Love Tangle: Riding Bareback

by S. E. Margaux

  He caught Bella staring at him once or twice as they sat eating and joking in the sunshine, but he couldn’t work out the tone of her stony gray eyes. He thought he sensed a little admiration, maybe even open desire; but also perhaps demurral and irreverence. Her blank face gave nothing away, and he noted that she rarely smiled except in jest. Once the joke was done, her lips reverted to the set line she most often wore.

  “Summer is the best time,” Anita was saying. “The ranch is busy, there’s always extra people coming through.”

  “Like me,” Tristan said, smiling.

  “Like you,” said Anita, looking down at the grass shyly. The power of his striking blue eyes overwhelmed her at times.

  “Well it’s going to be extra busy this summer,” Bella grimaced. “Connor told me he’s not coming back.”

  “Really?” Anita exclaimed. “He and Sally are really over?”

  “It seems so,” Bella shrugged.

  “So you’re a hand short?” Tristan asked. Anita smiled at him.

  “Technically. But we’ll manage. Connor spent most of his time hanging out at the guest house with Sally anyway. I’m sure we’ll fill the void,” Bella said dryly.

  After lunch, they pulled their clothes back on. Tristan shook the bread crumbs from his shirt. His bare chest had nearly dried in the sun, but little droplets of water ran in silver rivulets from his golden flecked hair down the nape of his neck and fell in streams down his spine. With his back to Anita, he could not see but only feel her warm, dark eyes tracing the movement of the water down his body. When he finally turned around, she was concentrating very hard on fastening her boots, her cheeks only faintly pink.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  -

  The ride back was decidedly colder than expected. Bella looked over at Anita, who was visibly shivering. Tristan seemed to have gotten the best deal, though he hadn’t completely dried off before putting his shirt back on, and he did seem to be squirming around a lot in his saddle.

  “You know, Chestnut isn’t used to people dancing on his back.”

  “What?” Tristan said.

  “Stop squirming. And watch out, you’re pulling the reins when you look around.”

  “Right,” Tristan said, looking on forward.

  “Come on, give him a break,” Anita said, bringing Wildfire up to a trot to catch up with her. Artemis snorted and shook her head. “He’s only just learning.”

  Bella smiled.

  “I know, I know. It wasn’t meant as an insult, I promise. City boy! Back straight! Heels down! Heels down!”

  Tristan jumped in his saddle, and the Clydesdale gave a snort, tossed his head, and started to trot. Bella laughed, watching man and horse bounce away. For such an athletic looking man, he sure looked like he was made of rubber right now. Anita leaned over and slapped Bella across the back of the head.

  “Ow.”

  “Dipshit,” she said, but she, too, couldn’t quite suppress an outburst of laughter as she kicked Wildfire up to a canter. Bella watched as her friend caught up with Tristan, circled Chestnut and brought him back down to a walk. She couldn’t hear them from here, but whatever Tristan said, it wasn’t good, because Anita slapped Chestnut’s rump, and the animal dutifully broke out into a fast canter. Bella heard him shout in protest, and Anita laughed and picked up her own pace, her hair streaming behind her in damp strands. Bella thought she might have rolled her eyes if anyone had been around to see her do it. Artemis snorted.

  “I know, I think they’re ridiculous, too,” Bella said, patting the horse’s neck. “Home’s getting pretty crowded, huh?”

  Artemis whinnied in agreement.

  “I know. He can’t stay.”

  The horse halted and stamped her feet.

  “Oh, come on, Artemis, don’t be like that. I mean, sure, he’s — you know — but you said it yourself, we don’t have the space.”

  Artemis pawed the ground, flicking her tail in disagreement.

  “Okay. Fine. I didn’t realize you had the hots for him that much.” Bella ignored Artemis’s snort and prompted her back into a walk. “Yes, okay, you might not be the only one. Those eyes, huh?” She looked at the vast, empty field. “What do you say, girl, one last round?” As if following her thoughts rather than her orders, Artemis veered towards the pasture, and they were off at a sprint.

