Inn the Spirit of Trickery

by Becki Willis

“Wait! Wh—!” By the time she formed a proper protest, she was sitting atop the horse. She grabbed onto the saddle horn and laughed nervously. “Why did you do that?”

  “Looked to me like you needed help, and I aim to please, ma’am.” He tipped the brim of his hat, his face split in an amused grin.

  “Ohmygosh, I can’t believe you did that!” She was still breathless. She took a few moments to still her pounding heart and to get her bearings. She hesitantly touched the rim of the saddle, and the reins, and the back of the horse’s neck, like a person getting into an unfamiliar automobile and checking out the instrument panel.

  “It’s all there,” Shelton teased. He grabbed the bridle and pulled the horse’s neck around toward her. “Say hello to Ladybird. Lady, this here is the special gal I was telling you about.”

  He made the introductions as if we were introducing two people. Hannah laughed, all the while wondering just how far he took his affection for the horse. Obsessed much?

  “This,” she told him, “is the biggest mare I’ve ever seen. Or ridden. Are you sure I can handle her?” She felt the strength of the horse beneath her, giving new meaning to the term horsepower.

  “Ladybird? Aw, she’s just a big ole’ baby!” Shelton laughed at the suggestion. He nuzzled the horse’s face with his own, his voice taking on a surprisingly gentle tone. “Aren’t you, girl? That’s right, just my big ole’ baby girl.”

  Hannah could have sworn the horse kissed him. The dapple snuggled her velvety nostrils against his cheek and parted her lips, giving a soft nicker. Shelton laughed in delight, dropping a kiss onto the horse’s long nose.

  “Would you two like to be alone?” Hannah teased.

  “Looks like we’re making her jealous, girl,” he told the horse. He pretended to whisper in her ear, but he said the words deliberately loud. “I’ll meet you behind the stables at midnight.” Patting the horse’s neck affectionately, he released the bridle. When she shook her head and stomped, Hannah felt the quake rattle in her own shoulders.

  “Seriously, this is a powerful horse!” Fear leaked into her voice.

  “I told you, she’s the mother of champions. That means mating with some powerful stallions. Not exactly a job for lightweights.”

  “What if I can’t handle her?” Hannah worried.

  “Relax. She’s a highly trained animal. She knows exactly what to do.”

  Hannah still looked skeptical, but there was no time to protest. Jazz called for the riders to line up. When Shelton gently slapped Ladybird on the rump and said, “Take care of my girl,” she wondered if he were talking to her or the mare. But as the steed began to move, she forgot about the farrier and concentrated on the horse. Namely, on staying in the saddle and not falling beneath the powerful legs carrying her ever closer to the crowd.

  The plan was simple. As John Boy welcomed the crowd and introduced the show and their special grand entry participants, the National Anthem would begin. Hannah would lead the string of riders along the string of fake storefronts. Then she would turn and ride closer to the grandstands. Taking cues from the crew, she would set the pace so that a double line formed and they passed one another. Two such circles, Jazz said, was ample time to play the anthem, give the beaming trail riders maximum exposure to the fans in the stands, and to build anticipation for the show to come.

  After the first round, Hannah relaxed. The horse was powerful, but well disciplined. She suspected the mare would have much preferred a faster pace, but she responded to Hannah’s commands and kept her steps smooth and measured.

  It happened as they turned for the home stretch. Hannah knew that in a typical grand entry, this was when the horses broke into a run, signifying the real show was about to begin. But Jazz had explained that they would keep to their slow and steady pace, allowing for the varied skill levels of the trail riders. Many, she knew, were sitting on a horse for the first time. For their safety, the retreat would be slow and orderly.

  Ladybird, however, was trained for the spotlight. She knew the drill. She knew that if she raced for the exit, the crowd would cheer. Knew their excitement would fuel her energy and give her incentive to not simply perform, but to excel. Ladybird was a horse trained to please.

  As the horse lunged forward, the sudden motion took Hannah by surprise. She grabbed for the saddle horn and held on for dear life, forgetting about the reins. Her body whipped forward, unsteady and wobbly over the neck of the horse.

