Stuck Landing

by Lauren Gallagher

  She met my gaze, and with the dark circles under her eyes, I could have easily blamed her weirdness on being as exhausted as everyone else. Something told me it wasn’t so simple, though.

  “Sure,” she said flatly and scooted over to make room.

  I sat beside her and balanced my coffee cup on my knee. “You’ve been a little out of sorts today. You all right?”

  Natalya shrugged tightly. “Distracted.”

  You don’t say. “By . . .?”

  She held my gaze for a moment, as if debating whether to open up or tell me to fuck off. Then she blew out a breath. “I spoke to my brother in Russia yesterday.”

  “Bad conversation?”

  “Not bad, no. But not . . .” She sighed. “Arkady’s trying to come to America, but the paperwork, it’s . . .” She snarled something in her native tongue. And when she spoke English, her accent was sharper than usual, as if either her frustration or talking to her brother had taken the American flatness off her words. “I don’t know why it has to be so difficult. He’ll live with me until he has work. I . . .” She rubbed a hand over her face. “He needs to leave Russia. I just don’t know how to bring him here so he can stay.”

  “Ouch,” I said, feeling completely useless with no idea how to help or even make her feel better.

  Her shoulders slumped. “Every time, we talk about him coming to America, but it’s so damned complicated. Our parents want to help, but they don’t have that kind of money. It’s . . .”

  “What kinds of jobs can he do?” I asked. “Maybe the studio can hire him on.”

  “I’ve spoken to a few people.” She shook her head. “With the unions, it gets complicated. He could work as an electrician, and I know he’s smart enough to learn about cinematography. He could even do security. But my calls and emails . . . they’ve led nowhere.” She blew out a breath and waved her hand. “I should be patient. It will get sorted. Eventually. Immigration is never fast.”

  “No, I suppose it isn’t.” I paused, searching her eyes and trying to read between the lines. Was she hurt? Angry? Both? “You two are . . . close?”

  She nodded but didn’t speak. For the longest time, we both stared out at the shadowy trees, and I thought she was going to let the subject drop. Then she went on. “We’ve always been close. Even when I was in training and rarely saw my family. We wrote back and forth, called when we could. It’s been easier now that we can email and Skype, but I still miss him.”

  “How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”

  “Three years,” she said without hesitation. “The last time I went back to Russia. But we speak as often as possible. I go crazy if we don’t.” She paused and took a deep breath. Slowly turning toward me, she said, “Arkasha is the one person who’s always seen me as me. Natalya. Not a stepping stone or a commodity.” The bitterness in her voice seemed to sharpen her accent even more, and it added an irritated curl to her lip as she spoke. “And he’s the one person I can’t seem to help, no matter how hard I try.”

  God, I couldn’t even imagine. And I made a mental note to call my own brother soon. “I’m sure he knows you’re trying.”

  “Still. It’s not getting him out of Russia.” Eyes closed, she rubbed her neck, as if massaging away some stiffness. “I’m used to people who take me in until I’m no longer useful to them. Then they spit me out.” She laughed bitterly. “It goes all the way back to my gymnastics coaches. From the time I was a small child, they only cared about me when I could win. When I got hurt? They didn’t care about anything except how it affected my competitions.”

  “I’ve heard that about some coaches,” I said softly.

  “Me too. But it didn’t stop with them.” She brushed away a few strands that had come loose from her ponytail. Then she leaned back, resting her hands behind her on the log, and stared up at the trees. “I dated a woman who thought I could get her into the acrobatics show. As soon as I left that show to go into stunt work, she was gone. Before Tommy, I dated a guy who didn’t give me the time of day until he found out I was going to work on Wolf’s Landing. And when he realized I wasn’t going to give his head shots to the producers . . .” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Gone. Besides our parents, my brother, he’s the only one who’s always been there no matter what. But there is something he needs, and I can’t . . .” She exhaled hard, her shoulders slumping. “I can’t help him.”

