“You have nothing to be sorry about,” he said in a voice that was soft — almost a whisper.
I sat holding my book as he polished the saddle horn until I could see Kent's reflection in it while the silence between us continued. He glanced over at me then away again as though he was begging me to say something. So I swallowed hard, and asked, "What happened to you, Kent?"
“I don’t know what you mean,” he replied wiping his hands on the towel.
I asserted myself this time when I exclaimed, “You do know what I mean. You aren’t the same guy anymore!”
I watched him as he clenched his jaw. “It has been eight years, Rachel” he said. You can’t expect things to be the same."
I stood up and put my palm on my forehead as Gone with the Wind fell to the floor. “Of course we’ve grown up. But that’s not what I'm talking about. You’ve been avoiding me, and you’re acting like we are strangers.” All my pent up emotions were beginning to boil over. I started to cry.
Unmoved by my tears, he glanced down at the floor and shook his head. “It’s nothing for you to be concerned about, Rachel. I prefer to keep my problems to myself.”
For a moment I felt sorry for Kent, but that sorrow soon morphed into indignation. So I dried my tears on the sleeve of my shirt. Then I shrugged my shoulders, and said, “We used to be friends, Kent...close friends. I know we haven’t seen each other in years. But please don't be afraid to tell me why you have put up a wall between us. Was it the military, another woman, or something else? I’m willing to listen!”
He slung the towel over his shoulder then turning to face me. Placing both hands on his hips, he said, “You had your chance, Rachel — eight years ago.”
I sat on top of the wooden trunk with a ‘thud’ as if his harsh words had pushed me down. He was clenching his jaw, and his eyes were two slits. Then he paused for a moment and gazed down at my heaving chest. He licked his lips before he threw the towel on the stand, and announced, “It’s quitting time!” and disappeared around the corner.
Moments later I heard the door of his truck slam and listened while the sound of its motor diminished into silence. I bent over and picked up my book and clutched it to my chest. By the time I got back inside the house, I was heartbroken. I knew I had been wrong to assume Kent had outgrown his teenage anger at me. Was it possible to find that fun, carefree guy I once knew, or should I give up trying?
Chapter 8
Kent
My heart felt like a tom-tom drumming inside my chest. I figured Rachel knew she was driving me crazy sitting there on that trunk in the tack room reading, trying to look innocent and then tearful. She didn’t know it, of course, but my frustration over her was pushing me into my 'buzz zone' — that's what I called it when my anxiety level would rise to the point that I was in danger of having one of my PTSD fits.
I had to get away from Rachel before I made a move on her. She was so fucking sexy I wanted to throw that stupid book across the room and yank down the red tube top designed to drive me nuts so I could suck her hard nipples. Her tight jeans accented her legs, spread just enough for me to see that sweet 'v' in between them. And if I was a betting man, and I was sometimes, I would wager her pussy was hot and sticky, ready for me to give her what she wanted.
But the truth was, my feelings for her ran deeper than just sex — even if I didn’t like admitting it to myself. I wanted to show her she was still the love of my life by taking her right then and there. On a second thought, though, I didn't want our first time to be hard and fast — leaving the wrong impression. And the reality was, hard and fast was all I knew! But, I dunno? Maybe that was what she deserved for pushing me away in the first place.
As I turned the truck around and headed away from Pitchfork Ranch my attention was turned to my hard cock that had been impatiently waiting for a release all afternoon. The air-conditioner in the truck didn't work, so the windows were rolled all the way down.
I flipped on the radio, and 'Small Town Boy Like Me' was playing when I unbuckled my belt and unzipped my fly. Then I cranked up the volume, gripped the wheel with one hand and my throbbing dick with the other. I didn't want to cum, even though with a few quick strokes of my wrist I could have. I wanted the feeling of excitement to last for a while. So I kept slow stroking and listening to Dustin Lynch. He was telling me what it was like for a small town boy to have the woman of his dreams — and I believed him.
"Yeah, she likes my t-shirt..." I was still singing when I pulled up at the stoplight at the junction of Greybull and Highway 120. The chick driving the semi next to me looked over, and her jaw fell slack when she noticed how I scooted down in the seat a bit — singing and giving myself a hand job. She started craning her neck, trying to get a better look. So I grinned and raised my hips up off the seat so she could see what she was missing.
By the time the light turned green, she was grinning ear to ear. After she slipped the diesel into gear and revved up the motor, she blew me a kiss and dramatically licked her lips. If I hadn’t found Rachel, I would have tried to get her to pull over for a few minutes of fun in her sleeper with a horny cowboy. Instead, I tipped my hat and drove past her. Zipping up my jeans, I headed toward the campground in Meeteetse.
I pulled up to my camper parked in the slip nearest the river and away from the families on their way up to Yellowstone. After snatching a beer out of my fridge, I popped the top. Then I headed out to the woods nearby and picked up a few sticks and dead limbs. After carrying them to the fire pit, I squirted them with a little charcoal lighter. Within moments a few tiny flames built into a raging bonfire.
