Mismatched

by Elle Casey

  She nods, acting all wise. “That’s what they say.” She shrugs. “Apparently, sheep have these big old vaginas out there, hangin' in the breeze. Some men get lonely out there and then … well, things get hairy.”

  I squeeze my eyes closed to burn the image out of my brain. My stomach turns over three times. Then a fourth. I’m not sure if I’m going to barf again or just suffer indigestion for the rest of the day. Damn those blood sausages! Why did I eat them again! Maybe I should stick my finger down my throat.

  Erin laughs behind me.

  My eyes open and I blink my lids a bunch of times, chasing the nausea away. “That is the most disgusting bit of information you’ve ever shared with me.”

  “Worse than that story I told you about that woman and the donkey …?”

  I throw up my hand. “Stop right there!” I turn around and glare at her. “Do you have any idea how many nightmares I had after you told me that story? Weeks, Erin. They went on for weeks.”

  “Hey, it’s a fact. You can look it up online. There’re pictures and all. I’m not making these things up, you know, I’m just educating you on the seedier members of our society.”

  “Please, don’t educate me ever again. Especially when it comes to farmers and weird shit they might do.”

  She wiggles her eyebrows. “So you got the hots for a farmer, eh? What’s he like?” She bounces all around the sides of the bed until she’s right behind me. She’s twelve, now, apparently.

  Ignoring her, I turn back towards the mirror and go about getting my face presentable again. Thank goodness I brought lots of make-up remover. My eyeliner has somehow migrated from my eye to my chin. How did I miss that earlier? Or maybe it happened after the lawyer’s office. I’m such a mess.

  “I met a guy named Donal. He’s a farmer and he was very nice. He walked me home and he was a gentleman.”

  “Ohhhh, sounds … exceedingly boring, actually.”

  “It wasn’t. It was very … nice.” I can’t help the blush that rises up to cover my cheeks. Thank goodness Erin is too busy checking herself out in the mirror to notice.

  “So where is this farm, anyway?” She moves her bangs left and then right, shaking her head as she attempts to get the hairs to fall into the perfect position.

  “I have no idea. We can just ask someone, right?”

  “Probably. What’s his surname?”

  “Uhhh …” I search my memory banks. “I have no idea. He’s just Donal, I guess.”

  “Well, that makes it easy, doesn’t it.” She stands and knocks me on the shoulder. “Come on, then. Let’s suss him out and feel his animals up. If we time it right we can be done by lunch.”

  I run a brush through my hair and then follow Erin’s banging footsteps down the stairs and out the front door. She’s already accosted a passerby and received very specific instructions to Donal's place by the time I’m opening the driver’s side door. It’s kind of freaking me out how well everyone in this place knows everyone else. I’d panic living here thinking people were stalking me or something.

  Erin gets into the passenger seat, pointing out through the windshield. “Right at the end of the street, left at the statue of St. Mary, round the bend ten clicks and left again at the cairn with two blue stones. Easy peasy.”

  I rev up the engine and point the car down the street. “I have no idea what you just said. Just point when we get to the next turn.”

  Erin gamely acts as navigator, pointing left and right. At one point I think we’re for sure lost because there’s nothing out here but us and a single hawk, but then a pile of stone shows up and we turn down a dirt road and a large farmhouse comes into view. Donal is standing out in front of it, holding the reins of the biggest horse I’ve ever seen in my entire life. It’s a monster.

  Is this real or am I dreaming? My churning stomach says I’m very much awake.

  “Oy, it’s a Cob,” whispers Erin. “I used to watch the knackers ride those ponies down the middle of the road, arms a-flailing, shouting out profanities, having a ball. Made me want to kiss a knacker once, he rode so well.”

  “A Cob? A knacker? Is that Irish?”

  Erin throws open her door. “Hey, ho! Donal, I presume!”

  I scramble to get out of the car and explain our presence here. He’s definitely going to think I’m a stalker.

  Donal stands up straighter and stares at us, shielding his eyes from the sun to see us better.