  I put my hand over hers. “You’re doing everything you can. Maybe . . .” I hesitated, not sure if I wanted to raise her hopes when there was no guarantee anything would come of it. Still, she needed some kind of hope. “Maybe we can talk to some of the companies the studio works with. I know security is always hiring.”

  She pursed her lips. After a moment, she nodded. “I suppose it’s worth another try. He won’t be happy working in security, but it could get him his visa.”

  “Let me know if I can help.”

  “Thank you.” She was quiet for a while again. This time, she squared her shoulders and pulled in a deep breath. “Everyone is coming back. We should get to work.”

  I glanced over, and sure enough, the cast and crew were materializing beside all the equipment. Turning to her again, I said, “Are you sure you’re—”

  “I’m fine.” She smiled and touched my hand. “Thank you. For letting me talk.”

  “Anytime. And I mean it—if there’s anything I can do to help with your brother, let me know.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  We shared one more long look, then rose to head to the set.

  Lining up our days off was about as easy as running in high heels. We grabbed whatever time off we could find—we went to the gym together when we could, and we took our lunch in my office whenever possible—but carving out more than that was hard as hell. Such was life in our industry.

  About three weeks after we’d brought up the idea of going riding together, the planets finally aligned and we had an entire afternoon off. And the weather was decent. We both had to be on set that night for a late shoot, and we’d probably regret it tonight and tomorrow if we didn’t use the afternoon to sleep, but oh well.

  Jeremy drove us down to the stable in Kalaloch. There were a few other cars in the little gravel parking lot, so apparently we wouldn’t be riding alone.

  “You said you’ve ridden before, right?” I asked Natalya as we walked toward the green-roofed barn.

  She laughed. “I was a stunt double, remember? I’ve probably ‘fallen’ off more horses than you’ve ever ridden.”

  “That sounds like fun,” Jeremy muttered.

  “And yes,” Natalya went on, “I’ve ridden too. It’s just been a long time.” To Jeremy, she asked, “What about you?”

  He shook his head. As we walked past a paddock with a small herd in it, I thought he paled.

  “Jeremy,” I said. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. I think.”

  Natalya and I exchanged glances. Her brow was pinched, but her lips quirked too, as if she were equal parts amused and concerned. I just shrugged. If Jeremy really wasn’t comfortable with it, he’d put his foot down.

  We paused beside the paddock. The horses were still all shaggy with their winter coats, which made them look like fluffy stuffed animals. When they noticed us, three of the horses broke away from the small herd and plodded over, ears up and eyes wide. They probably thought we were bringing treats, so when they stuck their noses through the fence, they inspected Natalya’s hand and mine for any tasty morsels.

  “Sorry, guys.” I grinned, excited just to be around horses again after way too long. “No treats yet.”

  Jeremy eyed them warily. He watched us for a moment, then held out his hand too, and a muddy white mare sniffed his palm. He was okay with that, but when she started searching his hand with her upper lip, he laughed and jerked it away.

  I laughed. “Relax. She’s not trying to bite�
�just looking for food.”

  “Uh-huh.” He wiped his hand on his jeans. “No food here. Sorry.”

  “You three ready to ride?” An older gentleman approached, smiling beneath his wide-brimmed hat.

  “Well, we are.” Natalya turned to Jeremy. “What about you?”

  “I’ll be fine,” he said.

  The man studied him. “Inexperienced?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” The smile broadened. “Why don’t you all come up to the barn with everybody else, and we’ll match you up with some horses.”

  Jeremy swallowed, but didn’t protest, so we followed the guy to the barn.

  Several horses were already saddled and bridled. They were tied to the hitching posts, and most of them were snoozing—a back foot cocked, eyes closed, lower lips drooping.

  The guide led Jeremy to a sleepy-eyed Paint.

  “The only problem you’ll have with this guy,” he said, “is getting him to go.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Jeremy said. “And it’s got good brakes, right?”

  “Brakes don’t matter if the gas pedal don’t work.” The guide chuckled and patted the horse’s neck, flushing out a cloud of dust. “He’s just the right kind of lazy for a rider who doesn’t want to go fast.”

