-wrap them from head to hoof and they’d find a way to get themselves killed. If they were mean or old or three-legged lame, they could run helter-skelter through the Korean DMZ and come out unscathed on the other side.

  Especially the mean ones. They were bimbo, bullet, and bomb proof.

  “Your leg bothering you?”

  Boomer jumped as Sidney came up behind him. He had been reaching into his front pocket for a couple of his pain pills. He dropped them back into his pocket.

  Why?

  Hell if he knew.

  She knew he used them, but popping them in front of her felt like admitting defeat. Stupid? Irrational? Maybe.

  Not any more stupid or irrational than the feeling that taking them was somehow letting her down.

  “Bryan?”

  He came back to himself. He’d been dazed, staring at the ground like someone had thrown a flash-bang in his Cheerios. He pasted on a smile and glanced up at her. “Never better.”

  She held his gaze, searching his face, her eyes a vivid, vibrant green that reminded him of lush spring pastures and frolicking foals. A green he wanted to roll around in and never resurface.

  “You know,” she said as she stepped closer, “it’s okay to hurt.”

  Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure they were talking about his leg anymore. His breath caught, as if someone had thumped him in the solar plexus, and he choked on an irreverent retort. He cupped her cheek and traced her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. Her lip was soft, but starting to get chapped from the dry air and the sun.

  He lowered his head, half expecting her to back away. Instead, she rose up on her tiptoes and met him halfway. He stepped back against a tree, bringing her with him. Jagged bark dug into his back as he shot an arm around her waist and snugged her up against him.

  When she deepened the kiss, he tasted the beef jerky they’d shared on the trail. Her T-shirt was damp with sweat at the base of her spine and all he could think about was her bare skin against his, their bodies slick with sweat, and him buried deep inside her. With both hands, he cupped her fine ass and held her tight against his erection.

  She shifted and straddled his leg. He felt the heat of her through their clothes. She was right there, hot and willing and…

  “God, I want you.” The words had been in his brain, then they’d escaped, running out of his mouth quick and nimble, like a horse breaking for an open gate.

  “I’m not stopping you.”

  He nipped and sucked on her lips, her chin, the pulse point in her neck. Her heartbeat thrummed against his lips and his dick jumped. She ground against him and he thought he would swallow his tongue. If he let it go any longer, he’d take her up against the tree.

  As hot and heavenly as that would be, there was a part of him that wanted to take it slow. Take his time. Take care. Because even though she’d made it clear she was interested, she’d also made it clear she had reservations about him.

  ‘Reservations’ was too mild a word, but he didn’t have enough blood in his brain to think of a better one.

  Sidney pressed against him again and Boomer spanned her waist with his hands, holding her still.

  “Problem?” Her hands were on his shoulders, then they slid down, down, down, down. Over his pecs, over the bump of exposed ribs, over his abdomen, his belt, his—

  With a grunt, he caught her hand before she could go any lower. Before she could pull the pin on an explosive that would shake, rattle, and rock their world. “Maybe we should set some ground rules.”

  Her eyes narrowed, but she smiled. “This should be good.”

  Then she rubbed against him again and, Lord help him, he had no desire to stop her. His head thumped back against the tree and a hollow, melon-like whamp echoed in his ears and he had to fight to keep the pleasure from rolling his eyes into the back of his head.

  “For the next few days,” he refocused, somehow managing to form a complete thought, “it’s just you and me. Man and woman. No promises, no pasts, no nothing. Just you and me.”

  She pulled away. Not far, because he still had one hand on her hip.

  “It won’t change anything.” She almost sounded a little sad.

  He released her hand and wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, her head tucked under his chin and against his chest. “No, Irish, it probably won’t.”

  * * * *

  By the stream, Sidney and Bryan finished eating their lunch. A thick gray cloud cloaked the sun. Sidney glanced up. A frothy line of clouds marched toward them, quickly gobbling up the blue sky and the contrail of a jetliner. The wind picked up, whistling through the trees and lifting Bryan’s cowboy hat from his head. He juggled it in his hands a few times before catching it and settling it back firmly over his ears.

  “We better get the saddles switched on the horses and head back out. May have to find some cover if the storm keeps heading this way,” Bryan said.

  Within five minutes, Thing One and Two were tacked up, and Rio and Dante were dangling on the end of their lead ropes. Bryan mounted up after relieving himself behind a tree.

  Sidney glanced around, trying to find a good rock or tree to pee behind. She handed Bryan her reins. A penis would sure be handy right about now.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said as she hopscotched her way across the rocks in the creek to keep from soaking her boots.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To pee,” she called over her shoulder.