  Ladybird misinterpreted her rider’s command. She took it as the signal to run faster. Responding to the cue, the horse’s powerful hooves gobbled up more ground.

  Hannah belatedly thought to jerk the reins. The horse abruptly shot to the right, toward the string of make-believe buildings. She barely missed the staged area, but her hooves clipped a guy-line. She kicked her hind legs to get the entanglement off her feet, launching herself—and her rider—into a hard pitch forward. By the grace of God, Hannah managed to stay in the saddle, but she heard fabric rip and something crash behind them. As the horse’s feet slapped the ground, Hannah’s teeth rattled in her head and the sunny overhead sky suddenly lit with stars.

  The crowd thought it was part of the show. They roared in excitement, cheering on the fabulous exhibition ride. Wanting more, they were disappointed when the duo didn’t turn back and preen for applause. Instead, the dapple raced away, carrying her rider with her.

  Unsure of how to proceed without their leader, the other riders stopped in the tracks.

  Only one horse thundered along the path behind the dapple. Riding in the rear of the line, Walker was at the far end of the street when he realized Hannah was in trouble. He ignored the cries of the crowd, who again thought it was part of the show. Dodging the confused trail riders, Walker paid no heed to the crewmembers stepping out and waving their arms, trying to slow him down. He leaned low over the neck of his stallion and slapped the reins, urging the steed to run faster. Like a cowboy in the movies, Walker rode hard and fast to rescue the damsel in distress.

  The crowd loved it. They were on their feet, screaming at the top of their lungs in excitement. John Boy tried to keep up with the turn of events, offering a play-by-play of the action. From his lofty location near the high wire, he could still see the horses, even when the audience couldn’t. Jazz practically shoved a young man off his horse and launched herself into the saddle, but not before glancing up at the crowd gone wild. She should consider working this scenario into the show. Not bothering with a horse, Shelton’s long legs gobbled up territory as he did a fine job of keeping pace with Jazz and her horse. Somewhere along the way, she offered him a hand and he swung onto the horse behind her, never losing a beat.

  Ahead of them, Walker caught up with Ladybird, his powerful stallion overtaking the well-matched mare. By the time he reached her, Hannah was barely hanging on. Her face was ashen, her dark hair was wild, and the white fringe on her shirt flew in all directions as one of her arms flapped haphazardly in the wind.

  “Hang on, Hannah!” Walker yelled. “I’ve got you!”

  He nudged his horse against the mare, not enough to knock her over, but with enough force to slow her down. The dapple gradually began to slow, but her hooves still thundered against the earth. If Hannah fell now, she would be trampled beneath one, or both horses.

  “When I grab you,” Walker yelled, his voice carrying over the sound of the hooves, the wind, and the crowd still roaring behind then, “turn loose of the horn. Got it?”

  “Wh—What?” She turned her head to look at him, the shock evident in her face.

  Walker leaned far out of the saddle and snaked his arm around her waist. “Turn loose, Hannah!” he said, feeling her resistance. At this pace, they would both be jerked from their saddles and trampled to death. “Turn loose. Now!”

  Hannah did as he demanded. She screamed as she left the saddle. Any moment now, she would feel the sharp sting of steel as the horseshoes ripped through her flesh. Lose consciousness as eight muscled legs pounded her into th
e ground. With any luck, her foot wouldn’t hang in the stirrup, and she wouldn’t be dragged across the pasture. Any moment now, her world would go black, and Walker’s face would be the last thing she would ever see.

  She could think of worse things.

  And then she realized she had time to think of those things. It took a full moment before she realized she wasn’t being trampled to death. She hadn’t fallen from the saddle. Walker had lifted her from her horse and slung her, none too gracefully, across his own saddle. Face down, no less. The saddle horn bit into her stomach as the horses slowed.

  “Hannah!”

  She heard the panic in Walker’s voice. Glanced up to see the worry in his face. Saw the fear and the sheer relief of having her safe, and more or less in his arms. She struggled to sit up, twisting and squirming until she was in an upright position. She was half sidesaddle, half in Walker’s lap, sitting backwards on the horse. She didn’t care, because it allowed her to throw her arms around his waist and squeeze him so tightly he yelped.

