by Karis Walsh
“Is that a challenge?” Cal asked. She stepped closer to Rachel. She had played this game before. Start it on the field, end it in bed. Rachel would be a worthy adversary on horseback and more than satisfying in the bedroom. She was beautiful, like a fir tree in a nighttime forest. Straight and tall and unyielding. With those dark evergreen eyes and near-black hair that glowed with golden brown highlights in the sun. Cal had worked hard today. She deserved a reward.
But Rachel moved another step away. “I’m not here for a grudge match,” she said. She shut Cal off with her distance. With her crossed arms. “I need to ask a favor.”
“Shoot,” Cal said. She knelt down and ruffled Feathers’s ears. She took a deep breath and grounded herself in the smell of dog fur, dirt, her own sweat. She had been driving herself like mad since she had returned from her East Coast tryouts, getting herself and her six horses in top shape for the polo season ahead. Her aggressive attitude had carried through to her recreational activities, as usual, but Rachel didn’t seem inclined to bite at Cal’s overtures. She needed to slow down, give Rachel some space. Cal wasn’t about to give up, of course, but she had to change her tactics.
“We have a new mounted division in Tacoma,” Rachel said. She squatted down so she was eye level with Cal and scratched Tar’s chin when he walked over to her. Her rigid posture and tense voice seemed to relax as Cal backed off her attack.
Cal had watched the memorial service, paying special attention to the horses and riders even though she was uninterested in working with them. The antics of the obviously poorly trained mounted unit would have been funny if she hadn’t realized how dangerous the situation actually was. Rachel hadn’t been one of the riders and she was too good a horsewoman to have sent the unprepared squad out among the public. She must have been chosen to recruit Cal because of their past acquaintance. “Yes, I saw them on TV. Who’s responsible for that disaster waiting to happen?”
“I am.”
Cal stopped petting her dog and stood up again. Oops. “Well, I didn’t see you on…So, um, congratulations. You seem to be doing a good job so far.”
Rachel stood as well. Cal was a lousy liar. And any person with even an ounce of horse sense would have been shocked by the unit’s lack of training. “Save it. I’m the unit sergeant as of today. That’s the favor. I don’t have any experience with this kind of training and I could use your help. We need to be ready to ride by the Fourth of July. We’ll be patrolling during the celebration on the waterfront.”
And my boss told me to ask you. Rachel left that part out.
Cal laughed and shook her head. “Are you planning to lead your horses from the ground like the officers did at the service? You can call yourselves the Dismounties.”
Rachel fervently hoped no one else would think of that nickname. She could see it splashed across the newspaper headlines. “We’ll ride on the Fourth. We have to.”
“If you had more time…”
“We don’t.” The unit didn’t have more time. Rachel didn’t have more time. “Special units like this one are funded by grants, and our main function is to help with crowd control at big events. We can’t sit around for months, training until New Year’s Eve.”
“Do you realize how dangerous this is?”
Cal sounded almost angry, but Rachel wasn’t sure why. Probably because she cared about the welfare of the horses. It would be so easy for one of them to get seriously injured if it freaked out and got loose. Rachel figured Cal didn’t care one way or the other about her or the other riders.
“Look,” Rachel said. She felt a strange stirring of panic. Cal thought the idea was crazy and she was going to refuse to train them. Rachel had dreaded coming here, asking for Cal’s assistance, but she needed it. Desperately. And as she pictured the fiasco when the unit trotted out to meet the public, she realized it wasn’t only about her. About her reputation at work and this last ditch effort to fix it. These horses and riders were under her command, and like it or not, it was her responsibility to keep them safe. The burden was overwhelming and unwanted, and the concern in her voice sounded like anger when she spoke. “Either you’ll help or you won’t. Either way, we ride on the Fourth.”
Cal raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. The sunny smile she had worn when she first saw Rachel was gone, replaced by an angry-looking frown. “Do what you want. It’s your funeral.”
Cal’s gaze moved from the shocked and sad expression on Rachel’s face to the black tape crossing her badge. Cal rubbed her hand over her forehead. She could still feel the indentation from her tight-fitting safety helmet and the growing headache from wearing it in the sun all morning. “Jesus, I’m sorry. Bad choice of words.”
