by Ashlee Price
Michael had, with my permission, gotten rid of most everything we'd brought. I was given a stocked bank account, credit cards and house accounts, and a new baby blue Thunderbird convertible. Dad got a new Silverado pickup. My closets and dressers were filled with clothes for any occasion, along with shoes, jewelry and luggage. It seemed that Michael was keeping a small private jet that accommodated twelve at Standiford Field, so the world was literally ours.
There was so much, and I was so totally fortunate, that I had trouble grasping it. Michael laughed when I protested, telling me that he had more money than I could possibly hope to spend in a lifetime.
Then came the real treasures. As I planned for our wedding, the Keeneland sales approached. Michael had already acquired boxed seats for us, and I was given free rein to buy five horses. Money aside, training them was going to be a huge investment for me, and I wanted Dad's eagle eye along. He was only too happy to accompany me, and the day after the sales, five semi-trucks pulled up to the barn, which Michael had recently remodeled, and out came five of the most beautiful, rambunctious and pure-blooded yearlings our money could buy. Dad was so excited that he asked if his quarters might be moved into the barn so he could be near them.
For a horse breeder, yearlings were like crops yet to be planted. Each had to be carefully groomed for its strengths and weaknesses, just like an athlete. They wouldn't be eligible for the Derby until they were three-year-olds, so plenty of time remained for Dad to groom and perfect each one in turn.
My attention, however, was on a stallion named Jewel who had come with the farm. He was very tall, wild, and his mane covered my face as I let him gallop over the pasture with me atop. He had a brave heart and seemed to take to me immediately - something the farmhands said was unbelievable. They said the previous owner had been ready to geld him to calm him down, but I saw no need for that. I wanted him just as natural as God had made him.
Jewel and I began daily runs, and once the track was complete, we began exercising there. Dad sat on the sideline, his stopwatch in his hand. What with Dad's shouted instructions and careful hoof and leg maintenance, we improved consistently. Michael had a pool put in for the horses in the new barn, and it was here that Jewel was allowed to build his leg strength. He was kept at one end of the barn so the others were encouraged to respect him - and he respected himself and thought of himself as a leader.
I was his jockey. Much to my surprise, Michael had re-named the farm Callie Hill, and our colors were pink and white. While this was hardly masculine, Michael said it might be a psychological advantage, which made me laugh.
"Have you chosen a date for the wedding yet?" he asked me one morning at breakfast.
"I was thinking the Saturday before Easter. It will still be nice and cool for an outdoor ceremony, and I'd like to have it here at the farm."
"Perfect," he agreed. I knew he was becoming anxious because I'd insisted that we not sleep together until we were man and wife. It might have been a little late for such maidenly behavior, but somehow it helped me to salvage my conscience.
"I've hired a wedding planner to take care of all the details. Just tell her how many groomsmen you'd like and she'll round up enough ladies to fill their arms."
Michael laughed at that. "I'll only have a couple, so I hope you don't have too many ladies in waiting."
I grinned and kissed him. "Can we postpone any honeymoon until after the Derby?"
"If you like. Where do you want to go?"
"I was thinking Ireland, Michael. Your roots are there, and I'd like to see the green hills and look over their horses."
"Sounds wonderful. As long as you're with me, I'll be happy. Sure you don't want to break your little rule early?" he asked, hopefully, but I shook my head and waggled a finger at him.
Chapter 28
Michael
I'd gotten word that Dad was putting a horse in the Derby. He'd qualified Baby Face, the three-year-old he'd been prepping since he bought him at the yearling sales. Although we were new to the game, I saw this as direct competition to what I was doing, and I knew that was his motivation.
We'd not spoken since that night he'd tried to burn the cottage down. He knew he'd lost his power over me and gained a foe. I would never harm him; after all, he was my dad. But I wasn't sure I could ever love him again as I had when I was a blind, innocent boy. There was too much about him that I'd worshipped and now found distasteful.
"Dad has a horse in the Derby," I told Callie. We'd passed through the holidays as our own small family, not having been invited to attend festivities at my dad's house. It was late February and our wedding was only a few weeks away.
"I know, I heard."
"You didn't tell me?"
"Would it have helped?"
"No, probably not." I pulled Callie against me, put my chin on her head, and ran my fingers through her long, beautiful, angelic hair. "I can't wait for our wedding night."
She nodded. "You don't know how many times I've almost given in and sneaked into your room."
"Why didn't you?"
"I don't know," she shrugged. "Maybe I'm trying to relive things the way I should have done them the first time."
"Do you really think people are still talking about that, lassie? They don't care - that kind of thinking went out two generations ago."
"Maybe so, but it matters to me."
"Now that I have my diploma, I'm considering starting law school this fall. I would go right here, probably to U of K. What do you think?"
"I think you should do whatever makes your heart sing, Michael. Who am I to tell you what to do? You've given me everything I could ask for. I have the absolute perfect life."
"I'm glad you're happy. You don't know how it tortured me to see you go through so much when I wasn't in a position to help you yet."
"Michael?"
"Yes, lassie."