  “Perfect.”

  Nodding, the guide untied the Paint and put the reins on the horse’s neck, just in front of the saddle.

  Taking a deep breath, Jeremy eyed the sleepy, furry gelding. The uncertainty in his eyes—not quite fear, but getting there—made my gut clench with guilt.

  I stepped closer and spoke so only he could hear me. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

  “Actually, I do.” He scowled. “If you go, then—”

  “Jeremy, I’m serious.” I put a hand on his arm. “If you’d rather stay back here, I won’t say a word.”

  “No, but all it takes is one tourist Instagramming a picture of you and Natalya, and I’d damn well better have an explanation for not being in the frame.” He touched my shoulder. “It’s okay. I’ve just never done this. But I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay.” I smiled. “Thank you. I know this is kind of a pain in the ass.”

  “I’m more worried about the pain in my legs later on.” He chuckled. “Scott might have something to say about that part.”

  Our guide’s eyebrows flicked up, and his lips tightened just slightly, but he said nothing.

  Jeremy ignored him and faced the horse. He watched some of the other people who were getting on other horses, and that must have been enough for him to figure out what to do. He put his foot in the stirrup, held on to the saddle horn and cantle, and hoisted himself up.

  He shifted around as he got comfortable in the saddle. Despite his lack of experience, he seemed to be figuring it out. He hadn’t gone over the other side or accidentally kicked his horse into taking off, so he was further ahead of the game than he probably realized.

  Behind him, three women from our group stared so hard, I was surprised they weren’t openly drooling.

  Sorry, ladies. I smothered a laugh. He’s already got a boyfriend.

  “You just hang tight right here,” the guide said. “And I’ll get your lady friends on their horses. Then we’ll head down to the beach.”

  I was assigned to a slightly less sedate-looking chestnut mare. She munched lazily on a few crumbs of hay and didn’t seem bothered by much of anything except when our guide tugged those crumbs free to put the bit in her mouth. Something about her eyes, though, not to mention her comparatively leaner physique, suggested she could—and would—get up and go if she wanted to.

  Perfect.

  The saddle wasn’t my favorite thing in the world. I was used to dressage saddles, not one of these hard, clunky Western disasters.

  Still, it would do, because I was on a horse. Soon we’d be on the beach. I’d been looking forward to this for a while now, and even the “meh” saddle wasn’t enough to temper my enthusiasm.

  Natalya was given a tall chestnut gelding who, like my horse, looked like he had some get up and go. He was already chomping on his bit and fidgeting while she pulled herself up and eased herself down into the saddle. He danced around a bit—nothing dangerous, just like a kid who had the wiggles—and Natalya didn’t seem to mind. In fact, despite her lack of experience—and the horse’s refusal to stand still—she sat confidently and correctly. The balls of her feet rested in the stirrups. Her heels were down. Legs and back straight but not rigid.

  Damn. A few lessons, and she could compete.

  I imagined her dressed for competition and shivered so hard, my horse jumped. Jesus. I couldn’t decide if Natalya would be more breathtaking in Western or English attire. A black Stetson, a pair of chaps, a buttoned-up Western shirt, spurs . . . that would be hot. On the other hand, a black jacket, skintight breeches, knee high black boots . . . Oh fuck. English. Definitely English. Especially dressage. A tailored black shadbelly coat, a silk top hat, white breeches . . .

  I shifted in the saddle to mask another shiver.

  What would it take to convince her to give dressage a try?

  “Everyone ready?” the guide asked, pulling me out of my fantasy. After we’d all nodded and murmured yes, he said, “We’re about five minutes from the beach. On the trail”—he gestured toward the trailhead—“we’ll be single file, so make sure you’re staying one horse-length behind the rider in front of you. On the beach, you can ride at your own speed, and we’ll be in a group instead of a line. You’re welcome to jog or trot if you’re comfortable, but please don’t get too far ahead of the group.”