“It’s okay,” Rachel said. Her voice was quiet, with no hint of her earlier intensity. “I’ll see you around.”
She walked toward her patrol car, and Cal trailed slowly behind. She had been surprised and happy to see Rachel. Hopeful she could be seduced. Simple emotions. Why did she have to feel concerned about her now? She barely knew Rachel Bryce, beyond her sexy exterior and the leadership qualities she had shown on the field almost ten years ago. Two days ago Cal had watched a cop’s memorial service with sadness and empathy, had watched the antics of the mounted police with humor and disapproval. In a detached way, without any of the raging indignation she felt now. Rachel was going to accept her department’s insane insistence on sending the unit out among the public. And she was going to ride with them. Cal had no intention of being involved in this foolish plan, but she couldn’t let Rachel walk away. She didn’t have any reason to feel guilty if something happened to Rachel, but she would.
“Wait, cowgirl,” she said. She held onto the door frame to keep Rachel from slamming it after she got in the car. “Say I agreed to help. What would I get out of this?”
“You’d get paid,” Rachel said, tugging on the door handle.
Cal shifted her body so Rachel couldn’t shut the door. She didn’t doubt Rachel would slam it on her hand if given the chance. “Money? Not enough. I was thinking of a more personal form of payment.”
Cal reached out and gently brushed her fingers through Rachel’s short hair. Soft as a well-groomed horse. In such contrast with her coarse uniform and stiff posture. Rachel swatted her hand away.
“Is everything a game with you?”
A game. “Yes,” Cal said honestly. Her life revolved around polo. Drills, practice, matches. She was serious about that game. The little time she had left over was dedicated to play. Fun. She’d much rather spend her free time having sex—with Rachel or someone else—than working with an inept bunch of riders, but she wanted to stall, to see Rachel at least once more and try to either talk her out of her promise to ride on the Fourth or talk her into bed. Preferably both, but Cal would be fine with the latter.
“So why don’t we play for it?” Cal asked. She couldn’t read the expression in Rachel’s eyes. Contempt? Irritation? “Tomorrow morning at six. A little friendly stick-and-ball play. If you can outscore me, I’ll help.”
“And if I can’t?” Rachel asked.
Cal smiled. “A kiss. I decide when and where. What do you say?”
She watched Rachel wage some sort of battle within herself. Rachel didn’t have a chance against her on the field, but she seemed determined to get Cal’s help with her team. Cal wondered how far she’d go to get it.
“Deal,” Rachel said, not meeting Cal’s eyes. “See you tomorrow.”
Cal barely moved in time before Rachel pulled her door shut. She started the engine and let it idle while Cal rounded up her dogs and moved to the edge of the parking area. Cal watched Rachel drive away. She felt tense, agitated by their conversation. Yes, some of it was sexual tension. She had felt a spark of attraction for Rachel when she had first seen her on the USC polo field. The spark was only brighter now. The police uniform seemed designed to mask the female body, flattening it in the wrong places and adding bulk where none was wanted. But even in the unflattering
uniform and thick bulletproof vest, Rachel had looked damn good. And she smelled good. Starch and polyester on the surface, but woodsy and vibrant underneath.
Cal started toward the barn but changed her mind and went to the polo team’s clubhouse. She needed to work off some of her excess energy, and she didn’t want to risk her horses’ careful training by subjecting any of them to her emotional turmoil. Yes, she wanted Rachel. But sex couldn’t come with commitment. Cal was married to polo, and she didn’t have room for any other serious relationships in her life. An occasional mistress was acceptable, necessary. But nothing more than that.
Rachel came with a whole ball of strings. Cal avoided women who expected too much from her. Usually, they wanted relationships—time and attention that Cal could barely afford to give. Love that she rarely felt. But Rachel wanted even more. Cal could manage to squeak out enough time to help her with the mounted unit, and she didn’t doubt that she had the skill to train them. But she would have to invest too much of herself in the project. Her rare recreational hours would be devoted to planning their training schedule. And, even more dangerous, she would be emotionally committed as well. She wasn’t unaffected by Rachel and her clear devotion to her division of misfit riders. And Rachel obviously wasn’t an easy lay. She hadn’t seemed moved by Cal’s overtures, and she didn’t seem inclined to stick around unless she secured Cal’s help. Training the unit merely to have more time with Rachel was too much effort to put into sex, although she had a feeling Rachel would be more than worth it.