  My hands are shaking as I approach. Be cool, Ridlee. Be cool. Act un-stalker-like. Make eye contact but don’t stare. Don’t stare!

  Following my own orders is very difficult. He has boots, jeans, and a very tight t-shirt on. He leans down and picks up a hat that was on the ground, bangs it on his thigh twice, and puts it on his head. It’s one of those Irish ones that all the old guys in town were wearing last night. On him, it looks positively dreamy.

  Dreamy? Where did that word come from?

  Erin throws out a hand. “Nice to meet you. We’ve come for the tour. Pet a few furry friends and whatnot.”

  I reach up and grab a lock of my hair, twisting it around my finger to distract myself from running away at full speed.

  The speed with which I want to escape translates into words coming out so fast they pretty much tumble from my mouth. “Hi, Donal. I’m sorry we’re kind of here without notice, but it’s Sunday and everything’s closed and we were just looking for something to do. Like pet fuzzy animals.”

  “Yup. Came to pet some animals, so we did,” Erin says, her Irish accent coming on strong. “Got any wee ones, by any chance? We’re kind of partial to the wee ones.”

  “Might do,” he says, staring first at her and then me. He reaches up and tugs on his hat a little. “Wasn’t expecting ye just yet, though.”

  My face burns bright red. “I know.” I take Erin’s elbow and start pulling her away. “We should go. I’m sorry to put you out like this.”

  “No, no, that’s fine.” He gestures up at his horse. “Big Dick was just looking forward to a little ride. Been cooped up in his paddock all week.”

  Erin starts to giggle.

  “Big Dick?” I say, not sure I heard him right. Are we talking dicks now? How did that happen?

  “Aye.” He looks up at his horse and smiles. “Big Dick, meet Ridlee. Ridlee …,” he turns and stares at me, his eyes all soft, “meet my Big Dick.”

  Erin snorts and starts laughing so hard, she bends in half. “I’m sorry … I’m sorry …” She backs away to the car. “I forgot my handbag … I’m sorry …”

  I have no idea what she’s about to do until it’s done. The next thing I see is the back of our Fiat Bambino heading down the dirt road and out onto the highway, as it were.

  “Where in the hell is she going?” I ask no one in particular.

  Donal clears his throat. “She said something about leaving her bag behind.”

  I turn to face Donal and his Big Dick. “I’m really sorry about this.” I shove my hands in my back pockets. It’s so awkward standing here like this, not even sure if he gets why Erin was laughing so hard. “I am completely and totally out of my mind right now. I never just drop in on people like this. And my friend has never abandoned me before, either.” I look once more out towards the road. The only evidence that she was there is a cloud of dwindling dust.

  “It’s all right. I invited ye. Come on and have a look at the animals. I might have a wee one or two, born out of season.”

  When I turn to face him, I’m shocked to find I have to look up. Waaaay up. He’s sitting on the horse’s back, and the horse is about two storeys high by my estimation. He’s not so much a horse as he is a P.F. Chang’s warhorse statue.

  I hesitate, not sure whether I should walk behind, next to, or in front of them. Finally, I gesture. “Lead the way.”

  He lifts his chin, a devilish glint in his eye. “Come on an’ get yerself up here with me.”

  My eyes bug out of my head as my heart does a backflip. “Up there? On Big Dic
k? With you?” I take one look at the giant head on the horse, his neck that’s about as big around as a sequoia, and his feet that have to be as big around as serving platters, and shake my head. “No, thanks. I like my body all in one piece, arms and legs connected.”

  He smiles, holding an arm down, I think for me to grab. “He’s as gentle as they come. Bred for it, in fact. He’d be honored to carry you, I promise.”

  My eyes dart from Donal's hand to the back of the horse. There’s just no way. “I can’t.”

  “Can’t … or won’t?”

  I shake my head. “I want to, but I’m too scared.” It’s a relief to admit it. I’m breaking out in cold sweats at this point. Vomit might be coming next.

