Must Love Horses

by Vicki Tharp

  As she gasped, her diaphragm spasmed and she struggled for air. When her vision started to go dark, she sucked in a shallow breath and then another and another.

  The man hauled her to her feet. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of buckskin and she was knocked to the ground again. She rolled to her hands and knees and glanced behind her, Eli stood between her and the man, shaking his big, beautiful, blocky head, protecting her the way a stallion protects his mares.

  She glanced back at Bryan. He hung at the end of the rope, utterly still.

  Shoving to her feet, she sprinted to Bryan, clasping her arms around his thighs and lifting him up, but the noose was still tight around his neck. For the second time, she heard the heavy whump of helicopter rotors. Seconds later, shots were fired behind her—many, many shots, like their own little war zone—but there was nothing she could do about that.

  She needed help to get the noose from around his neck. Frantic, she glanced around and spotted Pepita running toward her through the trees, with Bryan’s combat knife in her hands like an avenging angel.

  “The rope!” Sidney said. “Cut the rope!”

  Pepita skidded to a stop, put the back side of the blade in her mouth, and scrambled up Sidney’s back like Sidney was a human jungle gym. Balancing on Sidney’s shoulders, Pepita held onto the rope and hacked at it.

  “Hurry, Pepita,” Sidney said. “Please hurry.”

  A couple swings of the blade later, all Boomer’s weight dropped into Sidney’s arms. All three of them crashed to the ground. Sidney broke Bryan’s fall and Pepita tumbled out of it, landing on her feet like an elite gymnast. Sidney scrambled over and worked the noose loose and over his head. She put her head to his chest, and heard the faint, thready tha-thump tha-thump of his heart.

  He was alive!

  But he wasn’t breathing.

  “I’ve got him.” Mac skidded to her knees beside Sidney. “His neck could be broken. Put your hands on either side of his head and keep it steady.”

  Sidney did as she was told as Mac leaned over and gave him mouth to mouth. Again and again and again, Mac forced air into his lungs, his chest rising and falling, rising and falling.

  “Come on, Marine,” Mac said between breaths, “Don’t be a jerk, breathe.”

  Then Bryan coughed and sucked in a wheezing, beautiful breath.

  Then another.

  And another.

  His lips moved, but Sidney couldn’t make out what he said. She bent her ear down to his lips and the two most beautiful words she’d ever heard came rasping out: “Fuck. Me.”

  Sidney laughed, but it came out as more of a sob.

  He coughed. “Always knew you wanted to kiss me,” he told Mac with a wry grin.

  “Christ.” Mac thumped him lightly on the shoulder and said, “Don’t you ever do that to me again.”

  “Roger that,” Bryan managed.

  “Hey,” came a shout from behind them, “call off your damn watchdog.”

  Sidney glanced over her shoulder. Hank and a couple of men with gear bags were being held at bay by one seriously pissed off buckskin gelding.

  Sidney clucked to her horse and stepped away from Bryan. Eli shook his head a final time before trotting over to her and butting his head into her chest, breathing out hot, horsey breaths against her stomach. She rubbed both hands up and down his forehead, picking the twig from his forelock. She put her face to his neck and breathed in his scent.

  Then she grabbed the end of his lead rope and stepped over to Bryan and watched as the two paramedics braced his neck and started him on IVs.

  Pepita stood off to the side, her slight body shaking, probably from a combination of fear and the aftereffects of adrenaline. Sidney’s hands shook and her knees felt loose and disjointed. She held out an arm and Pepita stepped into her embrace.

  “You were amazing.” Sidney tilted the little girl’s face up to her. “Without you, he would have died.”

  Sidney didn’t know how much Pepita really understood, but the girl nodded her head and squeezed her arm around her waist, so Sidney assumed she got the gist of it.

  “How did help get here so fast?” Sidney asked as Mac stepped over to her.

  “They’re part of the search and rescue team that’s been out looking for you guys. They were already in the air when Hank radioed our position after spotting you on the ridge.”