  Dinner was a grand affair. The smell of roasting potatoes reached Bella before she’d even stepped onto the porch. She could hear something sizzling in the kitchen, and the merry sound of voices. When she stepped inside, she was greeted by Jo, who thrust a fork into her hands.

  “Try this! Nikki cooked, isn’t it great?”

  Bella looked at the piece of potato stuck on her fork, then shrugged and put it in her mouth. Burning tongue aside, it was delicious, cooked just enough to give it that melt-in-the-mouth feeling, and with a distinctive taste of…

  “Almonds?” She asked, peeking into the kitchen.

  “Get out,” Nikki said, without even turning around.

  “What have I done?” Bella asked, her mouth still half full.

  “I’m almost done, and you don’t know how kitchens work. Out. Go sit down. Bye.”

  “Fine, fine. Anita’s cooking is better, you know.” She went to the dinner table, where she found Tristan setting down the last two glasses.

  “That was fast, I didn’t see you at all in the stables.”

  “You took ages, where did you go?” Tristan asked in return. Bella looked like Tristan had felt until a half hour ago: cold, damp, and drained. Her hair had nearly dried but was in a frenzy from whatever riding acrobatics she’d been doing. It looked nothing like her usual neat, shiny brown braids. It struck him that he had never seen her before she got dressed for work; the others often (and, in Sally’s recent case, almost exclusively) had breakfast in their pajamas. Jo and Anita got especially bad cases of bed-hair, although Anita was decidedly more agreeable in the mornings than her friend. Nikki always seemed to look flawless, even with sleep-filled eyes and in pajamas, but Bella… Bella always arrived downstairs dressed and ready for work. Tristan got the feeling she may be somewhat of a perfectionist. “Anita and I got home as fast as possible,” he told her, “it was freezing. And… uncomfortable. You look half frozen yourself.”

  “Yeah,” Bella said, sniffing. For all that she looked like she might catch the flu, her storm-gray eyes were alive with a light Tristan now understood as the thrill of galloping across an open field. “We did a last round, just to the edge of the first pasture and back. Artemis needs to be tired out, or she gets snippy. I think I’m going to get into something dry.”

  “Good idea. Hey,” he grasped her upper arm as Bella started towards the stairs. Bella stiffened up. She wasn’t embarrassed by physical touch and had always been somewhat perplexed at Anita’s sudden and inexplicable gracelessness and constant blushing around men. But when Tristan took hold of her she couldn’t help but be instantly aware of the strength of his grasp. She could feel the flex in each finger, imagined the muscles in his arm. He must not be straining himself at all, either, but she found herself thinking of how she could never free herself if he decided not to let go. She felt weak.

  She didn’t like to feel weak.

  For whatever reason — perhaps her facial expression gave her away, perhaps her stance — Tristan let go almost as fast as he’d got there.

  “Sorry. I just wanted to say thanks.”

  “Thanks? For what? Nikki’s the one who cooked, you know.”

  “I know,” he said with a smile. “But seriously. Anita said you pretty much run the joint here as it is. Thanks for letting me stay. And tell me if I’m an inconvenience, or if you don’t have the space, or whatever.”

  “Oh.” Bella relaxed. “Yeah. Of course. You’re welcome. As long as you’re making yourself useful.”

  “Yeah. Of course. But still. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. And now I need to get into something that won’t make me feel like I’m turnin
g into a swamp.” She headed to her room and changed as fast as she could peel off her wet riding gear. She briefly considered a hot shower but decided she may as well make a proper bath of it afterward. Maybe with wine. So she pulled on a pair of jeans and an old shirt and went back to the dinner table.

  “Where’s Anita?” She asked. The table was set for five.

  “She’s putting the horses to bed,” Tristan said.

  “Every night,” said Jo. “I mean come on, can’t work wait until after dinner?”

  “Give her a break,” Sally said, “she loves it there. And when you find something you really, truly love, it isn't work. It’s…”

  “... Passion,” Nikki finished, coming out of the kitchen.

  “You’re telling me,” Jo muttered.

  “Ribs, anyone?”

