Dances with Wolf

by Farrah Taylor

  So here was the proof that he was feeling nothing special for her, or more accurately, nothing at all. Last night, for a single moment before Roy interrupted them, she thought she’d seen a look on Wolf’s face, a look of longing, even desire. Had she only imagined it? Any red-blooded man would have at least tried for a kiss with her curled up on the couch in front of a fire, wouldn’t he?

  She glanced at her buzzing phone, which somehow got better reception in Wolf’s bedroom than it had in the kitchen. It was Bridget calling, who often functioned as a backup alarm clock even when Abby hadn’t just spent the night at her brother’s house. She’d call her back in a minute and explain the perfectly innocent sleeping arrangements soon enough, then call her mom and tell her the same thing. Under the bed, Stella stirred, whined, and emerged looking as disoriented as Abby felt.

  “It’s okay, girl.” Abby stretched and took a closer look out the window. “We’ll be out of here soon enough.” But the rain was still falling in solid sheets, obscuring the view of the mountains and even the barn. In a moment, there was an additional sound effect: the chaotic pelting of ping-pong-sized pellets of hail on the driveway.

  She reached for the phone and checked her schedule. A full roster of clients for late this afternoon and all day Saturday. She groaned. Stella rushed to her side to lean against Abby’s knee. She patted the top of the dog’s head while she thought about her next move. Some deep instinct inside told her, even though she hadn’t had a chance to work with Bullet yet, to get on the road, come back here to finish up another time. But obviously that wasn’t going to happen in a hailstorm.

  The phone rang again.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Hi, sweetie, are you okay?” She sounded genuinely worried. Thank God, there was a clear connection, though what sounded like bowling balls were slamming on the metal roof. She could barely hear what her mom was saying. “Where are you?”

  “I’m at Wolf’s. Locked down, looks like.”

  “Well, I’m not surprised. It actually snowed some in Jewel Basin. Is it cats and dogs there?”

  “More like dinosaurs and gorillas.”

  Her mom laughed. Always nice to have a mom who will laugh at your stupid jokes. “Well, don’t even go outside until it calms down. It’s dangerous out there.” She paused. “And I don’t suppose I need to remind you to be aware of the, ahem, dangers within that Wolf den, do I?”

  “Mom, knock it off.”

  “I’m just looking out for you. You’re Abadabun Macready, not just another notch in Wolf Olsen’s belt.”

  “Mom, nothing’s happened, and nothing’s going to happen.” Then, in a whisper, “Believe me, even if I were interested, he couldn’t care less.”

  “Oh now, you’re just pulling the wool over your own eyes.”

  “I’m not, Mom. I think I’d know.”

  “If you don’t think that man is attracted to you, you’re blind.”

  “Okay, that’s enough. I’ve got to go now.”

  “And what? Cuddle by the fire while you wait out the storm?” She laughed again. Was she having fun with this?

  “Gotta go. Love you! Mwah!” She hung up, and could picture her mom sticking her tongue out at the now-disconnected phone in her hand. Abby would make up for it later.

  She looked out the window again. There was almost nothing to see. A pure cloud of white, a blank screen. The sound effects had taken over the visuals. She was literally blinded. Was there any truth to what her mom had said? Was she not picking up on signs from Wolf? He seemed as uninterested in her as ever. But she could put that to the test today, because she was going nowhere in a hurry. She clicked onto her contact list and began dialing, canceling her afternoon appointments one by one.

  …

  Wolf stopped whisking eggs long enough to listen for Abby upstairs. Since the first assault of hail had pummeled him awake hours ago, he’d felt an urge to join her, to spoon her under the covers, gather the flannel folds into one hand, and feel the electricity of her smooth skin against his.

  Forget it, he told himself. She’s on the phone with someone. She’s got appointments she’s missing. She’s trying to get out of here as soon as she can.

  Abby’s feet thudded softly down the stairs. She looked at him sleepily over the rail.

  “Hey, cowgirl,” he said softly. “Sleep okay?”

  “I did, thanks.” Stella followed her into the kitchen, circling twice before she settled in a heap by the stove.

