by Jean Andrews
I lunged over the metal desk and yelled, “Damn it, Sam! Tell me where she is! I love her! I’m IN love with her. I want to be with her!” I could see from his expression that the words shocked him, and in fact, they shocked me. I had finally said I was in love with someone, a woman, and out-loud, and to Sam. And Levade’s words filled my head. “Until you say it, you can’t have it.”
Sam stared at me for what seemed like a long time, then pulled open the metal desk drawer and took out a pencil and spoke as he scribbled something on a scrap of paper. “I helped your aunt Alice and Angelique, so I guess I can help you.” He handed over an address in Illinois and a phone number.
“Thanks, Sam. I love you too!” I kissed him on the cheek, and he reddened, though he smiled.
I hopped into the car and raced back to the cabin, stuffed my clothes into a bag, locked up the place, and left. I called the airline along the way. There would be one flight out today to Illinois, if I could get to Minneapolis by ten thirty a.m., and I thought, I’ll get there if I have to rent a plane.
When I returned the rental car, the man sitting in a booth the size of an outhouse peeked out of the door and said, “You just got here. That didn’t seem like much of a vacation.”
I told him it had turned out to be perfect. “A cup of coffee, a view of the lake, a good night’s sleep, and thank you.” I handed him the keys and some cash, since he didn’t accept credit cards.
“Well,” he shook his head, “I hope no one else feels that’s all they need, or I’ll be outta business.” The guy thinks he’s in business with two rental cars. I smiled at him. I guess maybe he is.
I drove two hours to the iron-mining town of Hibbing and caught a flight to Minneapolis that put me on the tarmac at ten a.m. There, I ran to the terminal to board a ten thirty a.m. flight for Chicago, slumping into my seat just as the doors were closing. In between, I called the number Sam had given me but got a recording. It was a horse facility, but the answering machine said they were currently out of the office.
The plane ride to Illinois was harrowing. The nice middle-aged woman in the window seat next to me clutched her rosary and fretted, saying we could die in this weather.
“This is going to be a very nice flight,” I said, repeating what Angelique had told me on my flight north, and that made me laugh. Are you here? I mentally spoke to Angelique and wished she were.
“How do you know this will be a nice flight?” The woman twisted in her seat.
“Because I know the angels who protected me all summer didn’t do it merely to toss me out of this plane before I get to be with the love of my life,” I said cheerily.
“My husband, the love of my life, ran off with another man last week! How do you like that?”
My brain scanned an entire list of potential responses before I landed on, “Life’s full of changes.”
“Changes, yes. Sodomy, no!” She recoiled, plastering her face so tightly against the window she looked like an anti-bird-collision sticker.
I put on headsets to prevent further conversation and listened to Taylor Dayne sing “Love Will Lead You Back.” Whether it was the lady on the plane or old Minnow-Munching-Maynard, people suffered when love left. I knew that feeling, and I was determined it wasn’t going to happen to me again.
I checked my watch every five minutes, willing the plane to go faster, and finally the wheels touched down. It was one p.m., I’d made it to Illinois, and I felt like I’d been awake for three days. I’d never traveled so far, so fast, and to so many places just on chance. If I stopped to think about it, my trip to the Northwoods, because Levade didn’t answer my calls, was insane. And now, here I was, in Illinois, based on Sam’s scribbled address, and having no idea if Levade was even here. I accused Levade of strange behavior. I’m practically certifiable.
Chapter Twenty-six
It was cold but sunny when I checked the address above the gate. The huge iron posts stood about fifteen feet in the air and held an elaborate locked gate with elegant ironwork that read LIPIZZANER FARMS: THE WINTER HOME OF THE LIPIZZANER STALLIONS. The L had that same flourish Aunt Alice made on her postcard. I stood there for a moment taking that in. Aunt Alice obviously knew this place and how Angelique loved it, and she took that swooping L on the gates of this fabulous farm and made it her code for “I love you” in a time when lesbians couldn’t simply say those words to one another out loud. I knew the L was a sign that I was in the right place, not just geographically, but in my soul.
