You, little one.
The wind seemed to whisper a message from Mama Quilla to her.
At times she thought she was ready to ask Luke to caress her the way she knew he wished to touch her. However, she feared the triggers more than his touch. Would he kick himself for causing one, or be upset that she could not separate his touch from that of her rapists?
What if she would never be ready to make love?
Cassie’s paintbrush stroked the canvas. Unlike in her sketchpad, here she showed a fully-clothed Luke as he put Picasso through his paces. She wondered what exercise they were doing. Apparently, he left a trail for Picasso to follow, but the horse seemed confused. Should she interrupt and see if she could find out what Picasso was thinking?
No. If Luke needed her, he would ask. But she could not help but notice that these latest exercises seemed more intense than those he had worked on before the trip to Peru. Perhaps it was just that Luke was more driven. She and Luke did not talk about the abduction or subsequent rescue, but she could well imagine the helplessness and fear he had experienced that night when he realized she had been taken.
Luke was a ‘take-charge guy,’ as Kitty put it. Like Adam, he probably wrongly thought he could control every circumstance in his life. Keeping those he loved safe from harm, both humans and animals, was of tantamount importance, even though people generally have little control over their lives. She certainly had come to understand that.
Luke removed his Stetson and raked his fingers through his hair. Was he frustrated with himself or with Picasso? Most likely himself. Luke had infinite patience with animals—and his wife. He was being too hard on himself. Perhaps she could help Luke relax tonight by doing something fun.
Feeling Luke’s arm around her each night this past week had kept the monsters at bay. Surprisingly, she had only had one nightmare since Peru—one in which Luke had been knifed by Pedro.
When he awakened her and she heard his name reverberating in her ears, she immediately knew she was safe. She had curled up against him, needing to feel the beat of his heart against her cheek. Luke kissed her head and stroked her hair until she fell asleep again.
A nudge to her shoulder nearly sent her hurdling over the easel. She turned to see it was O’Keeffe leaning her head over the fence rail. “Hello, girl. You scared me.”
Cassie telepathically interpreted in English the messages the horse conveyed. “Not my intention.”
She turned to nuzzle the horse and whisper in her ear. “I know. I’m just hypersensitive sometimes to unexpected movements.” She reached up and patted the mare on her cheek. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to try and capture your master and Picasso in this painting before they catch me.”
“Freeing.”
Freeing? Did O’Keeffe sense Cassie’s new state of being as she painted Luke? The savvy horse had noticed a difference in Cassie almost the minute she went to see her after they returned from Peru. Cassie had even shared her own story of abuse with the horse.
Cassie dipped her brush in the water and chose another color. She had been dabbling more with watercolors this summer. She loved exploring different ways of expressing herself through art. Perhaps someday she would focus on one, but until then, she would try everything.
Watching the water bleed into the paper, taking on unexpected designs and shapes, she remained lost in the creative process until O’Keeffe nudged her again.
“My turn.”
“You want to try your hand at painting?” She only realized later that the words that used to send her into a tailspin did not even faze her. Perhaps she had put one of her triggers to rest.
O’Keeffe nodded her head up and down, her mane flying with the enthusiasm she showed.
Cassie laughed. “Okay, girl. Let me set up a new paper for you to work on. I will need some fresh water from the barn. Be right back.”
She had heard about animals who expressed their creative nature. Excitement bubbled up inside her to see what O’Keeffe would do with a paintbrush. She could barely contain her giggle. A quarter hour later, she had moved the easel to inside O’Keeffe’s corral. The horse stood with water and paints at the ready. She glanced from the horse to the paper and decided a large brush might be best for this first attempt.
Smiling, she dipped the brush into the water and turned to the mare. “Which color would you like to start with?”
“Earth.”
“Brown?” She pointed to the color, and O’Keeffe nodded. Cassie filled the brush with the desired color before placing the handle between the horse’s teeth. “Here you go.”