  “I’m making a killer breakfast for us, so I hope you have an appetite,” he said. Abby sat on a stool and watched him. “You know this rain’s really turning into something like a monsoon. I feel like we’re in Mongolia, not Montana.”

  “I know, it’s nuts.” She nodded, her eyes widening. They were like pools in a rain forest. Dark with unknown depths.

  “What I’m thinking is I’d be damned irresponsible to let you leave before this weather clears. I don’t know if you looked out the window, but there’s ice on the driveway. And the temperature’s dropping as we speak.”

  “I got the complete report, east to west, thanks to my mom.” Abby looked down as her feet curled around the rung of the stool. “To tell the truth, she gave me the third degree about being here. She’s not a horsewoman, you know? She doesn’t get that I need to see Bullet on her home turf.”

  “Your mom’s one protective mother-bear.”

  “And a stubborn one, too.”

  He looked up from his whisking. “Plus, let’s face it. She’s not my biggest fan. Never has been.”

  “No, don’t say that. She loves you. You’re an Olsen.”

  “Loves me, sure. Likes me? Not a bit.” Abby said nothing but looked embarrassed. He worried he’d pushed it too far. “But who knows? Maybe she’s right about the big, bad Wolf.” He put his lips together and blew across the countertop, sending a loose paper towel to the ground.

  Abby laughed. “You’re not going to blow this house down, but those winds might,” she said.

  “Never mind. You’ll be back safe and sound before you can click those pink boots of yours three times.”

  “Wait, which fairy tale are we in here?” She smiled over at him. “One minute you’re the Big Bad Wolf, next you’re the Wicked Witch of the East?”

  “Come to the table and eat your eggs, my child,” he said in a creepy witch voice before switching back to his own. “We can check on the horses as soon as the rain dies down.”

  Two or three hours later, the rain hadn’t let up, but Wolf suggested they go check in on the animals. He gave Abby his thickest raincoat, and they made a run for it. The barn was awash in rainwater and mud that had flowed through the stalls, tamping down the loose bedding straw in the aisle. Water had seeped underneath. Bullet stood in a pool of water and stamped her feet as Wolf and Abby approached. Is this any way for a champion roper to spend her day off? her eyes seemed to ask.

  “Bully-girl, I’m real sorry.” Wolf stroked her muzzle. He hated to see Bullet in discomfort, and wondered if this was how it felt to be a parent—Bullet’s pain was his. “Let’s get you somewhere higher and dryer.”

  “I don’t think this is the water-walking Dr. Vickers had in mind,” Abby said.

  “Agreed. I’ll grab a shovel, we’ll roll out some burlap, and put down a new straw floor. That should do it.”

  They worked side by side for almost two hours, tying off Bullet, the gelding, and the mare on long leads as they tacked burlap wall to wall. He shoveled the wet straw into barrels and rolled them to the back of the barn. There wasn’t a moment when he wasn’t aware of Abby, every aspect of her, next to him. The two of them seemed to have even synced up their breaths. Wordlessly they worked, and the rhythm of it felt erotic to him. They pushed and pulled at their tools, working up a sweat. He began to think about other ways they might work up a sweat. A reward for all this hard work. It was impossible not to think about it.

  “I can’t believe you had enough burlap in storage to do the job,” she said,
wiping her brow with the back of her gloved hand.

  “I feel more like Roto-Rooter Man than Rodeo Guy.”

  She laughed. Feeling playful, he nudged Abby gently into some stacked bales of hay. She groped for balance on the still-slippery barn floor, then fell backwards onto a bale as her legs flew almost over her head. Uh-oh. Had he pushed her too hard? Just like him, to screw this up. But he was at her side in a minute. And then, a memory: Abby in overalls, somersaulting on the Olsen lawn in the late August afternoon sun, her gingham shirt untucked, her braids unraveled, her tomboy self exposed. His heart filled.

  “Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  Instead of answering, she dipped her hand in the sludge next to her, whirled around, and hurled a mud pie at him, hitting him dead-center in the forehead before he could duck out of the way. “I always was a good shot,” she said, a cocky glint in her eye.

