Love Tangle: Riding Bareback

by S. E. Margaux

  “Where are you taking me?” Tristan asked as she pulled him around the side of the barn.

  “You’ll see,” she answered. They walked around the barn, and Tristan made to turn right to the stables and grazing meadows, but Anita pulled him to the left, where the edge of a forest marked the boundaries of the ranch.

  “Where are we going?” He asked again, as they moved to the trees.

  “Just wait.” The trees darkened their vision, but Anita was sure-footed, and the trees seemed to almost move aside for them as they made their way through the forest. The ground was covered in a soft bed of moist earth and needles, and the air was rich with the smell of pine. A cicada sang somewhere above them.

  The clearing opened up between the trees, just as Anita remembered. It was a quiet place, though not far from the ranch. The trees which had so cruelly denied them starlight now protected them from the lamps in the driveway, and the more distant lights of the road. The occasional car which passed by the ranch did nothing to disturb the perfect peace here. The grass was soft and lush beneath Anita’s feet, as she and Tristan stepped out of the coverage of the trees.

  “Wow,” he said, in a hushed whisper. It was beautiful here, beneath the stars. The aspens, gold and white in the day, were tinged in silver by the sliver of moon which hung low above them, and the grass looked like an ocean, bathed in starlight and rippling softly with every breeze. There was a brook past the other side of the meadow, its water whispering secrets over the rocks.

  Tristan started.

  “I think I saw a light,” he said, pointing, “over there.”

  Anita giggled. “Have you never seen a firefly?”

  “Oh. I saw one, once, in the city.”

  “Well then, watch this.” And Anita pulled Tristan into the silver sea.

  They appeared slowly at first, one at a time, then more and more rose from the grass as Anita and Tristan ran through it, and by the time they reached the center of the meadow they were surrounded by them. Like pinpricks of sunlight, they filled the air around them with their glow, and the silver of the meadow was tinged with drops of gold.

  Tristan laughed.

  “Amazing,” he said, turning around to take in the sight. “That’s amazing.” A firefly came between them, its little light blinking serenely. Tristan tentatively raised his hand to it but was gone before he could catch it. Now it was Anita’s turn to laugh.

  “What?” he asked, feigning offense.

  “You’ll have to be faster than that.”

  “I didn’t want to hurt it,” he explained.

  Anita’s laughter faded to a smile.

  “You shouldn’t try to catch it, then. Besides, if you hold it, you can’t see the light. Some things are best admired from afar,” she said thoughtfully, looking out at the myriad of lights.

  “Not all things, though,” Tristan whispered.

  She turned her gaze towards him and their eyes met. Anita felt the air go out of her, and the night became silent around them. Anita could hear nothing but their breath, and see nothing but him. The smile had died from his lips and been replaced with something else, a fervent anticipation. Tristan’s eyes seemed to drink up the moonlight and looked a deep, intense blue in the darkness, so dark Anita thought she might fall into them.

  And then he was leaning towards her, and she fell. The world exploded into life as their lips met. The air seemed warmer, the breeze seemed to rise to a hurricane, and the brook rushed past like a river, a flood, and Anita wondered if she had ever really experienced life before now. It was as if she had only been half awake, half aware until this moment, but now that she was finally awake, finally alive, none of it mattered anymore. The wind whipped at her negligee and her hair, the brook rolled towards them like an ocean, the moonlight beat through her eyelids and set the world aflame with silver, but none of it meant anything against the man standing before her. Tristan’s lips were chapped against her own soft ones, his hands calloused, though they felt soft over the satin of her negligee, as he pressed them into her lower back, pushing them closer together. His lips parted and she tasted oranges, sweet and tart and hot on his breath. She wrapped her arms around him, standing on her toes to reach up to the nape of his neck and his thick, soft hair.