  “I’ll mind ye. I promise. On my honor.” When he rests his hand on his chest, his very well-muscled broad chest I can see pretty clearly through his shirt, I feel a tingle. A very strong tingle. And I feel safe.

  What the hell. How often will I get propositioned by a giant Irishman to ride his Big Dick? Probably never again. I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming this right now, in fact.

  “Fine. Tell me what to do.” I move closer to the horse, expecting him to dance away from me. He doesn’t. He just turns his head to the side and watches me like he’s bored. Big “Bored” Dick. It strikes me as funny so I can’t stop smiling. This is utter madness. Ireland has made me certifiable.

  “Take my hand. Pull yourself up.”

  I laugh. “You’re insane. I’m not a gymnast.”

  “Fine. Have it your way.” He throws his right leg over the front of the horse and then slides off, down the side of him, landing right next to me. A whiff of his laundry hits me, making me want to breathe more of him in. Something about the fresh air and the scent of him … yum-Eee. He hands me the reins. “Hold him for me, would ye?”

  Before I can answer, he’s gone. I hold the well-worn leather in my hand as he jogs over to his porch, takes a chair from it, and jogs back, placing it on the ground next to me. He takes the reins and puts them back over the horse’s head, grabs some of its mane, leaps up onto its back so his stomach is on it cross-wise, and then he sits up while bringing his right leg over to side astride. No wonder I didn’t see him get up before. It happened in two seconds with not even a grunt on his part. Maybe he’s a gymnast.

  “Wow. You’re like … a circus guy.”

  “Use the chair.”

  “What?” I look over at it suspiciously.

  “Put the chair here behind my leg and stand on it so you can get on.”

  I pick the furniture up and start walking closer. “Is Big Dick going to be okay with that?”

  “Sure. He’s used to it.”

  I wonder how many other girls have ridden Donal's Big Dick. It makes me giggle in my head to think of it like that. I think that’s what gives me the courage to actually do as he instructed. I’ll show those chicks that I can hang with this horsey stuff. This giant, warhorse stuff.

  I’m able to get enough height that I can put one leg over the back of the horse, but he’s way higher than I am and I look like I’m doing a stand-up split.

  “Grab my hand,” Donal says, holding it out.

  I do and then he leverages me up with the muscles in his arm and back. For a second I think I’m going to fall, but I grab onto his waist and struggle hard enough that I finally get my butt evenly on the horse’s back. Big Dick is very warm. He smells nice too. Now I know what I was smelling on Donal's shirt.

  When I look down, I feel like I’m looking out my apartment window. The ground is way too far away. I cling to Donal like lint on wool.

  “Try not to tense up. The ride will be nicer if you’re relaxed.”

  “Will Big Dick throw me off?”

  Donal makes a clucking sound and the horse begins to walk. I squeeze Donal harder. My butt muscles clench up so much, I’m instantly two inches taller.

  “No. Never. These horses were bred by the travellers. They’re trained to babysit the children.”

  “What?” I straighten my back, not sure I’m hearing him correctly with my face pressed into his shoulders. I rest my chin on his back and angle my face up. The breeze blows on my heated skin and pushes my loose hairs away. It feels amazing, and for the first time all morning, I don’t feel sick. My butt muscles relax just a tad.

  “They pull wagons all day, and in the evening when it’s time to prepare food and then bed down, the children play on, around, and under the horses. The horses are expected to remain calm and not hurt them. They are the babysitters while the adults take care of the chores.”

  I’m not sure I believe him, but it sure sounds romantic. “So why do you have one? Do you have kids that need horse babysitting?”

  “No. But I like to try the old ways of farming from time to time and Big Dick’s a fair hand at that.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning he’s ace at pulling a plow.”

  I laugh. Then I realize he’s not kidding and stop. “You actually use an old-school plow out here?” I twist my head around and take in all the acreage. I’m no expert, but that sounds like a helluva long day.

  “Sometimes. Not often.” Donal sounds proud and matter-of-fact about it. I’m glad my laughing at the idea didn’t make him defensive. I love a man who has this kind of confidence. I don’t see it often. It makes me want to know him better.