I sat back in my lawn chair, kicked off my boots and chugged down another beer. Wyoming was known for its steaming hot summer days. But by the time the sun slipped behind the distant mountains, the temperature had usually dropped at least thirty degrees, rendering the evenings cool or chilly.
The fire felt warm as I peered into the fire and watched how the flames licked the charred timbers. By that time I had roasted a few hot dogs and lost count of the beer cans I had emptied. Something about the fire and the smoke caused a flurry of emotions to start rising to the surface, and I was transported back in time and dropped off in the Syrian Desert.
****
The moon was full, shining like a tawny dinner plate over the sand. Not the best time for night maneuvers, but we had no choice — the situation was critical! We were inching closer and closer on our bellies to the walled compound, a recently identified hideout for terrorist leaders who were holding two US citizens hostage. Marcus was on my right side and Dave on my left and the others were fanned out, waiting for Cap's signal.
Our team was only fifty yards out when I felt the force of helicopter blades cutting through the air behind us. By the time I heard the sound of the chopper’s motor, a spray of bullets struck the ground. The first spray missed, but the second one hit Marcus in his back.
Moments later I heard the report of a hand-held missile. I saw the chopper explode into flames. The acrid odor of the smoke around the missile launcher made my skin prickle. Pieces of the blazing plane — falling individual orbs of light — left us exposed and visible to the men on the wall around the compound. The others opened fire. I pulled Marcus up into my arms to assess his wound. All I felt was a sticky warm liquid spilling out over my hands and arms. I heaved and threw up inches from his head and started gasping for air. I was glad it was nearly dark so I couldn't fully see his face. But I will never forget the sound of his voice when he whispered, "Just remember, the only easy day was yesterday. And it pays…I love you, man…Thanks for everything…”
****
As the tears ran down my face, I thought about the good times I had with Marcus back during BUD/s training, our first mission to Afghanistan, and tag-teaming a couple of Army nurses in the back of our Humvee. I looked down and rubbed my hand over my cobra tattoo, and the strangest sensation came over me.
Still gazing into the campfire, I began to notice how in the midd
le of the dying purple flame I saw Rachel’s brown eyes, kind and warm, peering back at me. Then as the smoke rose up over the embers, it seemed as though it was covering her body like a gray robe. Moments later the smoky robe began to vanish, and I could see her nude breasts.
I noticed how her long dark hair nestled around her neck and hung in curls just above her beautiful nipples. I was sober enough to realize, if I was going to do what I wanted to, I needed to glance around to ensure no one could see me. Then, just like earlier in the day, I opened my fly, but this time I slid my jeans down over my hips.
My cock didn't need any encouragement. I spat in my hands then moaned as I reached down and ran my thumb gently over my cock head then started pumping my fist slowly at first, peering back into the fire. I tried to make my fantasy as real as possible with the limited knowledge I had of Rachel's body. So, since she was dark complected, I envisioned her luscious breasts topped with brown areolae and large, hard nipples. I licked my lips as if I were about to take one of Rachel’s luscious buds inside my mouth.
I pumped harder, getting closer to where I wanted to go, imagining how it would feel to rub her nipple around between my fingers. Suddenly I could see more of her body materialize, and her hips began to sway like the belly dancers Marcus and I watched when we were on R and R in Morocco. Right then and there I knew Marcus must be watching over me. I was just drunk enough to believe his spirit was present as I thought about Rachel and brought pleasure and relief to myself.
As I was about to continue my fantasy trip below her belly button, a cone of light swung around and rested directly on my back — a car had turned into the campground. I sat still for a moment until the car's lights went out and the driver entered his camper. By that time the fire was almost extinguished, but my cock was leaking cream, ready for a release. So I imagined how it would feel pressing open Rachel's pussy lips with one quick thrust. I reacted with a groan as cream spilled over my cock head onto my fist.
Later that night before I fell asleep I figured Marcus was trying to break through to send me a message about Rachel. But I wasn't sure how to process what it was. So I pulled up the covers and prayed I wouldn’t have another terrifying nightmare about losing another person I loved.
Chapter 9
Rachel
The next morning when I heard Kent's truck pull up, I had conflicting emotions. A part of me was glad to see him — a flicker of hope was still alive. But after his dark, distant behavior the day before I wanted to protect my heart from further bruising.
Daddy had a doctor's appointment in Cheyenne and Sally was driving him. So before they left, he had instructed us to ride up to the east pasture to round up the mares. Many were due to give birth in a few weeks, and he wanted them back in their stalls. Three years ago we had waited too late, and one of our prize colts was killed by a pack of hungry coyotes.
While we saddled up the horses, Kent spoke few words in a matter-of-fact tone as we discussed our plan to move the mares. That’s when I noticed he was a natural horseman and how being around the horses seemed to relax him. As I led Georgie-B out of the stall, Kent informed me he had decided to see how Licorice would behave around the others.
I watched him put on his chaps and tried to ignore how they framed the bulge between his thighs and felt a familiar tingle in my core. Then I noticed he was fastening spurs to his boots and I whispered to myself, “Oh, no, spurs and Licorice — dangerous combination.” But I didn’t dare share my opinion with Kent.