  Wolf didn’t laugh or smile. “I’m the one who taught you how to throw, if I remember right,” he said, bending down to create a weapon of his own.

  “You probably don’t have a lot of chances to work on your aim, though, do you?” she asked. “Seeing as you spend most of your time strapped up onto a horse or a bull, waving your hands around like a drowning man.”

  “I might be rusty, I might not,” he said. “Only one way to find out.”

  She had risen to her feet, but she was cornered now. He had her in his sights. “You wouldn’t hit a lady with a mud pie,” she said. “Your mom didn’t raise you that way.”

  “My mom’s a four-hour car ride away,” he said. “And what she doesn’t know isn’t gonna hurt her.” He fired away, and hit her on the left shoulder.

  “You are out of practice,” she said, hitting him square in the face this time.

  “Oh, it’s on!” he said, running for her.

  Abby screamed and ran but Wolf scooped her up and lightly tackled her, landing both of them in the straw and the dirt. He tickled her and she giggled, whimpering, “Hey, that’s not fair,” though he could tell she liked it.

  They stopped struggling and he looked up to see her staring at him, those dark eyes focused intently on him even as her chest heaved with rapid, uneven breaths. Before he could think, he drew her closer to him until he could smell her peppermint-sweet breath. He leaned forward to kiss her, muddy face or not, because obviously that’s where this was headed, right?—there was no way to avoid it now—and a moan escaped her. “Wolf,” she said.

  “Abby.” He wanted her, there was no use hiding it.

  Just then, Bullet and the second mare popped their heads in the stall, Bullet neighing rudely.

  Wolf and Abby looked at the horse in shock—she had to know she was interrupting something—then back at each other before bursting out laughing. “Are you serious, Bullet?” Wolf asked. “Now, of all times?”

  Abby stood up and dusted herself off, leaving him lying in the straw. She was covered in mud and grit. “I think she’s reminding us that we’re here to get her better, not screw around like a couple of barnyard kids.” Before he could protest, she’d put her slicker back on. “Come on,” she said, heading toward the house in the wind and the rain. “Let’s grab lunch, then figure out a game plan.”

  After she’d left, he told Bullet, “I’m going to get you back for this.” The horse neighed again in response, leaning into him as he stroked her nose. “Just wait and see.”

  Can you beat that? he thought, jogging through the storm, which hadn’t lessened one bit. Blocked by my own horse, and after all I’m doing for her.

  “You know what would go great with this lunch?” Wolf asked, rain beating against the kitchen windows. After he and Abby had cleaned up, he’d made a pork loin sandwich on tangy sourdough with seeded mustard and paper-thin slices of apple. A little mango chutney on the side. He didn’t have much time to cook, but when he did, he didn’t screw around.

  “Well, your culinary skills haven’t failed to surprise me yet.” She was still drying her hair in a towel, leaning one way and then the other to get the water out of her ears. For some reason he found it so sexy. “Do your thing.”

  “Okay, close your eyes.”

  She obliged, and he was tempted to plant that thwarted kiss on her right then and there. Instead, he stood up and reached behind her for a bottle of Jack Daniels Black Label, pouring two healthy shots into their empty water glasses.

  “You can look now.”

  “Sure, why not? We could both use something a little warming.” She laughed. “Bullet, too, if only she could handle her liquor.”

  “Daytime drinkers, all three of us,” he said. “Although we deserve it. That was hard work, in the rain, no less.”

  “Who’s calling that hard work?” She leaned toward him as he refilled her glass. “That’s what I call fun.”

  “You had fun too, really?”

  “I did. It comes with the territory, you know.”

  “What does?”

  “Horse healing is hard work.”

  “It’s not for the faint of heart, I’ll say that much.”

  “You don’t give yourself enough credit, you know.”

  “What do you mean?” He pulled back on his glass, and leaned back in his chair.

  “I think you have the biggest and the softest heart. I think you’re in love with your horse and you’d do anything to protect her and…”

  “To heal her?” Wolf said quickly. “Why else would I hire you? You’re one expensive investment.”

  “Not so far, I’m not. Have you seen one single bill for my service?” She drew herself straight in the chair.