Cal grabbed a spare mallet from the clubhouse and walked out the back door. She let herself into the large cage made of chain-link fencing. She tossed some hard polo balls into the cage one at a time, listening as they rolled down the sloped plank floor and into the trough next to the dummy horse with a loud clatter. She climbed into the wooden horse’s saddle and took a few easy practice swings. She had to be able to untangle herself after a fling, but she couldn’t back out if she promised to train the unit. All or nothing. And nothing but polo ever got Cal’s all. She leaned over and nudged one of the loose balls into place before swinging the mallet in a wide arc and sending the ball dead center against the wooden target in front of her. She caught the ball with the edge of her mallet as it bounced back to her, and lined up for another shot.
She got into a steady rhythm, accompanied by the loud thwack of ball against target. Forehand, backhand. Lean over and hit. She’d make one last play for Rachel in the morning, and then she’d let her go. And concentrate on polo.
“You’re breaking your wrist in the offside backhand shot.”
“The ball’s going straight, Mother,” Cal said without turning around. She could feel the slight twist in her wrist where the muscles were sore and tired. But she wasn’t in here to perfect her form. She was here to work Rachel out of her system.
“The ball is going straight because the wall is a few feet in front of you. If you were on the field, your trajectory would be off. Do the shot again.”
Cal pushed another ball to her off side and tried again. Her irritation didn’t help her concentration, and the ball hit the wire fence on the right side of the target.
She could hear her mother’s sigh. “Again. How do you expect to play on a high-goal team if you can’t control your swing?”
Cal sent the ball toward the target again, wishing she could hit it hard enough to shatter the thick wood. She looked back at her mom. Cecilia Calvert Lanford looked like she was about to pose for the cover of a polo magazine, not take her horse out for a schooling session. Every hair, every piece of clothing was perfect. “I did great in tryouts, so I expect I’ll do fine when I play on their team.”
“Not for long if you miss a pass or a goal because your mallet arm is weak.”
Cal turned away from her and struck at the ball again, sending it to the target with perfect accuracy.
“Better,” Cecilia said. “Keep practicing until you hit it straight every time. Remember, consistency will make you a champion. It’s not enough to be brilliant on occasion, when it suits you.”
Cal stayed in the practice cage long after her mother walked away, hitting shot after shot until her right arm was shaky with fatigue. By the time she dropped off the wooden horse she had corrected her breaking wrist and was hitting straight. More important, she had managed to drive her mother’s criticisms to the back of her mind. Leaving plenty of room for Rachel’s soft, throaty voice to take its place.
Chapter Four
After leaving Cal’s farm, Rachel went back to her apartment to change into riding clothes. She wanted a chance to sit on all of the horses before her first meeting with her new team. She’d be better able to help the riders and reassign horses if necessary if she understood what each horse was like to ride, plus she needed to get in at least a little riding before tomorrow’s match against Cal. She didn’t have a mallet or a big enough arena for practicing actual polo, but she should be able to hold her own in a friendly stick-and-ball session. She didn’t have a choice. She had to beat Cal because she needed her help and she wanted to avoid the penalty for losing. A kiss? She’d sooner kiss a…
Okay, she wouldn’t mind kissing Cal. Rachel hadn’t been blind to Cal’s tactics today. She had come on strong and obviously was interested in more than a skirmish on the polo field. But Rachel had seen enough of Cal in her polo magazines. She had read enough articles about her to know that Cal was someone who regularly moved on. To a new team, a new horse, a new girlfriend. Rachel wanted to stay in place. To find her place. She thought she had, here in Tacoma with the police department and with Christy, but she had lost her footing with both of them. This post with the mounted unit was the one last chance she could grab on to. The one opportunity to either reestablish her place with TPD or lose it for good.