  “That was damn close.” Hank had come up behind them, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his shirt and then snugging his cowboy hat onto his head. There was a hole in his shirt—low on the left side, blood seeped onto it. But it must not have been more than a flesh wound, because both he and Mac ignored it.

  Hank wrapped an arm around his wife and held her to his side. To Sidney he said, “You good?”

  “If he’s good,” Sidney bobbed her chin toward Bryan, “then I’m good.”

  The paramedics strapped Bryan onto a backboard that someone had brought over, then started packing up their gear.

  “Did they get everyone?” Sidney was almost afraid to ask. “Did they get El Verdugo?”

  “Some men ran when the tactical team fast-roped in,” Hank said. “The sheriff and the drug task force guys are still trying to sort everyone out.”

  “I can tell you if he’s here.”

  Hank glanced at Mac. Mac nodded her head. Sidney handed Pepita Eli’s rope and said, “You two wait here, okay?”

  Eli blew a hot breath through Pepita’s hair and the girl giggled. Sidney’s heart thumped and her chest tightened seeing the light the little girl’s eyes.

  Following in her wake, Hank trudged up the hill after her to where the sheriff and what she assumed were the task force guys, dressed in black BDUs and loaded down with tactical gear, had the men from the camp sitting on the ground, their hands bound behind their backs with thick zip-ties. She scanned each of the men’s faces as she walked by. Mario. Cue Ball. She recognized some of the others, but there was no sign of El Verdugo.

  “That can’t be right,” Sidney said as she walked back the way she’d come, looking closer at each man. No way she could miss El Verdugo.

  “Where are the rest of them?” Sidney asked Sheriff St. John.

  “There are three dead, over there.” St. John indicated an area behind her, where a man was laying tarps over three bodies, parked side by side like semis at a truck stop. “That’s all we have.”

  Before the men could think to stop her, she jogged over to the bodies, Hank on her tail, protesting the entire way.

  At the tarps, Hank grabbed her arm and spun her around. “Sidney, you don’t have to do this.”

  She met Hank’s firm gaze. “Yeah, Hank, I do.”

  He chewed on that a moment, then finally dropped her arm and glanced at the deputy. “Show her,” he said.

  Wrapping her arms around her waist, Sidney closed her eyes.

  Nothing can be worse than seeing Bryan strangle.

  Sidney opened her eyes.

  The deputy peeled back the tarp. She glanced from man to man to man. The first one was El Jefe, his eyes still bugging out, his face discolored and his features frozen in eternal damnation. She tried to feel something for him, at least for the loss of a life, but deep down, she felt nothing. The next man she didn’t recognize, and the last one had had his face nearly obliterated by a bullet. Sidney’s stomach flipped and she swallowed back a mouthful of acid. “Let me see the rest of him,” she squeaked out.

  St. John pulled the tarp back until the body was completely exposed. The man was long and lean and…

  She turned to Hank, dread gnawing on her stomach like a fat, juicy steak bone. “El Verdugo’s not here.”

  * * * *

  One of the tactical team members replaced the tarp over the three dead men; a breeze picked up and the edges fluttered against the ground.

 
“What do you mean he’s not here?”

  Sidney slapped a hand to her chest, startled at the sound of the sheriff’s voice right behind her. “El Verdugo. He’s gone.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She shot him a look that had him raising his hands and taking a half step back. He palmed the mic from his personal radio and notified his men.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” he said as he strode off toward El Jefe’s tent, where other men gathered in the makeshift headquarters.

  Then Sidney heard the whine of a powerful engine and looked up to see the rotors on one of the helicopters start to turn, the paramedics hopping in after loading Bryan through the sliding door.

  Without a backward glance at Hank, Sidney sprinted for the helicopter. Halfway there, she glanced over and saw Pepita standing there with Eli, and without a thought called out, “Pepita! Pepita!” and made a “come here” motion with her arm.

  Sidney ducked under the spinning rotors as the men finished strapping the gurney down. “I’m—” Pepita bumped into her from behind and Sidney’s arm automatically wrapped around her.