I punched gate buttons and the visitor voice box, but no one responded, so I parked the rental car off to the side of the massive drive and decided to walk in. I took off my parka and held my breath so I could squeeze between two iron bars in a row of metal that was their farm fence, and then I quickly put my down jacket back on.
It was a long, cold walk to the barn, but I was thrilled to finally be here. Ahead of me were three long, white-and-gray stone barns, with very tall ceilings and high windows, and the heads of white horses sticking out of them. In a field to one side, a few horses were out for exercise. What if she’s with someone else? What if she isn’t excited to see me? What if…what if…what if? I marched in cadence to my fretting as I reached the closest barn in this wonderland of white horses.
I entered, looking for someone I might tell of my arrival. No one answered my “Helloooo!” so I continued to look around. The horse stalls were large and pristine, magnificent in their gold embellishments, and they ran endlessly in one long row on the window side of the aisle, while the opposing wall was a visual catalogue of the long history of the facility, with murals and huge photos of famous horses and horsemen.
Suddenly, a nicker, and I looked behind me. The name plate said ALIZAR and, below his name, his lineage as son of yet another Alizar.
I dashed over to his stall, delighted to see him, and he seemed to remember me. I gave him a pat and a cheek kiss.
“With what I know now, Alizar, I have a feeling your daddy may have been named in honor of my aunt Alice, Alice Armand. Alice-Ar. Alizar.” He put his head down to allow me to rub him. “Where is she? Where’s Levade?” But the elegant horse was giving up no secrets. “Tell you what. I’m staying with you, because I know wherever you are, she will be, at least by dinnertime.”
* * *
Twilight and the sun angled through the high windows and cascaded down into the aisle, making the view beyond a few yards blinding. I almost felt Angelique was there. Suddenly, Levade appeared in the aisle in her riding clothes and paddock boots, looking phenomenal.
“Taylor?” She seemed to know instinctively I was there.
“That is a very hot outfit. You look gorgeous.”
She froze. “What are you doing here?” she whispered, and I could hear her take a breath.
I walked the distance to her as if approaching a shrine, and I kissed her like I never knew I could kiss anyone, and she collapsed in my arms. “I came to be with you.”
“I stay here with Alizar in the winter, and I go back to the Point in the spring.” She began with our geography problem.
“Me too.”
“I don’t go to New York,” she warned me, a bit breathless.
“Where you go, I go.” I stopped and took a breath. “Levade, I’m in love with you. I am madly, irrationally, in love with you. I want to be with you forever.” I’d finally said it, and the look in her eyes melted me. I kissed her as if we were alone and no one would ever see how much I wanted her. I kissed until we were both a river of longing.
“You’ll stay here with me in my apartment. Wait right here and I’ll—”
“I don’t wait,” I said and grabbed her around the waist and walked with her. “I brought you something.” I produced a jump drive from the pocket of my parka. “It’s the first draft of my manuscript entitled White Horse Point. I wrote it about…well, I wrote it because of you.” And she tucked it into her riding vest and hugged me.
We walked through the massive stone training barn, down the long hors
e aisles, large pictures of famous trainers and equestrians lining the walls. I stopped abruptly in front of a huge photograph of a tall woman in riding clothes, her hair slicked back, making her look extraordinarily dashing. Standing next to her were several magnificent white horses.
“Angelique!”
“Yes. This was the place she loved. She only went to the Point to be with your aunt each summer.”
I paused to consider the commitment that living arrangement represented.
Up a winding set of stone steps, we came to a door that led to Levade’s small but well-appointed apartment. “This is where my aunt used to stay.” Levade pushed the heavy door open, and it squeaked on its hinges. The room was orderly and efficient, attributes I’d come to associate with Levade and her horse training, at least the training of Alizar. Suddenly something blew through the air, slamming into the furniture, and Sass let out a large howling growl.