Lieutenant Hargrove had ordered a uniform for Rachel, but until it arrived she’d have to make do with her usual riding clothes. Jeans and a T-shirt. Faded and water-stained cowboy boots and chaps so worn the suede was smooth as leather. She had barely ridden over the past seven years, besides helping with ranch work when she was home on vacations, but as soon as she zipped on her chaps she felt at home. Like a second skin, and one that fit better than her first.
She left her patrol car parked by her apartment and walked down the hill to the police stables. Her building was seedy, but she had a beautiful view of Puget Sound and she was within walking distance to the park. So she paid the ridiculously high rent because she needed the smell of trees and water and exhaust from the Vashon Island ferry. She could live without new clothes and gourmet meals, but not without her nightly runs. In less than five minutes of leaving her door, she could be swallowed up by the dark and empty park.
Rachel had been tempted by the new condos springing up along Tacoma’s waterfront, but the growing community was so far out of her reach she had no hope of qualifying for a loan. There were beautiful high rises, with panoramic views of Mount Rainier and Commencement Bay. Shopping and restaurants were part of the projected development of the area. Stunning, and with a stunning price tag. So Rachel had settled for a cheap facsimile. Off the water, but with a peekaboo view. Still pricey, but barely manageable. Close to being condemned, but still habitable.
And she couldn’t beat the commute to her new job. Three minutes, and she was letting herself into the stabling area. The small, newly formed unit didn’t have a full-time stablehand, so Rachel knew all the riders took turns feeding the horses and cleaning the stalls. She’d have to volunteer for extra shifts since she lived so close. The smell of shavings and horse and hay was intoxicating. She’d be spending all her free time here anyway, so she might as well be useful—and maybe ingratiate herself to her teammates at the same time.
Rachel’s initial impression of the tack room during her nighttime visit had been correct. Saddles, bridles, and brushes were all neatly labeled and in place. She gathered the equipment for Ranger, Alex’s big chestnut gelding. He was handsome and tall, with excellent conformatio
n, and Rachel had a feeling Alex had kept the best horse for himself. After putting Ranger through his paces in the small arena, she was certain of it. The horse was well-trained and responsive, but unperturbed by the traffic and people beyond the yard’s fence where the busy road leading to the ferry dock and the marina bordered the police stables. People wandered past, stopping to watch her ride as they waited for the ferry. Cars drove by with loud music blaring out the windows, and some drivers were helpful enough to honk or yell at Rachel as they passed by. Ranger obediently followed her signals without fuss. He seemed to be an ideal police horse. She dismounted and led him over to the fence so a little girl who was standing there with her father could pet him. Rachel knew mounted units were helpful not only for patrol, but also for PR. The horses needed to be friendly and approachable for even the tiniest citizens.
Unfortunately, the other three weren’t anywhere near Ranger’s standard. After her first ride, Rachel had been pleasantly surprised and very hopeful. Maybe the horses’ behavior at the service had been a fluke, caused by the riders’ grief and nerves. But by the time Rachel got to her fourth horse, Billie’s gray mare Corona, she was back to her original pessimistic outlook. How could Alex have turned out one perfect horse and three poorly trained ones? Corona shied at the sound of a car starting its engine, and she skittered sideways halfway across the ring before Rachel could bring her to a halt. She tipped herself back into the saddle, waving in embarrassed acknowledgment as her small crowd of spectators clapped. The mare was a ball of nerves, hypersensitive to every sound from the environment and every signal from Rachel.
The other two hadn’t been as excitable, but they needed consistent riding by someone more experienced than Rachel’s officers. Clark’s bay, Sitka, had potential. A couple weeks of solid schooling and he’d be as nice as Alex’s Ranger. Don’s mare Fancy was anything but. Ornery and dull, Rachel had been worn out by the effort of trying to get her into any gait faster than a walk. She had slid off the horse, hot and cranky, and barely evaded being bit on the arm for her troubles. Rachel had reviewed the officers’ riding backgrounds, and Don was the least experienced of the three so he should have been given the easiest horse to ride. She wished that somewhere in his plentiful notes Alex had mentioned his reasoning behind the assignment of horse and rider teams because they didn’t make any sense to her.