  She shouted above the whine of the engine. “We’re going with you.”

  Before the paramedic could protest, she lifted Pepita into the hold and jumped in behind her. The paramedic spoke into the microphone on his helmet, listened for the response, then nodded his chin toward two jump seats that looked like the ones the airline flight attendants used.

  She buckled Pepita into one and herself into the other. The paramedic plucked ear protection from over her shoulder and handed it to her, then found a pair for Pepita and slipped it over her ears before returning to his patient.

  As they lifted off and banked to the left, Pepita placed her hand on the window and stared out as the landscape fell far, far away beneath her. When she turned back to Sidney, she had a gigantic smile on her face, and while Sidney couldn’t hear the giggle, by the way Pepita scrunched up her nose, she knew it was there.

  Sidney gave Pepita a thumbs-up and returned the girl’s smile with a forced one of her own as worry wrapped around her heart and gave it one hell of a squeeze. She had no idea what she was going to do with Pepita. She only knew she couldn’t leave her behind.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Someone pried open Boomer’s right eyelid and a bright light seared his retina.

  Damn it to hell, he tried to say, but nothing came out but a whoosh of air.

  “You’re awake.” The light went away and Boomer turned his head toward the source of the words.

  The swelling must have gone down around his eye, because he could see out of it without having to prop his lids open with toothpicks. He tried to speak again, with no more success than before. He reached up, felt the plastic tube coming out of his mouth. What the f—

  A large hand grabbed his wrist. “Oh, no you don’t,” the man said.

  Slowly, as the flash on his retina diminished and he blinked, a bearded, round face came into focus.

  “You’re intubated,” the man said. “Hang tight, buddy. Let me get the doc down here to remove it.”

  Boomer tried to nod, but even that was uncomfortable with a tube in his throat.

  The nurse—at least, Boomer assumed the man was a nurse because he was calling the doctor—pressed the call button and made his request.

  While Boomer waited, he turned his head from side to side, taking in the hospital room. In the corner, the male nurse in navy scrubs was scribbling something on a clipboard. Behind and to his right came the steady beep-beep-beep of the heart monitor. He had an IV in the back of his left hand and tight white bandaging around his rib cage.

  Then the door opened and a man old enough to be his grandfather stepped up to his bed, sporting a white coat and a black stethoscope around his neck.

  “I’m Dr. Whitcomb,” he said, shaking Boomer’s hand. “Ready to get that out?”

  Boomer nodded as best he could.

  The doctor did whatever he needed to do to get the tube ready to be removed, then said, “Take a deep breath and exhale.”

  Like a good Marine, Boomer did as he was told. The tube was tight in his trachea, and it felt like the doctor was pulling his lungs out with a treble hook. He coughed as the tube slid free and the nurse held a cup of water to his lips. He sipped, coughed again, then sipped some more.

  “H-h-how l-long,” Boomer rasped out. His throat felt like a miniature ninja had had a sword fight with his vocal cords.

  The doctor leaned on the bed rail. “A week, give or take. We had you sedated while you were intubated, to keep your airway open until the swelling went down.”

  Reaching up to his throat, Boomer felt a long, itchy scab under his jawline where the rope had bit in. He closed his eyes. Fuck, that had been so close.

  Something bumped his shoulder and he opened his eyes again.

  “Stay with us,” Doctor Whitcomb said. “I need you awake for a little bit so I know you can maintain your airway on your own.”

  Boomer nodded. So much easier to do that without the tube. “What about the rest of me?” His voice squeaked occasionally when he talked, like the bathtub squeaky-toy version of Donald Duck.

  The fact that he wasn’t in a neck brace answered his first question. His neck wasn’t broken.

  “Three cracked ribs, multiple deep contusions—bruises,” the doctor explained. “Superficial abrasion around your neck that’s almost healed. Sutures on your brow and back of your head. Somehow managed not to break your neck or crush your larynx. As the swelling goes down, your voice should return to normal. Right now, what you need most is rest.”