  Bella had never really understood the phrase “to eat like a king.” Food was food, it was for nourishment and sometimes it was delicious, but she had a hard time imagining royalty really pigging out. But after the ribs, potatoes, broccoli and homemade mozzarella sticks, Nikki came out with a huckleberry pie, and Bella, who could have stopped after the ribs if it had been down to her stomach, was first served.

  “Oh, my favorite,” Sally exclaimed, taking the second slice.

  “Yeah, you know, thought you could do with a bit of spoiling,” Nikki said, with a wink. Then she sobered up, briefly, and opened her mouth as if to speak, but was interrupted, Sally.

  “Thanks. This is perfect. A perfect end to a crappy week,” Sally said. Bella thought she might start crying again, but whatever Nikki had put in the pie seemed to work, because Sally perked up visibly after the first slice, and by the second slice she was laughing at jokes and even drinking beer, a first since Monday’s horrific hangover.

  “Well,” Tristan said, at the end of the meal, “I have nothing to say but this: if that pie had been a girl, I’d have married her.”

  “If that pie had been a girl, we’d all be in prison,” Jo said. Sally looked at the last few slices of pie in dismay. Then she shrugged and helped herself to another slice.

  “Worth it,” she said. “Tristan, your wife is delicious.”

  There was a round of laughter.

  “Nikki, you alright?” Sally asked her friend. Nikki was prodding her slice of pie, cutting off pieces with her fork, but leaving them on the plate. She had her elbow propped up on the table, her head leaning against a closed fist, and seemed deep in thought. She snapped out of it when Sally said her name. Everyone was looking at her. The laughter had died down.

  “Yeah, yeah I’m…” She pursed her lips. She didn’t want to ruin the dinner, she especially didn’t want to ruin Sally’s first good night in a week. But something had to be said, and if Bella wasn’t going to do it, Nikki would. She took a deep breath.

  “It’s the ranch. It’s… it’s not going well.”

  There was a split second of silence, then chaos erupted at the table as Sally and Jo started asking frantic questions, and Bella and Nikki tried to calm them down.

  “What do you mean, not going well?”

  “But riding classes are fully booked.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”

  “Does this have anything to do with Connor?”

  “No!” Nikki said, silencing the room. She took another deep breath and turned to Sally. “No,” she repeated, seeing a promise of tears in her eyes. “Of course it doesn’t have anything to do with Connor. What would make you think that? It was Weattie, he--”

  “Weattie?” Jo interrupted. “What did he do?”

  “Nothing,” Nikki tried to explain, and was cut off once more, this time by Bella, who huffed in derision.

  “Sure,” she muttered, as if to herself, though loud enough for everyone to hear clearly, “nothing at all.”

  “That’s not what I mean! Would you all just listen to me please?” She banged her fist on the table, and the room was silenced.

  “Look,” she continued, “it’s no one’s fault, it had nothing to do with Connor, it’s not the end of the world.” The last phrase came out somewhat less confident than she had hoped. “Weattie told us when we went to see him the other day. I know we shouldn’t have waited so long to explain but hear me out.” She said hastily, seeing Jo frown.

  It only took a few minutes. There really wasn’t much to explain, but the gravity of the situation hit the table like a curse.

  “What are we going to do?” Sally asked, but Jo placed a hand on her shoulder and shook her head.

  “Hang on,” she said, “wait a minute. You still haven’t told us why you waited until today.” Her eyes narrowed. “Didn’t you think we ought to know?”

  “I didn’t want to scare you,” Nikki said.

  “Why, are we children? Do you think we can’t handle bad news? This affects us, Nikki, more than it affects you. It’s our home Weattie wants to sell off!”

  “You should have told us,” Sally said, “we’re all part of this ranch, we deserve to know what’s going on.”

  “I know, I know,” Nikki said. She was starting to feel cornered. “I didn’t want to worry you all without a solution. Especially after all that’s happened this week,” she added, looking at Sally. “I’ve made a plan,” Nikki continued, “I think if we make some budget cuts, and make space for more riding lessons in the long term, we should be able to make up for what Weattie thinks the guest house is worth. And with Connor gone,” she said, carefully, “we have one less wage. I know it’s not what you want to hear, it was a coincidence, but it looks like we’ll have to pick up the slack, and save on rehiring anyone else.”