  Our guide led us out of the stable. We followed a narrow trail through the woods and down to the beach, and there we spread out. Natalya, Jeremy, and I stayed close together, chatting while our horses plodded up the beach.

  For me, this was heaven. The horses strolled along, hooves landing dully on the packed, wet sand. Saddles creaked. Waves lapped at the shore. Gentle wind played with my hair. A few people chatted while the guide gave us some historical and geological facts about the area, and a few just enjoyed the ride and the scenery.

  Walking got a little monotonous after a while, though. I turned to our guide. “You mind if we trot up ahead?”

  The guide shrugged. “Just don’t go too fast, or you’ll get separated from the rest of us. Stay in sight.”

  I nodded. To Natalya, I said, “You comfortable trotting?”

  “Hell yeah!”

  I turned to Jeremy, and he shot me a look that said hell no. But then he waved a hand toward the beach in front of us. “Go for it. I’ll catch up.”

  Shrugging, I tapped my horse’s sides with my heels, and she broke into a choppy jog, which turned into an even choppier trot.

  Natalya trotted up beside me, ponytail bouncing between her shoulders. “This beats walking.” Still bouncing in the saddle, she twisted around a bit, glancing back at our guide. When she faced me again, her lips had pulled into a mischievous grin. “But I kind of want to go faster.”

  Adrenaline zipped through my veins. “Do you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I glanced back. The other horses were still happily plodding along, seemingly uninterested in catching up with us.

  And ahead of us, there was the most deliciously tempting stretch of flat sand.

  “You know, it’s pretty flat. Bet we could get to those rocks”—I gestured at a cluster a quarter mile or so ahead—“before everyone else.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Bet I can get there before you.”

  “Oh really?”

  Natalya tousled the chestnut’s mane. Then she shot me a wicked grin. “Wonder how fast these things can go.”

  Heart fluttering, I returned the grin. “Only one way to find out.”

  “Want to?”

  I didn’t respond—I tapped my horse with my heels, stood up in the stirrups, and let her fly.

  Natalya didn’t miss a beat. In seconds,
her horse’s hoofbeats were catching up with mine. Seconds after that, her horse started inching past mine, and she laughed. “Too slow!”

  I glanced over at her, ready to call her a cheater or talk some shit or something, but instead, I stared.

  Despite years of experience, to the point it was second nature to be perfectly balanced in the saddle, I almost tumbled right off my galloping horse.

  Wow. Just . . . wow. Natalya’s hair whipped behind her. She squinted into the wind, and that smile . . .

  I faced forward and concentrated on not falling like an idiot. The wind blurred my vision, and we both laughed as our horses stayed neck and neck until we reached the rocks. We thundered past them—still on flat, even sand—and reined the horses to a trot, then a walk, then a halt.

  “That was fun!” She was grinning like a kid and . . . and not. I’d seen that grin in my bed, in my office, in the shower at the gym. I struggled to catch my breath, and she wasn’t helping. Not when the brisk wind had messed up her hair and added an extra blush to her cheeks. Of course I was out of breath. When Natalya looked like that—windblown, laughing, completely at ease in the saddle—why wouldn’t I be?

  I really, really hope she feels like a shower after this.

  Jeremy trotted up to us, bouncing in the saddle because he didn’t quite know how to sit a choppy trot like that. As he reined the Paint to a halt, he shot me a playful glare. “You girls are in deep trouble when they catch up to us.” He pointed at our guide and fellow riders, who were still way down the beach.

  Natalya snickered. “What are they going to do? Make us lead the horses back?”

  I giggled.

  Jeremy just rolled his eyes and laughed. “I’m starting to think I was assigned to keep you out of trouble, not to keep trouble away from you.”

  “Well, if you’re supposed to keep trouble away from me”—I gestured at Natalya—“you’re kinda falling down on the job.”

  “Hey!” Natalya laughed as she tamed a few stray strands of hair.

  “She’s got a point.” Jeremy chuckled, wagging a finger at Natalya. “I’m watching you, lady.”

  “Yeah.” She patted her horse’s neck. “But can you catch me?”