  The doctor was wrong about one thing: What he needed most was Sidney, but despite her coming back, despite what she’d told him, her return didn’t mean he could have her. His throat tightened and the next words were even harder to get out.

  “W-what’s this?” Boomer held up the hand with the IV.

  “Fluids and pain meds.”

  “Stop the pain meds.”

  “That’s not advisable. The broken—”

  Boomer reached across and yanked the IV catheter out of the back of his hand. Clear liquid dripped onto the floor and blood dripped down his hand. “No pain meds.”

  The doctor stared at him, eyes narrowed, then finally said, “Suit yourself.”

  The nurse moved in, stopping the fluids and staunching the blood.

  “I’ll be by in the morning to check on you,” the doctor said as he turned to go. “Call the nurses if you change your mind about your pain management.”

  “I won’t.”

  The doctor looked at him for a second longer, then tugged the door open and left the room.

  “You up for some visitors?” the nurse asked. “Your wife and daughter have been itching to see you.”

  “Wife and daughter?”

  The nurse’s face went blank and his eyes rounded. “Should I get the doctor? Amnesia is not usual in these situations, but any traumatic—”

  Boomer’s heart kicked at one of his cracked ribs and he sucked in an excruciating breath. Sidney must have lied so she could get in to see him. “No. I remember them. Let them in.”

  The nurse left and not long after, Sidney opened the door and ushered Pepita in ahead of her. Pepita was dressed in hand-me-down jeans tucked into brand-new pink cowgirl boots, an oversized USMC T-shirt that must have come from Mac, and a straw cowboy hat dangling across her shoulders from a thin keeper strap around her neck.

  “Señor awake.” Pepita hurried over to the bed. She wrapped an arm around his neck and gave him a quick hug.

  He snagged her hand before she could pull it away. When he had her attention, he said, “Gracias, Pepita.”

  Her teeth flashed bright behind her huge smile. Then Bryan shifted his gaze to Sidney and he held out his hand for her. She stepped to the bed, sat on the edge, and linked
her fingers with his. Her hand was warm and calloused and somehow delicate at the same time.

  “And thank you,” he said to Sidney. “Wife and daughter, huh?”

  Tears welled in her eyes. She swiped at them with the heels of her hand and laughed. It was wet and happy at the same time. “Mac’s idea. So we would be allowed to visit.”

  He palmed the back of her head, pulled her in close, and pressed his lips to hers. She smelled of horses and fresh-cut hay and clear sunny days. When he teased the seam of her lips with his tongue, she opened for him and he deepened the kiss.

  Pepita made a derisive sound in the back of her throat and slapped her hand over her eyes. Sidney leaned back, her skin flushed an enticing shade of red he wished he was healed enough to explore.

  “You okay, Pepita?” Boomer asked, trying to ignore his growing hard on. At least something on him still worked.

  “We’re good.”

  “Eli? The horses? Donkey?”

  “Fine, fine, and fine. At least, not anything extra grain and hay can’t fix.” Sidney’s gaze landed everywhere but on his face. WTF?

  Boomer groaned at the awkwardness. He’d shot the shit with strangers about the weather and it had felt more natural. Then he realized what the problem was. He owed her a big fat apology.

  He traced his thumb over her knuckles, trying to find the words as the strained silence vibrated between them.

  “I’m sorry,” he said at last. When she stiffened, he quickly went on, not wanting to give her the chance to pull away. “For everything. For not protecting you, for not being there when you needed me most, for—”

  “Bryan—”

  “If I had—”

  “Bry—”

  “I’m a Marine, I had the training—”

  She shut him up with a kiss that was as light and sweet as it was haunting, as if the Sidney he’d known was gone and an empty husk remained. That terrified him more than the sight of the noose had.

  Pepita grumbled again, but she was too busy twirling around on the doctor’s stool to really pay them too much attention.

  The color drained from her face. “I’m the one who should apologize.”