  Bryan laughed. “You don’t have to hike to the other side of the mountain. I would have turned my head.”

  She stopped and turned around. “I don’t make a habit of peeing in front of random guys.”

  “So now I’m a random guy? You usually make a habit of rub—”

  “I dare you to finish that sentence.” The heat rushed up her neck, but she struggled to keep a stern look on h
er face.

  His teeth flashed white.

  She slipped behind a big boulder, did her business, and turned around as she pulled up her pants. The end of a cut branch caught her attention. She bent down. The end of the branch was marred from some sort of knife or machete blade. Pulling on the branch, she tugged it free from where it had been entangled with others. More cut branches. She pulled more free, until she uncovered a narrow trail between a boulder and a large tree.

  “Hey.”

  Sidney yelped and slapped a hand to her chest. Her heart zoomed from zero to sixty fast enough to make Enzo Ferrari envious. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  “I didn’t sneak,” Bryan said. “There was so much crashing and banging going on over here I was afraid you were wresting a bear.”

  “Not a bear, branches.”

  He glanced around. “What the hell, Irish?”

  “Look,” she said, “a trail.”

  His easygoing cowboy demeanor evaporated, and in Bryan’s place Scotty beamed down the Marine. Bryan the Cowboy turned her on, but there was something about the quiet intensity of Boomer the Marine that revved her engines and pressed the green “Go” button on her turbos.

  Jesus, you need to get a grip, Sid.

  Or get laid, Impractical Sidney happily pointed out.

  Sidney groaned a little too loud.

  “What?” he whisper-shouted. Bryan was hard to hear because he was already about thirty feet up the trail. Why was he was trying to keep his voice down?

  The wind whipped a branch into her face, scraping her cheek. “Ouch!”

  “You okay?” he asked when she got to him.

  “I’m fine,” she said as she stepped up behind him. “What do you think it is?”

  “Deer trail, or an old trail long overgrown.” He scuffed his boot through a pile of manure. It was dried up, partially decomposed. Within the realm of when Eli and Angel had been taken. “Hoofprints here and here and here. They continue up. Broken branches too.”

  Now that he’d pointed it out, Sidney could see where the tips of some of the branches had been bent back and broken and the ends had flopped down and turned brown—Hansel and Gretel, but with foliage instead of breadcrumbs.

  “I thought the pass was farther south.”

  “It is. At least, the one we located on the map is.”

  Her heartbeat kicked up, fueled on newfound hope. “Do you think this could be the way the men went with our horses?”

  After giving her words what looked like careful consideration, he nodded. “Possibly. The fact that someone tried to cover their tracks makes me curious. Your average packer or day rider isn’t going to take the time to cut branches and cover their trail, much less have a reason to.”

  “What do we do?”

  “We radio Mac and give her an update and wait for backup.”

  “Or go after them.”

  He shook his head. “Not your best idea.”

  “Come on, Bryan.” Her voice rose and she fought to keep the incredulity and the frustration from creeping in. “They could be over that hill, or the next one or the next. We could be this close.” She held her thumb and forefinger millimeters apart. “You want to turn back now?”

  He stared at her.

  “You scared?”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted them back. Lashing out at him was about as ill-advised as chumming the waters before an uncaged shark dive. By the hard slash of his mouth, the great whites could be the less lethal option.

  His eyes narrowed and his chin went up, but he held her gaze. “Cautious,” he said at last. “The difference between cautious and scared is like Harlem and Lower Manhattan.”

  Harlem and Manhattan? “What are you talking about?”

  “Not the same neighborhood, not the same zip code. Two totally different ends of the spectrum.”

  “I didn’t come this far to turn ar—”

  She never saw it coming. One second she was arguing with him, the next, he was kissing her. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t kind.

  The kiss landed hard and angry, possessive and aggressive, frustrated and infatuated.

  She stepped back. She had to catch her breath before she could speak, and she hated herself for it. “You can’t kiss me every time you want to shut me up.”

  “Maybe,” he conceded as he passed her by and headed back across the creek toward the horses. “Though it’s hard to argue with success.”

  “Shit,” she muttered as she half jogged down the trail to keep up with his long strides.

  She caught up to him by the time he reached the horses. He pulled the two-way radio from his saddlebag and hailed Mac.

  The wind picked up and hard needles of spitting rain pelted them. The horses turned their rumps to the weather and ducked their heads.