O’Keeffe bent her head toward the paper and nearly toppled the easel. Cassie grabbed and steadied it. “Takes a while to judge distance, I guess. Just experiment at first with how the brush feels touching the paper.”
Undeterred, the horse took a step back and tried again, but this time the brush made contact with the lower part of the paper and smeared a patch of brown paint. “Very nice!”
“More.”
O’Keeffe extended the brush to her, and Cassie applied more brown paint to it and watched the horse add another streak on the paper. Quite abstract, but for a first attempt, a good effort.
“You have the idea, girl. Good job! The impressionists would envy your talent.” She grinned, anxious to show Luke.
After three more strokes with the brown, O’Keeffe whinnied as she extended the brush again.
“Grass.”
Dipping the brush into the water, Cassie cleaned it and applied the green. She’d never been an artist’s assistant before, but that O’Keeffe trusted her enough to explore this talent with her pleased Cassie.
The painting now had the appearance of a brown blob with a head sticking up—a horse’s head perhaps?
The green was splashed in three strokes around the brown. Definitely grass.
The image of a crow flashed in her mind. “Black,” she whispered under her breath as she prepared the brush.
In angry strokes, the horse slashed paint across the top of the canvas. The horse’s ears laid back as if she was the victim rather than the attacker. Cassie’s eyes stung. She refilled the brush quickly several times hoping O’Keeffe would be able to release this dark emotion. The top of the paper filled with more disjointed black streaks.
Dismal.
Depressing
The image of steel shackles embedded in her mind’s eye.
“Broken.” The word screamed in Cassie’s head, loud and clear.
The paintbrush fell from O’Keeffe’s mouth to the dirt below. Cassie reached up to stroke the mare’s neck before burying her head and letting the tears flow. “It’s in the past, baby. No one is ever going to try and break your spirit again.” Sweat mingled with Cassie’s tears, drenching the horse’s skin. Memories of Cassie’s own experience with being restrained as her monsters tried to break her led to more tears spilling from her eyes. But they did not succeed in breaking her.
“Jeezus. She was sacked out old style.”
Cassie turned to find Luke staring at the picture O’Keeffe had painted. She brushed the wetness from her cheeks.
“Sacked out?” How could he tell from this abstract painting?
“It’s a downright abusive way to train a horse to humans. Wouldn’t think anyone would still use it these days when much more humane methods are known. But they broke her. The old style of sacking out a horse involved restraining it in some manner—usually they tie its head to a pole or hobbled it by the legs. Looks like the latter for O’Keeffe. Then they would have terrorized her with objects that scared her plus make loud sounds to frighten her further.”
No wonder she had such an affinity for this horse. “She did convey the image of shackles to me. Poor baby.” One on each side, Cassie and Luke spent some time loving on the horse who seemed so much more relaxed now that she had released that horrific memory.
A little while later, Luke reached out toward the painting. “You captured the hobbling here. See how her front
legs are bent and her head is rearing back in defiance? Usually these horses wind up fearing people worse than ever afterward.”
“Oh, I did not paint that. O’Keeffe did.” He turned toward her with doubt in his eyes. “No, really! She conveyed feelings of being shackled and broken, just as you said, but I did not understand what the painting meant until you interpreted it.”
He looked from the painting to the horse a couple of more times. “Jeezus. Never saw anything like it. Maybe that’s what she’s been trying to let out all this time.” He patted the other side of O’Keeffe’s neck and shook his head in wonder.
O’Keeffe lowered her head to nudge the paintbrush lying on the ground.
Cassie picked it up and cleaned it in the jar of water.
“Want to do another, girl?” Cassie asked.
O’Keeffe nodded. Cassie removed the original painting and pinned a new sheet of watercolor paper to the easel.
“Sky.”
Cassie confirmed she wanted blue. “You got it.” She filled the brush and placed it between O’Keeffe’s teeth. She laid a swatch of blue across the top of the paper.