He held Licorice back and stayed behind me on our ride up to the pasture. But I could hear him talking to the stallion as he put Licorice through his paces. I was surprised how well he handled the horse, being he wasn't ridden much anymore. By the time we got there it was nearly ten o'clock, and already a brisk wind was coming down off the mountains.
After Kent had stopped to open the gate beside the cattle gap, he galloped up toward two mares that were the furthermost away. I knew he planned to turn them toward me and my job was to herd them through the gate, out to the dirt road. Then he and I would follow along behind and make our way back to the stable.
At every opportunity, I glanced at him and was saddened to find he was paying me no mind. I wanted my old friend back. The one who would happily listen to me chattering away about anything I had to say. The fact that I wanted his attention reflected a deeper yearning in my heart that had never been fulfilled by another man.
It wasn’t until I heard the crack of lightning in the distance that I noticed that dark, inky clouds were starting to billow above the nearby mountains. Daddy had taught me a long time before how to judge the color and shape of the clouds as a means to predict the weather. There was no question a dangerous thunderstorm was building. From experience, I knew that during the wind and rain the horses often became unmanageable. They either stood unmovable with their rumps facing the wind or run amuck out of fear of the lightning and thunder. Feeling a few fat drops of rain fall on my head, I knew time was of the essence. "Kent!" I yelled, but I didn't think he heard me. So I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled so loud Georgie-B jumped, "Kent, we have to hurry, that storm is building fast!"
He looked up at the sky behind him then turned and gave me a firm nod. As he raised his arms trying to shoo the horses toward the gate, the two mares started off in a trot. Then Kent and Licorice zigzagged — steering them in the right direction. But just as we herded TiaMaria, the last horse, through the gate, it started to pour, and the wind began to blow in gusts. We moved on; when he went right, I went left, as we reined our mounts in a crisscrossed pattern, moving them down the road.
All of a sudden there was a loud clap of thunder, and lightning sizzled into the ground behind us. I knew I had to keep a close watch on TiaMaria. She was terrified of storms. Sure enough, she turned back and started running toward Kent and me. Since we hadn't stopped during the storm to close the gate, Tia ran back to the pasture and headed straight toward a stand of pine trees for protection.
I sunk my heels into Georgie’s side, giving him his head. God, I love that horse so much! He knew just what to do and spun around passing Kent and Licorice in a full gallop throwing clods of mud in the air. I screamed out, "TiaMaria, easy girl!" But she continued ahead of us with her tail waving in the air like a wet flag. Just as Georgie was shifting into the high gear — that spurt of speed quarter horses were famous for — we started closing in on Tia. Seconds later Kent and Licorice charged past us. I had never seen Licorice in a full gallop with someone on his back before, and even in the pounding rainstorm, it was impressive the way Kent was handling him.
I reined Georgie in, and he slowed to trot. Then I watched how with one swift move Licorice cut ahead of Tia and turned her back in the right direction. Just after she trotted by, Kent rode past and glanced over at me. Our eyes met for a brief moment, and in a commanding voice he said, "Let's go." But I had to wonder if he was more concerned about the horses than he was for me.
The rain stung my face as the thunder grew louder. I could sense a change in the atmospheric pressure. All of a sudden the rain stopped and an eerie silence swept over us. I wondered if we were experiencing, literally, the calm before the storm. I pressed my heels into Georgie's side, and I could feel my heart quicken as a gnawing fear balled up in the pit of my stomach. Just as the ranch came into view, another ominous clap of thunder rolled past us. Georgie bolted, then struggled to regain his footing on the slippery mud road. We rushed on until finally, TiaMaria followed the others through the open gate into the paddock.
Inside the stable, I was breathless and heady with adrenaline as I watched Kent jump off Licorice and hand me his reins. Then he ran and closed the paddock gate behind him. I bit my lip when he approached Tia, trying to place a rope around her neck. But she held still and listened as Kent led her to her stall. Fancy and MayLady and the others followed Tia’s lead, and at last, Kent shut the stall gates behind them.
There were a few neighs and the sound of restless hooves stomping. The
horses were unusually anxious, and so was I, standing there frozen in the center aisle of the stable, holding the reins of two horses. What if I had been alone? Daddy and Sally were gone. What if Kent had been late? Yet, Kent was there! He had been more courageous and helpful than I could’ve imagined.
I turned to Georgie and Licorice and peered at those two wet horses in amazement, realizing how brave they had been, too. Licorice, the skittish stallion, had become a black knight under Kent's hands and may have saved Tia from being struck by lightning. And Georgie-B was as reliable as ever.
My head was spinning, and my feet were unsteady. I felt lost in that surreal moment, but I managed to slip the bridle off of Georgie and slide his halter over his ears. I took a deep breath and glanced over at Kent before I unbridled Licorice, too. I marveled at how he had calmed the horses and was now scooping oats into their feed boxes.
Finally, I gathered my wits and managed to unsaddle our mounts and lead them into their stalls just as a gust of wind blew a large branch by the stable door. When I heard the whistling wind build into a roar, I turned to Kent and hollered, “Do you hear that?” He nodded and ran ahead of me.
A Distant Heart: A Contemporary Western Page 5