  Tristan, who had sat quietly this whole time, listening attentively, now spoke up.

  “I know I just got here, and if you want me to leave I understand, but if you want the help, I’d be happy to stay on for a bit longer.”

  Nikki nodded.

  “We can go over everything after dinner,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “Let’s enjoy the pie. Might be the last we see for a bit.”

  Sally and Jo looked at her wide-eyed.

  “I’m just kidding,” Nikki said, with a forced laugh, “I’m not taking away pie. But we may have to stick to more of our own produce and less supermarket stuff.”

  Conversation slowly regained its natural pace and lost the fear and tension it had held, and soon there was only one slice of pie left.

  “I’ll take it to Anita,” Jo said, standing up, “and break the good news.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll go,” Tristan said. He was up and wrapping the pie in a piece of kitchen paper before anyone else could say anything. “Where are the beers?”

  “Bottom shelf of the fridge, stacked up,” Nikki said.

  “Thanks.”

  “Jo, sit down,” Nikki said. Jo sat down. Bella tried to catch her eye, but Jo was busy playing with the last few crumbs on her plate.

  “Well,” Bella said, standing up, “Thanks for an excellent dinner, Nikki. If I had any beer left, I’d drink to you, but I think Tristan took the last two. I’ll raise a glass in your honor in the bath.” She pushed her chair in, but Nikki caught the hem of her shirt before she managed to escape.

  “Hang on there,” she said, as Bella tried, briefly, feebly, to tug herself away. She knew what was coming.

  “I’m all dirty,” Bella protested, “I’m grimy from riding and I’m still cold. I’ll do them later.”

  “There’s no such thing as doing the dishes later. If you don’t cook, you do the dishes.”

  “But you won’t let me cook,” Bella protested.

  “Because your cooking is awful.”

  “I’ll help,” Sally said, “and Jo. Right, Jo?”

  There was a click as the door shut.

  “Jo!” Nikki called, but too late. “Darn it.”

  “Come on,” Sally said, starting to gather plates. “You wash, I’ll dry, we’ll be done in no time.”

  Bella sighed and resigned herself to her fate.

&nbs
p; CHAPTER EIGHT

  -

  Anita wiped her brow, tossing her long black hair over her shoulder. The horses had all been put to bed, and Anita had planned on dropping things off at the barn and heading to dinner, but something had held her back. The barn was perfectly silent, perfectly still. Five minutes, she had thought, putting away the grain buckets. Five minutes of perfect, silent solitude, and she would head to dinner. She loved her friends but relished these rare moments alone, just her and her thoughts, and some menial task to keep her occupied. She wondered what the others were doing, what Tristan was doing. She thought about their morning spent riding in the fields and swimming in the lake. She remembered how the clear water streamed across his strong, muscled--

  “I brought you a beer,” said a voice.

  “Shoot!” Anita dropped the rake in her hand. It landed softly in the straw as Tristan stepped into the barn.

  “Sorry, I didn't mean to surprise you,” he said. “Again. I thought you might be thirsty.” He held out a beer, and she smiled shyly as she took it from his outstretched hand.

  “At least I don’t have egg on me this time,” Anita joked. Tristan laughed again, the warmth radiating from his wide, white-toothed grin.

  “How’d you find me here?” Anita asked.

  Tristan shrugged.

  “Oh, you know. Chestnut’s a chatterbox. Didn’t even have to bribe him.”

  Anita smiled in the semi-darkness.

  “They’re really warming up to you, the horses.”

  “Not just the horses, I hope. Are you busy? I can leave,” he said, gesturing to the open barn door. There was something in the clarity of his striking blue eyes that told Anita he didn’t want to go.

  “It’s ok, I just forget about the rest of the world when I’m in here,” she said. They clinked bottles, smiled at each other, and swigged the cool ale. Anita pressed the bottle to her cheek, felt the smooth, cold glass. She wondered if he could see the faint blush of her cheeks. She licked the condensation from her lip and placed her bottle on the floor, picking up the rake.

  “Do you need any help?” he asked.

  “It’s ok, I was just keeping myself busy. How’s dinner? Did they scare you away?”