“I’ll be damned. She really did do it herself.”
Cassie wondered why he doubted her but soon became too engrossed in refilling the brush to remark. Soon another streak of what she supposed was sky lay on the paper.
“Crow.”
Oh, no. What was O’Keeffe going to convey to them this time? More abuse and hurt? With some reluctance, she cleaned the brush and loaded it with black. This time, though, the downward stroke was higher on the paper. She reloaded it several times and watched the horse make more slashes across the page. A vee formed with the two black strokes against the blue sky. She did not know what it meant, but could feel the horse’s peace of mind without O’Keeffe conveying anything telepathically at all.
Luke’s voice sounded hoarse when he broke the silence. “She’s free now.”
Cassie turned to him and saw tears in his eyes as he stared at the painting. He buried his face in the horse’s neck and stroked her back. O’Keeffe didn’t shy away from him.
Trust. O’Keeffe trusted him, too.
Cassie turned back to the painting and this time saw blackbirds soaring high in the sky.
Free.
The word echoed through Cassie’s mind, but did not come from O’Keeffe. She had been slowly coming to the realization that she could trust Luke even more than she had so far. No man had ever made her feel so free.
Trust him.
Tears blurred her vision. One hand on the horse’s back, she reached around to Luke and stroked the soft hairs on his forearm. A tingle of awareness moved through her fingers, up her arm, and into her heart.
Then deeper. Lower.
She pulled away as if burned.
Trust him.
His patience and gentle touch had led O’Keeffe to feel free again. But would Luke be as successful with her? They were married, but he would never force her to do anything. She had protested having sex for so long, he might even be afraid to broach the subject for fear of yet another rejection. However, the feelings he stirred in her when he held her reawakened places deep inside her.
No, Luke woke those places—for the first time ever.
“I am not sure if I am ready to make love.” She said aloud before she realized she’d spoken.
Luke walked around O’Keeffe and cupped Cassie’s chin, a furrow between his eyebrows. “I know, Sweet Pea. Remember what we said in Peru? Baby steps.” He searched her face. “What’s going on?”
“I want…”
She had never been able to express her wishes with a man, not since she had asked Pedro to dance with her in the cantina. The longing for Luke’s touch nearly overcame her fear.
Nearly.
She took a step back. “Never mind.”
He reached out to stroke her arm, halting her retreat. “Be honest with me. Tell me what you want?”
His gentle hand made nonthreatening motions up and down her arm, strokes much like the ones he used to calm O’Keeffe’s fear of the blanket or saddle.
Trust him.
“Will you…”
How can I ask him this?
“Go on. You can ask me anything you want, Sweet Pea.”
Trust him.
“Will you…dance with me?”
* * *
Of all the questions he expected to hear, this wasn’t even in the running. Not after what happened the last time she asked a man to dance with her.
I’m one lucky man.
Hell, if the lady wanted to dance, he was all in. Luke grinned.
“Love to, darlin’. Any particular dance you have in mind?” He could handle a Texas two-step, but would prefer something a little more intimate.
“The tango.”
Aw, have mercy, baby girl.
All he knew about the tango were images of a hot Latin lover and a woman with a long-stemmed rose clenched between her teeth. He’d never taken dance lessons and didn’t have the foggiest idea how to dance a tango.
Talk about a quarterback sack.
Not that he didn’t plan to gain back the lost yards. She hadn’t asked him to compete for MVP in the Super Bowl, after all, just to hold her and dance. “You’ll have to teach me. Not much call for the tango in the road houses I hung out in during college.”
She seemed hesitant for a moment, then nodded. “Let me clean up this stuff, take care of the alpacas, and we can get started.”
The determined expression on her face—as if she were about to face a four-man firing squad—didn’t give him a lot of hope she would be able to relax in his arms, but if dancing the tango could help her overcome one of her internal hurdles, then he’d dance the damned tango. He watched as she packed up the art supplies in her canvas bag.