  “Are you okay?” he demanded.

  “Yes!” She said the word in amazement, truly shocked to discover it was true. She had somehow managed to not only live through the horrific ride, but to come out of it in one piece. Her body was already sore, her head and her heart pounded at a dangerous tempo, and she tasted blood on her tongue. But she was alive!

  Without thinking it through, Hannah released Walker’s waist, grabbed his face in both her hands, and pressed a hard, fast kiss onto his lips. She was alive!

  Jazz’s borrowed horse slid to a stop behind them.

  “Are you okay?” the show producer asked sharply.

  “Hannah!” Shelton shrieked, sliding off the horse to hurry to her side. He looked up at the rumbled couple in concern, his sides heaving as he swallowed deep gulps of air. After his race across the pasture—first on foot, then bareback across the rump of a horse—he was painfully out of breath. It took him a moment to focus and form a coherent thought.

  Hannah’s blouse was ripped and gaping open, revealing far more than just cleavage. Her hair was wild and her face was pale, but flushed. Blood dribbled from the side of her mouth. When his eyes trailed to Walker, he saw a similar smudge of red around his mouth.

  Then his eyes moved beyond the couple, to the horse lying on its side beyond them. “Lady!” he shrieked. He ran to the mare, falling onto his knees beside the animal. “What did you do to my horse!” he demanded, his hands traveling over her in a frantic pace.

  The horse nickered and tucked her head into the crook of the tall man’s shoulder. As Shelton crooned in concern and ran his hand lovingly over the horse, Walker looked down at Hannah. With the immediate danger passed, his stormy blue eyes managed a light of humor.

  “They need to get a room,” he murmured.

  Hannah giggled. It was nerves, she was sure, but the giggle turned into a snicker. Before she could help it, she was laughing. The sound was contagious, begging Walker to join in.

  Shelton Long was not amused. “What is wrong with you!” he screamed, looking back at them with contempt in his eyes. “This horse is injured, and all you can do is sit there laughing! Half naked, too, and kissing another man! Two days ago, you were kissing me!” he reminded her coldly.

  Hannah and Walker looked down at the same time, both only now realizing the state of her undress. With a gasp, Hannah looked up, catching the look in his dark gaze. There was no doubt she saw appreciation there. Perhaps a touch of lust.

  Both paled in comparison to the hurt she saw in his eyes. At the mention of her kiss with Shelton, the light in his blue gaze died, replaced by the look of thunder. She started to explain, but he wanted no explanation. Not from her.

  “Don’t you dare look at her,” Walker demanded. His voice was as cold as an Arctic winter. Even as he spoke, he jerked his starched western shirt off, popping a button or two in his haste. He wrapped it around Hannah and pointed an angry finger at the man still kneeling beside his horse.

  “I’m sorry if the horse is hurt, but you didn’t even ask about Hannah. You care more about that mare than you do about her,” he accused.

  “I can see she’s fine,” Shelton shot back. “I can’t say the same about the horse!”

  As the farrier turned back to his beloved animal, Jazz turned in the saddle and waved at the crowd in the distance. She pumped her hands high, letting them know all was fine. The faint sound of their cheers wafted across the field. Despite the drama unfolding in the field, and despite the men’s angry exchange, her message was clear. The show must go on.

  Tucking the borrowed shirt more tightly around her, Hannah had to appreciate the way Walker stood up for her. Best of all, his manner was more protective than it was proprietary. The last thing she wanted was to become a coveted possession between the two men.

  Not that she needed a man to speak for her, but at the moment, it was much appreciated. With each passing moment, she was slowly succumbing to the aftershock of the danger.

  Walker felt her tremble. As Shelton helped his horse to her feet and worried over the way Ladybird favored her hind leg, Walker gently helped Hannah turn around, so that she sat correctly in the saddle. Pulling her back against his bare chest, he wrapped his arms around her and picked up the reins. Without as much as a glance to the other man and his limping horse, Walker heeled his steed in the flanks and swiftly carried Hannah back to the inn.