  He refilled her glass, and noticed he couldn’t stop from smiling. “If you go through a bottle of J.D. Black Label this fast that makes you a very expensive”—he stopped himself—“vendor.”

  She pushed back her chair and stood up. “Whoa. Minor case of the whirlies.”

  “Really? Maybe you should go up and take a nap. I’ve got the dishes.”

  “Okay.” She walked slowly toward the stairs. Stella trotted alongside her. “We’ll be down in a little bit.”

  Wolf returned her look. Is this it? he wondered. What’s happening here? “Okay,” he answered. “I’ll keep the fire stoked.” He gripped the sink with both hands and told himself not to go near the stairs. Unless…does she want me to? Is it finally time for this to happen, for real?

  Abby wore a cast-off blue flannel shirt of his, one Bridget had given him a hundred years ago for Christmas. A scent of geraniums wafted around her. Without speaking, she knelt in front of the fire and began stirring the embers into small flames.

  He watched her through half-closed eyes. This was a dream, wasn’t it? Abby at the ranch, all rained-in with nothing to do? Her cheekbones lit up in the firelight again, but this time her eyes were open, and they looked so languid and relaxed. He saw her curves plain as day even under her flannel and jeans. So womanly. There was no getting around it—he wanted her. Bad enough to deal with Bridget’s scorn, Marcie’s mania, even every citizen of his hometown wanting to skin him alive.

  “How’s this for a throwback?” he said, approaching the fire. “Wanna play some Go Fish?”

  She smiled. “I’m warning you, I play to win.” She bent over the cards, and he closed his eyes as he tried to keep from tracing the tender copper line in her parted hair. Despite her sexiness, she was still the young girl he remembered from his days growing up on the ranch, always up for a game, indoors or out. Tonight the game would definitely be of the indoor variety.

  The Jack Daniels appeared again as they moved to five- and then seven-card stud. She spun off the couch and knelt in front of the fire, then stretched her legs behind her and played her cards close to her chest, tallying games won and lost on a chit sheet. He joined her on the floor, head to head. Every time she won, he did a shot. When he won, she did the same, grinning at him as if to say she could take everything he threw her way, and then some.

  “I forgot to tell you I can
drink with the boys.”

  “Oh yeah? Like last night, when you passed out after two glasses of wine?”

  “I was tired from the road, not from the wine.”

  “Is that so?” He reached for one of her braids and tugged it playfully. She lost her cards but scrambled them back into her hand, competitive to the end. “Hey, that’s cheating.” She flashed a venomous look.

  “Wow, you really are taking this seriously.” He wouldn’t pour any more drinks. He wanted to stay clear-minded about what he was about to do. He inched closer to her, wondering if she noticed.

  “I had plenty of practice in Spokane. The girls at school, their idea of a fun Saturday night was to memorize the anatomy of exotic animals like coatimundis. So I went out drinking with the guys.”

  “Did you, now?” He felt a flash of ridiculous jealousy at the idea of her out on the town with any other guy but him. Then she met his gaze, and for a second, he felt an inexplicable shyness, not something he was used to with other girls. But Abby wasn’t just any girl. She was a woman, a strong, independent woman. Was he ready for her, for the complications that would follow this? Maybe he was, just maybe.

  “What’s a coatimundi?” he asked, readying to lean in and plant a kiss on her neck.

  “I’ll tell you one thing it’s not,” said Abby, suppressing a hiccup. “It’s not a beautiful quarter horse mix like Bullet.”

  “I’ll tell you one thing you’re not,” said Wolf as he reached for her other braid.

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re not one of the boys.”

  He pulled her toward him, cupping her chin with his free hand. He inched toward her as she held his gaze, then planted a no-holds-barred kiss on her lips. He held it, waiting for her response. Would she give herself to him? Or was he taking something that wasn’t his to take? She let her cards fall to the ground and returned his kiss with one of her own. A long one. Her lips were so soft. Her tongue darted inside his mouth, first inquisitively, then with surprising passion. He found himself swept up in her; he wasn’t thinking about getting laid, or what he would do with her body. Instead, he was thinking there was no other place in the world he’d rather be.