Luke folded up the easel. “I’ll bring this in and rub O’Keeffe down.”
She nodded and practically ran toward the barn. He’d better not leave her alone too long or she would let the fear take over again. Too bad they couldn’t start his lesson in the corral, but he needed to take care of something first.
“Thank you, girl,” he said as he took a cloth from his pocket and wiped the remaining sweat from O’Keeffe’s neck. “I’ll give you a proper brushing down tonight, but whatever you did or said to help Cassie, I’m forever in your debt.”
O’Keeffe laid a sloppy lick on his cheek, and Luke laughed.
“Don’t you get too fresh with me, girl. I’m a one-woman man—and I’m taken.”
Thirty minutes later, after checking on the horses, he entered the cool house. The sun had been beating down on him all morning, but he hadn’t noticed how hot his body was until he walked inside. The bedroom door was closed. Damn. Had she gone to ground already?
Should he push her limits a little? Maybe, if she couldn’t get past this hurdle, she’d never tackle the rest of the ones still ahead.
First, though, he walked into the kitchen, filled two glasses with ice, and poured them both a tall sweet tea. The creaking of the bedroom door made him turn toward the kitchen doorway and seconds later there stood a new Cassie. The transformation surprised him. She’d pulled her hair back in a sleek ponytail and wore a colorful, long-sleeved top and calf-length pants—both skin-tight. He rarely saw her in form-fitting clothing. This outfit highlighted her slim waist and curvy hips. And those shoes. Sexy, black, with at least a three-inch heel. Much higher than the flats she usually wore.
Luke whistled. “Hot damn, darlin’! Gorgeous!”
She cast her gaze to the floor. “Please say nothing more. I am nervous already.” She took several deep breaths before squaring her shoulders and meeting his gaze. Again he saw the mix of fear and determination on her face.
“Trust me, Cassie.”
“I do.”
No, you don’t.
Not completely, anyway. Despite the headway they’d made in Peru, he knew she wasn’t ready for him to make love with her. But something had happened out there
with O’Keeffe to help her remove a few more of the bricks from her fortress walls. He’d continue to go easy with her. He had the rest of his life to earn her trust.
Jesus, don’t let me screw this up.
She started to move the coffee table out of the way, and he joined her to help. Soon they had cleared a dance floor of sorts.
She approached him slowly, the natural sway of her hips nearly causing him to lose his cool. “The tango has only a few basic steps to learn.”
Breathe, man.
“Sweet Pea, you just show me what to do.”
“I found a YouTube video we can watch first. You are visual, as am I, and I think this will help you understand what I am trying to convey before we begin.” She picked up her smartphone from the mantle, and they watched a couple do the tango in slow motion. She pointed to the screen and paused the video. “We will begin with this embrace. See it?”
He wrapped his arm around her. “Uh-huh.” So soft. The rest of the video passed by in a blur. All he could focus on was having her in his arms, her body pressed against his.
“Okay, do you understand the general concept?”
“Think so.”
She laid the phone on the mantle again and wiped her palms on her pants before holding up her hands. He mirrored her arm movements, and she walked into his embrace as the couple in the video had done.
Don’t you dare get a hard-on, Denton.
How he was supposed to avoid one stumped him, though. He forced his brain to ignore the sweet scent of her hair.
“Place your right hand behind my back.”
He did so, resting his pinky finger at the top of the waistband of her pants. She stiffened.
“No, no, no!” She put some distance between them. He thought she’d retreat, but apparently this “no” didn’t mean they were finished. “Your hand must be in the center of my back. Just below the shoulder blades.” Her accent had grown stronger. “If your hand is on my hips, I won’t have the freedom to move as I need to do.”
He wanted nothing more than to watch and feel her move, so he raised his hand to where he guessed was about right.
Nobody's Dream (Rescue Me Saga #6) Page 60