  After no luck with his radio, he tried hers, in case his had malfunctioned, but he was still unable to reach anyone back at the ranch or out on the range.

  “Now what?” Sidney asked.

  The rain hit harder, almost horizontal. The temperature plummeted and their combined breath clouded the air between them. They pulled their slickers from behind their saddles and slipped them on. Sidney tied the hood tight under her chin while Bryan tightened the chinstrap on his hat.

  “First we need to find shelter. He tossed his chin toward a rocky outcropping higher up, closer to the ridge line. “Find a cave, or a windbreak at least. This could last twenty minutes, or it could last twenty hours.”

  * * * *

  Two hours later, in a cave near the ridgeline, the rain still poured. Boomer watched as Sidney paced the edge of the overhang, the occasional wind gust blowing cold mist into her face. If the end of his stump hadn’t been giving him so much hell today, he’d probably be pacing the edge with her, but for another reason.

  All her focus was on moving forward, finding the horses. She didn’t focus on the fact that old beer cans littered the cave and the damp walls sweated out marijuana smoke the way a fat guy sweats out a bad meal.

  What she saw was the stack of gathered wood and kindling. Enough to light a fire and last them a night or two. She’d smiled when she’d seen it. The stack had turned his blood reptilian cold and made the old exit wound on his back start to itch. He knew the truth. This cave wasn’t just used by a couple of kids out for a fun day or two of camping. This was a spot that men came to regularly, and from the way those men had covered their trail, they didn’t want to advertise that fact.

  He glanced out at the sky. It had grown darker. Between the storm and their cave, they effectively lacked any form of communication.

  If things went pear-shaped, backup was a long, long way away.

  The scuffle and clatter of hooves on rock brought Boomer back. Donkey bit Two on the ass and tried to force him out into the rain. The horses jockeyed for position, which put Rio on the far side of the other three and pissed Donkey off more. He brayed, ears back, head out and low. The rock walls resonated with the noise. Sidney covered her ears and pointed at Boomer.

  “He’s yours,” she mouthed, the same way his mother had to his father all the times when Boomer had been caught fighting after school.

  He had no more control over the animal than his dad had over him. At least the Marines found the fighting side of him a perk.

  Inside, the height narrowed down quickly, so there was no way for the animals to get farther back, where they’d stashed the tack, gear, and food. To be cautious, Sidney had put a pair of hobbles on Two since there wasn’t anywhere they could tie them up. Two was the ragtag leader of the Band of Misfit Brothers, as Sidney had started referring to them. The others wouldn’t leave without him.

  Boomer stepped over to the fire ring near the opening opposite the animals, trying to hide the limp that was becoming more and more pronounced. The pain concerned him, but Sidn
ey didn’t need anything else to worry about.

  The air temperature wasn’t below freezing, but between the cold and the damp, his stump shot random volleys of phantom pains up his leg.

  He’d rather be drenched with water and have his balls hooked up to a battery.

  He stacked some kindling, added dry leaf litter that had blown into the cave, and lit a waterproof match. His hand shook, and the match blew out. He frowned. Christ, what now? He worked his wrist and the muscles in his forearm and tried again. Better. At least he could light the damn fire.

  As the smoke spiraled up, it hit the ceiling and rolled out into the rain, Boomer added bigger and bigger sticks until the fire caught for real and he was able to add a few logs.

  He held his hands out to warm them with the fire. As the blood heated in his fingers, his hand steadied and he forced the shakes from his mind.

  Sidney gathered up the saddles and the saddle pads and set them near the fire. The pads would help keep the cold from seeping up through the floor and chilling them even more, and they could lean back against the saddles. She crossed her legs on one of the pads and tugged her boots off. Rubbing her feet, she let out a soft moan and made Boomer think of more fun ways to make her make that sound. Shit.

  Boomer handed her a canteen. “Drink.”

  She grabbed it, but she didn’t take a sip. “How much do we have left?”

  “One more full canteen. With the rain, we’ll be good. The creeks and streams will be running and we have tablets and extra filters for the water. We don’t have to worry about rationing. So drink up.”

  Tilting her head back, she took several long gulps. A drop of water escaped the side of her mouth and Boomer watched it trickle down her neck, over the dip between her collar bones and beneath the front of her shirt collar. For the first time in his life, he wished he were nothing more than a couple of hydrogen atoms hanging out with their buddy oxygen.

  Before he got any stupid ideas, he tore his gaze away and drank from the other canteen. Even though the two of them had come to a sort of relationship truce down by the stream, that didn’t mean a cave was the time or the place to…um…ratify the peace treaty.