  She was barely aware of him lifting the negligee over her head, and then he was lifting her up, and Anita was light as a feather as he lowered her into the fragrant grass. The meadow cradled her like a dream, cool and fluid against her skin, as Tristan pressed down on her, warm and solid and real, more real than anything she had ever felt. He broke off the kiss, then, to gaze down on her. His thumb traced a line down her jaw. He lowered his lips to Anita’s neck, where he kissed her, and nipped her, and breathed her in. He moved down slowly, deliberately, drawing his tongue along her collarbone, kissing a path down between her full breasts, only to stop and lightly worry a nipple with his teeth. She felt her nipples harden and sighed, and never felt the first drop of rain. Tristan’s hand grazed her ribs, her waist, her hips. He stroked her thigh, raised his head to look at her, and she drank him in. Something played about his lips, but it wasn’t a smile, exactly, and his eyes glinted in the darkness as his fingers found her pleasure. She moaned then, but the drops had become rain, and even as she said his name he seemed to disappear from view. The fireflies were gone, the trees were melting into the night, and the musk of Tristan’s skin and the taste of his breath became the light, flowery smell of her own room as she sat up, panting.

  A window had blown open. Likely she had not closed it properly yesterday, and now it was letting in the rain, and the drops of it splattered on her bed sheets, her arms, her legs. She had thrown the covers off in her sleep, she realized. Dazed, she rose from bed to close her window. The sheet would dry soon enough. She lay back down, but couldn’t get quite comfortable — whichever way she turned, the mattress was no meadow, and the covers had the wrong weight and felt too cool and damp on her skin. She turned to the window, but the sound remained rain, not pebbles.

  A dream, she thought, but the disappointment was short-lived. A dream it may have been, but Tristan was a whisper away. A whisper away and asleep, Anita thought, and she wondered what he might be dreaming of.

  CHAPTER TEN

  -

  Sunday night was dancing night at the Cock ‘n’ Bull in East Birkham. The local whiskey joint turned into an all out barn dance from seven p.m. every week, and to Anita, there didn’t really seem a better way to welcome Tristan to town.

  “It’s easy,” she said to him as they bounced along in the back of the Chevy truck, squeezed between Jo, who was staring out the window, and Sally nervously biting her thumb. She had some reservations about who else might be in attendance.

  “But you said that about horse riding,” he said.

  “Yes, and how quickly did you pick it up? You’re a natural,” Anita said breezily. Bella snorted from the driver’s seat.

  “Well, you’re a good teacher,” Tristan murmured. Anita beamed inwardly.

  “Nikki’s a great dancer,” Bella chipped in, gesturing to her redheaded friend in the passenger seat. “She could show you a step or two.”

  “It's an offer I can’t refuse,” laughed Tristan, though his hand gently grazed Anita’s. There was only one person he wanted to learn from.

  A traditional barn dance was a variety of reel and line dancing, with a strong social element involving changing partners. In a town where your nearest neighbor was perhaps 10 or 15 miles away, it was a great way to catch up and socialize.

  Raoul had already made his way down earlier and was leaning against the faded red-painted wall outside the bar when Bella pulled up the truck. Tall and broad, his gleaming smile met them as they jumped out of the cab. “Howdy! What took y’all so long?”

  “Tristan couldn’t pick between his beige shirt and the ivory one,” Jo said wryly.

  Bella ushered everyone out, locking the truck door.

  “What if he’s here?” asked Sally quietly as she wal
ked in between Jo and Raoul. “I don’t think I can be here if he’s here.”

  Jo scoffed, pushing the door to the bar open. “He wouldn’t dream of showing his face, the lousy cowardly-”

  “He’s here.” Sally froze. Across the bar, Connor was nursing a short glass of scotch, deep in conversation with Norah, who appeared to have a rare night off from the Tipsy Tap. As the group stopped in the doorway, letting the summer breeze whistle through the open door, Connor glanced up, saw Sally, and froze.

  “I can’t do this,” Sally whispered, biting her lip as Connor kicked back his bar stool and started striding towards her.

  “Sally,” he called out.

  “I have to go,” Sally said, turning back around, but Raoul wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. “Go outside for a moment, and when you come back, he won’t be here.” He stepped forward to block Connor’s way.

  “Come on, man,” Connor said, trying to walk around him. “Let me through.”

  Raoul stood firm in the doorway.

  “She doesn’t want to speak to you.”