"I have a super big favor to ask."
"What's that?"
"Would you mind terribly if we got married here at the farm with just Dad and a couple of close old friends to stand up for us and then left straight for our honeymoon in Ireland?"
"I thought you wanted the traditional huge wedding?"
She shook her head. "I only said I wanted that because I thought that's what you wanted. I'd rather have it small and private and not get all worn out with it. The race isn't long after that, and I have so much training time to put in before we're ready."
"If that's what you want, tell the wedding planner in the morning and that's exactly what we'll have."
"I really do love you, Michael Shannon."
"Lucky for me!"
The entire house seemed to sigh with relief at the down-sized plan, and on the Saturday preceding Easter, Callie and I were married. Her dad walked her down the white-pebbled path and Buddy Lee Thompson stood up for me while Deb was Callie's maid of honor. Little Josiah wore a light blue tuxedo and carried Callie's wedding ring on a pillow. Everyone who worked on the farm, my attorney Tom Robinson, and a few former football teammates from college were also in attendance. Neither my dad or mom were invited.
Immediately after the ceremony, we left for Standiford Field and boarded our jet for Ireland. We landed in Dublin and hired a car and driver. We finally ended up in a white-washed, two-story inn with a honeymoon suite occupying the entire upstairs. That meant little more than that we had our own private bath.
Between the ceremony and the jet lag of the ride over the Atlantic, we were both so exhausted that we collapsed onto the feather bed and immediately fell asleep.
Chapter 29
Callie
I opened my eyes and marveled that the sun in Ireland looked exactly as ours did back in Kentucky. Due to the time difference, I felt like it was early morning, but there in the cottage it was already early afternoon. I slid from the featherbed and into the bathroom, running myself a hot bath in the claw-footed tub and soaking until my toes looked like the old woman apple dolls they made at home. I climbed out, wrapped
myself in a thick towel, and peeped out the bathroom door.
Lying on our bed, stark naked, was Michael. He was completely awake, and more to the point, burgeoning and erect, waiting for me.
"Drop the towel," he ordered, and blushing, I did as he asked. "Turn around," he added, and again, I obliged. "Good God, I can't believe I had to cross the Atlantic Ocean to see something this beautiful." He wagged his finger and I leapt onto the bed and kissed him. His hand travelled down the front of me and touched my pussy, his index finger delving deeply inside like a divining rod looking for water. I knew I was wet, despite the cleansing heat of the bath I'd just taken.
Michael's mouth was upon me then, licking the tender flesh and darting his tongue inside of me. "You taste so good," he murmured, and suddenly I was overcome with the desire to taste him, too.
I pushed Michael to the side, and with my hands to guide the way, I took his penis into my mouth, careful not to bite him. I heard him groan with pleasure, and it made me salivate. Cupping his balls with one hand, I slid my mouth up and down his shaft, sucking and flicking my tongue over its length. Tiny droplets form at its tip, and I licked these off, forcing him to watch my tongue. "Look at me!" I ordered, and it must have given him a huge erotic push as he became my slave. I brought him to the edge of orgasm and then blew soft, cool air over him to pull him back slightly. My index finger trailed his backside crack and then pressed him just below his balls. I knew it must have had the desired effect, because his erection tightened and beckoned to my mouth again.
I repeated this cycle several times until finally, he could take it no longer. "Lay down!" he ordered me gruffly, and then, with a moment's hesitation, he plunged into me and a cry came from his throat I'd never heard before. He was in the throes of delayed passion. It made him hammer me harder and faster than he had so many years before. His hands were on my breasts, his fingers tweaking my nipples. He rode me as I'd fantasized riding a horse; naked and with Michael's cock buried beneath me as we galloped aimlessly, not stopping until we'd both found our pleasure.
I felt mine rising and called his name. "Michael... Michael... it's coming..."
"I know, lassie, I know. Hold off as long as you can, it makes it better." He continued to pound me like a machine gun, stimulating my clit, and suddenly I couldn't hold it back. "Hold your breath," he urged and some subconscious part of me obeyed. It was like lighting a firecracker to the already explosive burst of colors and fire that were consuming my brain.
"Oh, my God," I breathed out. He wouldn't relent, but brought me to orgasm three quick times in succession.
When finally he withdrew, we were both covered in our juices. I lay there panting and Michael rolled to my side, using his finger to trace the contours of my body. "How was I ever so lucky as to have you?"
"That goes both ways, you know."
That was the beginning of seven days and seven nights that were filled with eating, drinking, sight-seeing and making love - in no particular order. The rest of the world had disappeared and left Michael and I abandoned on a shore with only each other for entertainment. I was so relaxed and so, so much in love. I didn't think life could get any better than it was in that very moment.
It was with a keen regret that we boarded our jet and returned to Louisville. The ride home to the farm was solemn and quiet as we both contemplated the busy schedule ahead of us. We were experiencing that quasi-mourning one has when the vacation is over and you don't want to go back to the routine.