“Now that’s the kind of greeting I expect,” I said, then smothered Levade in more kisses, unable to separate what I wanted to say from what I felt. This woman was younger than I, more refined in many ways, psychic, and mentally very strong. How could this work for more than the time it took to make us horribly sad and angry when we broke up? But I have a lot to offer too. I’m talented and funny, and let’s not forget addictive.
“I hear your mind clicking away. You’re already worrying about what might happen, or might not happen, down the road between us. And yet, those worries never bothered you with men.”
“Because I didn’t care.”
“And now you do. And that’s love. And there’s risk. And you need to stop thinking so much.”
“That’s what writers do. We think about happy endings and will they turn out that way, and what would happen if they didn’t.”
“Let me see if I can disengage your brain.” Levade slipped out of her clothes and then yanked my shirt off me and unzipped my pants, pushing me onto the bed and kissing me with such fervor that it created visible signs of melting. Then she pulled back and looked into my eyes. “I’m in love with you,” she said quietly.
This time my response was immediate. “I’m so incredibly in love with you. You’re my soul mate, the one person who completes me. I’m not happy unless I’m with you.”
She cocked her head to one side, gave me her beautiful smile, and said cheerfully, breaking the romantic mood, “Good!”
I laughed at her response, as if she were the instructor, pleased that I’d finally understood the lesson and had gotten the answer right. Then her look changed to longing, and she slid her naked body farther up on my chest and guided my face into the deepest part of her, as I clenched her buttocks tightly in my hands and thrust her into me, and she moved rhythmically, pounding and pounding, and climaxing too soon.
I was insane for her, and I rolled her over onto her chest, stretched myself onto the length of her back, and reached underneath her, seeking out the most sensitive part of her, stroking her as she writhed, begging me to give her time to recover, but I would not. I kissed the back of her beautiful neck as I held her open, allowing me to enter, and she bucked beneath me, and her hips pushed up into me, and she tried to muffle her screams in the pillows as she climaxed, shaking and shattered.
As I rolled off her and she turned toward me, I could see in her magnificent eyes that she was undone.
“That was beyond phenomenal,” she whispered.
I cocked my head to one side, gave her a big grin, and imitated her unromantic, cheery reply, “Good!” I said, and she giggled uncontrollably and punched me playfully, and I loved who she was.
* * *
I was snuggled up to Levade, lounging on a huge leather couch with her head leaning back against my chest and my arms wrapped around her. It made me think of the picture of Angelique and Aunt Alice on the cabin porch swing, in this same position. “This is what love looks like,” Ramona had said. Basking in the warmth of lovemaking, staring at the snow-covered pasture where white horses in blankets were cavorting, I knew she was right.
“Ramona has pictures of Angelique and Alice together. We should frame them and hang them in here,” I said, already mentally moving in, and Levade smiled at me.
The phone rang, and as if conjured up, Ramona’s voice was distinctive and irritated at not knowing where I had been.
“I thought you were dead! I even called Sam, and he said you left the coffee pot plugged in, and a gorilla-porn pepper shaker for Marney, and you just evaporated.”
Good old Sam, I thought. He can definitely keep a secret.
“For all I knew, you fell in the lake or were attacked by brother-of-Frank!”
“Did Frank have a brother?” I glanced down at Levade, wondering if we would have more siblings to deal with, and Levade rolled her eyes.
“No! Thank God!” Ramona shouted.
“I’m in Illinois at a very expensive horse farm,” I said.
“Why, for God’s sake?” she exclaimed.
“I’m with Levade.”
Ramona’s voice warmed up. “Ah, I see. No waiting till spring. You’ll be back in New York soon. Wait and see.”
“I can’t wait,” I said, and left her to interpret that remark.
Her voice contained a smile. “Well, write something, will you?”
When I hung up, Levade pulled away from me. “You talk to her a lot. Are you attracted to her?”
“You’re psychic. You should know the answer to that,” I teased.
“I want to hear it from you.” She punched me playfully.
“My publicist? No! Of course not. This jealousy over other women, is that a lesbian thing?” My mind was already zipping ahead to a time when I would have to defend all my actions and learn the intricacies of living with Levade.