  “Well, I want to speak to her. C’mon Raoul, I have to speak to her.”

  “Well, whatever it is, she doesn’t need to hear it,” said Raoul solemnly. “If you won’t respect her wishes, how do you expect her to take you seriously? You think that her friends are going to let you within a country mile of her after your performance on Friday?” Connor at least had the decency to blush, though he remembered little of what had actually passed. “Why don’t you do Sally a favor, and let her be?” Raoul lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. “I will not let you hurt her any more than you already have. Look at what you’ve done to her. The last thing she needs is to speak to you. Leave her alone.”

  Connor was not a shy man, nor one to back away from a fight. But staring up at Raoul, who suddenly seemed heads taller, Connor realized he was first and foremost not a stupid man.

  “Fine,” he scowled. He stormed back to the bar, throwing back the last of his whiskey and slamming the glass down. It shattered in his hand, and Norah let out a little scream. Connor stared at the fat droplets of crimson blood now glistening on his hand silently for a moment and then shook it nonchalantly. Raoul watched him from across the bar, his arms crossed fiercely across his bulging chest, his biceps straining through his thin white t-shirt. Connor started to walk to the back entrance, and then he stopped dead. He turned back, approached Raoul one more time.

  “Look,” he said, and all of his aggression seemed to have drained away. “I just want to speak to her, and I think she might want to hear what I have to say. But I get it. I get why she wouldn’t want to.” He sighed, the sincerity breaking his bravado. “Can you give her this?” he asked, pulling a letter from his jacket pocket. Droplets of crimson blood stood at a stark contrast to the bleached white envelope. “If she still doesn’t want to speak to me… well, that’s her choice. But she should know... She should know who she can trust… and who she can’t.” He thrust his hands back in his pockets, wincing at the fresh pain, and ducked out of the back door. Raoul turned the letter over, looked at Sally’s name scrawled in untidy writing on the front. Should he give it to her? He heard the door open and close behind him: the girls were in the bar, Sally pink in the cheeks, bright eyed, but smiling. He would decide later, he thought, folding the letter into his back pocket. It could definitely wait until tomorrow; Sally deserved a night free of worries.

  Partnering up was always an intriguing activity. Jo, ever reluctant to engage with the neighboring ranch hands, asked Anita to dance, and Sally and Raoul paired up. Bella pushed Nikki and Tristan together while she asked Graham, a young, fresh-faced sheep herder from West Birkham to be her partner.

  The first dance was a slow partner dance. Hands laced into each other, bodies moved in rhythm.

  “So how long is Tristan staying?” asked Jo.

  “I don’t know. A while, I guess. I hope.” Anita said, smiling.

  Jo frowned. “I thought he’d have moved on by now.”

  “I don’t think he has a plan.”

  Nikki stared into Tristan’s piercing blue eyes. Gosh, had they always sparkled like that? Her porcelain cheeks turned faintly pink. “How are you liking the ranch?” she asked him.

  “It’s great, I love it,” Tristan enthused. “It’s such a beautiful place. And everyone has been so welcoming.” He glanced over Nikki’s shoulder at Anita, deep in conversation with Jo. “And honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so well in my life.”

  Nikki smiled. “We can’t have our guests going hungry.”

  “No, really. You need to show me the recipe for that blueberry pie. Maybe you can teach me?” He smiled that winning, white-toothed beam, and Nikki felt her stomach knot and tighten as a delicious warm glow spread through her.

  “Of course,” she smiled back, biting her cherry-red lips.

  “How did you get him to leave?” Sally asked Raoul. The two of them should have looked faintly ridiculous dancing together, with Sally’s petite five-foot-three frame against Raoul’s towering six-foot form; yet, something about the simple sincerity of the two put them beyond ridicule.

  “I told him that he needed to start respecting you,” said Raoul, “and he does. If you want to talk to him, that’s your choice. Don’t let anybody feel you ever have to do anything you don’t want.”

  Sally smiled, watery eyed. “Thanks, Raoul,” she murmured, hugging him gently. Raoul squeezed her back and repressed the stirrings he felt inside. The letter shuffled in his back pocket.