In our absence, all my things had been moved into Michael's room, which I was surprised to find was more than twice the size of my own. It had a separate sitting room with fireplace where we began a ritual of drinking coffee together each morning and discussing the upcoming day. Once we left our room, the world and our schedules grabbed at us like so many hungry birds, each pecking for a piece. It took some adjustment, but it was what we both had wanted.
When people asked how our honeymoon had gone, we embarrassedly looked at one another for words. You couldn't tell people that you'd spent the entire time in bed, sucking at one another's tender flesh. Well, maybe you could, but not me. I was and would always be on the timid side when it came to public affection. Behind our closed door, however, we unleashed everything we knew and had read about. Michael brought home a book he'd bought that showed us sexual positions. One by one, we tried each, and more often than not we collapsed on the bed laughing at the intricate and demanding flexibility these positions required.
Michael bought something he called a tantra chair and placed it at the foot of our bed. He explained it was sculpted in a way to support the human body and expose the sensitive areas at the same time. I found myself with my legs in the air and Michael penetrating me while standing at the head of the chair's curve. Sometimes it was erotic and urged us on to more experimentation, while other times it seemed silly and we opted for our mattress and the conventional ways. One particular night, I was on the chair and Michael was holding out an instruction book, trying to mimic the illustration. He turned the page and found the drawing I'd penciled in that showed a stallion and a mare, trying to hook up over the curves of a massive tantra chair. He'd laughed so hard that the rest of the night was a no-go and he made me swear never to sabotage him that way again.
Life was wonderful, but the challenge I dreaded the most and yet looked forward to lay just ahead. I was to jockey Jewel at Churchill Downs. We hadn't qualified with enough races to run the Derby itself, but that, too, would come in later years. For now, I was riding on perhaps the most famous track on the planet. It was my dream come true.
Epilogue
Callie
While there is only one true ending to a life, it bears mentioning that within that same life is a series of chapters. A portion of the story and the characters involved carry forward, but some remain locked in limbo or move off into parallel paths that will never again cross your own. In my case, it was a series of events that were encapsulated and nothing that led up to them could have been predicted, other than my own stubbornness, nor could their endings have changed because those life ingredients moved on and out of my life.
I'd always felt I had a wonderful childhood. I had two parents who doted on me, the opportunity to interact empathetically with some of the most beautiful, powerful creatures on earth, an Eden of landscape, and the knowledge that I wasn't someone else's whim, but the product of my own choices. I intended to raise Josiah that same way, and I knew one day the man would look down on me and recognize that bounty, exclusive of whatever wealth his father might contribute. I wanted him to be solidly grounded.
The time for me to be a girl had long ended; I was a woman, married at that, and had a dad ahead of me and a son behind me. Those alone made my life worth living.
When I looked at Michael's life and heard the many stories he began to tell, I felt all the luckier. Unlike me, he'd never been free until that special midnight. I believe his grandfather had foreseen that; that was why he'd held off the inheritance until Michael had the chance to learn a few of life's lessons and could be better prepared to handle such enormous wealth and the power that came with it.
It was the eve of the Derby. I looked at my silks lying on the office desk in the barn. I had to admit they were small enough to belong to a child, and the fact that the enormous and powerful Jewel would allow me to control him using only my feet and thin leather reins humbled me. He trusted me. Did I deserve that trust?
I slept in a fetal curl beneath Michael's arm that night. My dreams varied, but I never went into deep REM sleep. It was a sign that my mind was running through the next day's scenario over and over. Before the sun rose, Michael awakened me with a kiss and we loaded up, woman and horse, trainer and gear, and headed to the most storied track in the world. The morning fog lay over the track, and attendants were carrying in urns of flowers and polishing railings while horses for the day's ten races were allowed to warm up their muscles with graceful runs around the track. The early birds bound for the infi
eld had begun to arrive, setting up their canopies and lawn chairs, shivering in the cool morning dampness. Their day of raucous sex, drinking, drugs and fights was just warming up - all without being even able to see a horse from their position inside the track.
I led Jewel onto the approach track for our turn. Michael lifted me up into the saddle, and I hooked my feet into the stirrups and sat forward lightly, my helmet packed with my waist-long blonde hair. The other jockeys went quietly about their business, intent on individual strategies and carefully inspecting hoofs and withers in advance of their race.
Dad had refused his chair for the day, unwilling to display even the tiniest sign of weakness. He did, however, use a wooden cane, its head carved into the likeness of a horse. In many ways, his life had led to this moment as well.
Many of the horses for the main race had already been on site for days, acclimating to the scents, noises and altitude of the greatest race they would ever run. Their names were engraved on brass plaques affixed to their stable doors, and I thought they were probably quite entertained by the flurry of reporters and stable boys who scurried around in preparation for the ring of their particular bell when at last they could strut their stuff.
I was running Jewel in the first race, of which I was rather glad because it gave me less time to get nervous. The stands were filling rapidly and the announcer's voice could be heard over the speaker system, welcoming dignitaries and mentioning elite sponsors who waved to the crowd like so many royal heads of states, clutching mint juleps even though the sun had yet to hit its zenith. It was spring in Kentucky, and surely the world envied anyone who was lucky enough to be there.