  He avoided the area around the grandstands. The audience had already forgotten about them and was now enthralled with the opening skit. Walker held her with his arm tight against her waist, and Hannah clung to him with both hands. Neither spoke as they raced across the pasture and took a back way home, through the woods, and past the Tanner cabin. He reined in at the back door of the inn, slipping off the horse and holding his arms out to help her down, before Hannah even had time to think of how to get off in her skin-tight jeans.

  Walker ushered her in the back door and into the nearby back office, shuttering them inside. She was in no shape to face guests, but that didn’t stop Sadie. She followed them into the office.

  “What happened to you!” Sadie cried.

  “The horse. Grand entry. B—B—Bucked.” Hannah managed the explanation in fragments.

  “Are you all right? What are you doing in those skin-tight jeans and Walker’s shirt?” Sadie asked, clucking around her like a mother hen. She had Hannah seated on the sofa, wrapped in an afghan, boots off, and with her feet propped up on a pillow, by the time she asked the next question. “Is that blood on your mouth? And on Walker’s, too? How in the world—” She stopped mid-sentence, as the significance of the smear became evident. Biting back a pleased smile, she hovered over the disheveled woman. “Can I get you something? Water? Tea? Whiskey?”

  The door burst open and Fred rushed into the room, clearly out of breath and flustered. “Oh, thank God you’re all right!” she said, clutching her hand to her chest. “I saw the whole thing. I’ve never been so scared in all my life!”

  “What exactly happened?” Sadie asked.

  Fred was the one to tell the story. By then, Walker had plopped down on the couch near Hannah, close enough for emotional support. Not quite close enough for physical comforting. Sadie shoved a glass of sweet tea into Hannah’s hands and rubbed her feet, even though that wasn’t the part of her that hurt the worst.

  Fred’s rendition of events was quite colorful, painting a vivid scene of how things played out from her vantage point. When she reached the part where the horses raced into the field, out of sight, she nudged Walker to take over the story.

  His version was short and to the point. “I caught up with her, pulled her onto my horse, and the only thing that sorry Shelton Long cared about was the danged mare!”

  “That’s it?” Fred stared at him in disbelief. “That’s all you got?”

  “What more do you want?” he glowered.

  “The part where she’s wearing your shirt and you’re wearing her blood might be nice,” the
older woman said dryly.

  In answer, Hannah dropped the blanket and opened the front of her borrowed shirt, careful to keep the view from Walker. Although in retrospect, it might be too late for that. He had already gotten an eyeful.

  “Oh, my,” Sadie said, a smile hovering on her lips.

  “To his credit,” Hannah said, “Shelton didn’t stare. As Walker pointed out, he was much more concerned with his horse than he was with me.” Remembering the way they had laughed at Walker’s comment about getting a room, a smile tugged at her lips. When she glanced at the attorney, he knew exactly what she was thinking. They both burst out laughing. Again.

  “Sister, I think I hear someone at the desk,” Sadie said abruptly. “And I need to check on a pie I have in the oven.”

  “But I don’t hear—Oh, yes. Yes, I do believe you’re right.”

  Their hasty exit was quite obvious. Walker cocked an amused eyebrow before dropping his dark head back against the couch and hefting out a long sigh.

  “What a day,” he said. “And it’s not even mid-afternoon yet.”

  “I hope I can move tomorrow,” Hannah fretted. She pulled her feet off the ottoman, amazed she could bend her legs. Either the white pants had loosened, or the ordeal had scared ten pounds off her. She gingerly shifted on her bottom, trying not to wince.

  “I recommend a long soak in a hot tub,” he told her.

  Several inches separated them on the sofa. Hannah reached out to cover his hand where it lay between them.

  “Thank you, Walker, for coming to my rescue.” Her voice was soft.

  “Anytime, ma’am,” he drawled, looking every bit the cowboy as he pretended to tip the hat he no longer wore. No doubt, he had lost it somewhere in his mad dash to save her. Hannah idly wondered how expensive it had been, or if he’d be able to salvage it. She tried not to think about how handsome he looked, sitting there in nothing but his jeans and boots.

  “I’m serious. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t—”

  He silenced her by curling his fingers over hers, and reminding her gently, “But I did.”