  “So, I hear y’all are getting kicked off the ranch,” Graham said to Bella, a teasing smile on his lips.

  “You heard wrong,” Bella responded curtly.

  “So he ain’t selling bits of land?”

  “Why, are you interested in buying?” Bella asked. “You couldn’t afford our land if you sold all of yours.”

  “Sorry, sorry, I was just teasing. I just heard rumors…”

  “Do you know who Weattie’s buyer is?” Bella said quietly. Graham’s hand was snaked around her waist, pulling her uncomfortably close to him.

  “Wish I could tell you, sugar,” Graham said gruffly. “I don’t think it’s George — he let a bunch of the farm hands go this summer. Right before shearing season, too. This is my last night off for three weeks.” He lowered his voice, put his unshaven cheek to hers and spoke softly in her ear. “Wanna get out of here? Grab a drink at the Tap and then maybe take a drive to the lake?” He squeezed her ass. Bella grimaced.

  “Maybe another night, cowboy,” she muttered, slapping his hand away. “Why don’t you ask Norah?”

  The music changed, the caller ordered the pairs into a circle. The dance began: walk three, turn, back three, walk three, turn, back three, side kick, side kick, twirl, and move on. Ladies changed partners after the twirl, men stayed put. Anita began to cross the dance floor towards Tristan and was cut off by Raoul begging her hand. She obliged, staring longingly across the circle at Tristan, now partnered with Bella. Jo and Sally stood behind them, Nikki and Lee Jackson, the farrier, behind them. Anita counted the number of partners until she could lace her fingers through Tristan’s as the dance began.

  “I saw you by the lake again this morning,” Tristan said to Bella. She raised an eyebrow, her gray eyes impenetrable. “Sorry,” he said quickly, “I wasn’t spying. I just — I was practicing riding. Chestnut. I wasn’t really paying attention to where we were going.”

  Bella shrugged, walking back in time with him. “It’s ok, it was hardly a private moment.”

  “Well, I know everyone has their own special place around here.”

  “Oh, I don’t go to the lake, I go--” Bella paused, laughed nervously.

  “Where?” prodded Tristan, his piercing azure eyes curious. Bella hesitated. “You don’t have to tell me,” he added as they turned in unison.

  “No, it’s just — I don’t know if anyone else knows about it.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of ment
ioning it.”

  Bella smiled briefly at him, shook her head a little. Her mouth reverted back to its usual straight, firm line. Tristan took her silence, understanding he still had much to do to earn her trust.

  “Willow’s Peak,” she said suddenly as he twirled her away.

  “What?”

  “Willow’s Peak. It’s a pool, in a cave, on the mountain. Hard to get to if you can’t ride.”

  She moved swiftly on to her next partner, and Tristan found Sally at his side.

  “Hey, partner. Have you got the moves down?”

  “Just about, I think,” he said, grabbing her hand and beginning to walk forward with her. He tripped over his own foot, and she giggled.

  “Sorry, I’m--”

  “No need to apologize,” she said, laughing. “I’m as much of a klutz as you are. I’ve just had about twenty years more practice at this particular form of uncoordinated hell.”

  “That’s true. You seem happier, tonight. If you don’t mind me saying.”

  “Not at all.” Sally leaned in as they moved together for the kick. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. It’s the tequila.” She laughed again and twirled on to her next partner.

  Nikki sidled up next to Tristan. “Mind if I cut in?” she joked.

  “Not at all,” he said, flashing her that perfect smile. Grabbing her hand, he was surprised again by how soft the delicate flesh of her palm was. Nikki was very aware of Tristan’s warm touch. Concentrating on the steps, she tried to stop the glow of her cheeks as she felt the bulge of his muscled arm against her back.

  The music continued, the pace quickening, the tempo reaching a climax as Anita partnered with Jo — and then cutting as she stepped forward to take Tristan’s hand. “Next dance?” he asked gallantly. She smiled, stepping forward, when--

  “We’ll be back in 15,” said the band, putting down their instruments.

  “Typical,” Anita laughed lightly, though she was irritated that this was the closest she’d been to Tristan all night. “Are you having a good night?”