“Here’s a ‘lesbian thing,’” she said, and shoved me onto my back, her hot mouth devouring mine. I pulled back to gaze into those gorgeous blue eyes, and then, wet with wanting, I kissed her again mercilessly, submerging myself in her, lost in the throbbing heat of our desire. My waiting was finally over, and despite how long it had taken me to find Levade, her love was worth waiting for. She was the other half of me, my ethereal blue lake and the point of my existence. The woman I would spend the rest of my life with, if she would have me. And why wouldn’t she have me, I thought. I’m addictive.
We made love all night, as if making up for all the years we’d been without each other. At dawn, as horses nickered in their stalls and the sun rose over the snowy fields, I lay with Levade asleep in my arms, and it was then I realized that Angelique had fulfilled her promise to me, made on that first plane ride to the Northwoods: I had found passion I never knew existed.
Thank you, Angelique, and give my love to Aunt Alice.
About the Authors
Andrews & Austin began as theatrical and movie-of-the-week writers in L.A. Andrews was raised on her grandmother’s horse ranch in Oklahoma, while Austin spent time on her aunt’s cattle ranch in New Mexico. Andrews & Austin now live on their own ranch on the prairie with Icelandic horses, and an assortment of dogs, and cats. They can be contacted at: [email protected] They blog Mondays and Thursdays at www.bossmaresart.com where women’s equality converges with equine art. A boss mare is an older, wiser, female horse with the most common sense. Andrews & Austin were recipients of the 2007 GCLS Debut Author Award.
Books Available from Bold Strokes Books
Face the Music by Ali Vali. Sweet music is the last thing that happens when Nashville music producer Mason Liner, and daughter of country royalty Victoria Roddy are thrown together in an effort to save country star Sophie Roddy’s career. (978-1-63555-532-5)
Flavor of the Month by Georgia Beers. What happens when baker Charlie and chef Emma realize their differing paths have led them right back to each other? (978-1-63555-616-2)
Mending Fences by Angie Williams. Rancher Bobbie Del Rey and veterinarian Grace Hammond are about to discover if heartbreaks of the past can ever truly be mended. (978-1-63555-70
8-4)
Silk and Leather: Lesbian Erotica with an Edge edited by Victoria Villasenor. This collection of stories by award winning authors offers fantasies as soft as silk and tough as leather. The only question is: How far will you go to make your deepest desires come true? (978-1-63555-587-5)
The Last Place You Look by Aurora Rey. Dumped by her wife and looking for anything but love, Julia Pierce retreats to her hometown, only to rediscover high school friend Taylor Winslow, who’s secretly crushed on her for years. (978-1-63555-574-5)
The Mortician’s Daughter by Nan Higgins. A singer on the verge of stardom discovers she must give up her dreams to live a life in service to ghosts. (978-1-63555-594-3)
The Real Thing by Laney Webber. When passion flares between actress Virginia Green and masseuse Allison McDonald, can they be sure it’s the real thing? (978-1-63555-478-6)
What the Heart Remembers Most by M. Ullrich. For college sweethearts Jax Levine and Gretchen Mills could an accident be the second chance neither knew they wanted? (978-1-63555-401-4)
White Horse Point by Andrews & Austin. Mystery writer Taylor James finds herself falling for the mysterious woman on White Horse Point who lives alone, protecting a secret she can’t share about a murderer who walks among them. (978-1-63555-695-7)
Femme Tales by Anne Shade. Six women find themselves in their own real-life fairy tales when true love finds them in the most unexpected ways. (978-1-63555-657-5)
Jellicle Girl by Stevie Mikayne. One dark summer night, Beth and Jackie go out to the canoe dock. Two years later, Beth is still carrying the weight of what happened to Jackie. (978-1-63555-691-9)
Le Berceau by Julius Eks. If only Ben could tear his heart in two, then he wouldn’t have to choose between the love of his life and the most beautiful boy he has ever seen. (978-1-63555-688-9)