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to grill him some more, but the scenery that’s unfolding takes my breath away. There are green hills as far as the eye can see, and a low, stone wall meanders over the side and top of one until it disappears into the distance.

  “Is this all yours?”

  “Aye,” he says softly. “Been in the family for centuries. ’Twas me father’s before mine and his father’s before that, and so on.”

  “Are those your sheep?” I ask, pointing to some white dots on one of the hills. Big Dick’s slow plodding rhythm is easy to match with the movement of my hips. It would be a lot easier, though, if he wasn’t as wide as the Bambino — I feel like I’m doing a split up here — but I can’t say I find it uncomfortable. It’s actually pretty nice seeing everything from up here with Donal's giant warm body in front of mine. I try not to wiggle with pleasure against him.

  “Aye. I was just about to check on them before you arrived.”

  “Don’t let me get in your way. Just do your thing. I’ll sit up here and admire the view.”

  We continue on in silence until we get to the sheep. Normally I’d feel compelled to fill that void with words, but here in this place, it just seems wrong. I love the sound of Ireland at rest. Is that weird? Yeah, for me it is. Definitely. Maybe I have a fever.

  When we’re close enough to the sheep to spit on them, I realize two things: first, there are some gnarly looking sheep vajay-jays hanging out, just like Erin said. Ew on that. And … there are babies! Fuzzy ones! One of them is super tiny, too!

  “Oh my god!” I squeal. “Babies! Baby lambs!”

  He turns his head to try and look at me. He’s smiling in a bemused kind of way. “You like lambs?”

  “They’re so fluffy,” I say, all starry-eyed. “What’s not to love?” I look up at his impossibly green eyes, a shade exactly the same as the grass surrounding us, and fall a little in lust.

  “Aye,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine. “We’re of a like mind.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ERIN

  I GLANCE IN THE REARVIEW MIRROR and see Ridlee mounting…Is that a chair? Okay, whatever. I really have to get my bag from the B&B. I have a horrible feeling that I left it on the kitchen table, possibly open. I’d been looking through the before and after photos of the pub and got distracted. I know how small these small towns can be and everybody wants to know everybody else's business.

  I wouldn’t put it past Mrs. O’Grady to go through my shit. Then it’ll be round the town in no time that I am the owner of a newly renovated pub in Boston and not — as I mean to make any interested parties believe — the unfortunat
e heiress to a piece of shit bar in Boston that is hemorrhaging money. If Padraig Flanagan gets wind of that little fact, my great plan will be well and truly scuppered.

  I park the car a smidge too close to the front lawn, murdering a gnome holding a fishing pole. Quickly, I bury the gnome behind a large, leafy bush and run inside.

  “Helloooo?” No sign of old Ma O’Grady, thankfully. My bag is on the table, just as I left it, the photos peeking out from the unzipped opening. Relief floods through me and I vow to be more careful. I shake off the idea that I’m being too paranoid by not trusting this nice little old lady. I know that in small towns in the west of Ireland gossiping is a bone fide past-time, enjoyed by all. To be fair, that’s probably true of the entire country. I also know that what Ma O’Grady doesn’t know about the inhabitants of this town and the next one over too, is nobody’s business.

  I clutch my handbag to my chest and breathe deeply. The cat appears and starts to meow at me twisting its way through my legs continuously until I become dizzy watching it.

  “Scat cat!” I hiss, just as Mrs. O’Grady walks through the door from the garden, a basket of vegetables in hand. “Ahhhh…” I bend down and rub the cat enthusiastically. “Such a lovely cat,” I purr. “Oh, hello there, Mrs. O’Grady. I didn’t see you there. I was just enjoying stroking your lovely pussy.”

  “You found your bag then?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  “You left it on the table for anyone to see.”

  Did she see? Has she been going through my stuff? The photos? Oh shit!

  “Mmm, yes, well I didn’t mean to. Anyway, I’m sure that no-one around here would go through my personal belongings.” I figure I can shame her into respect for my privacy.

  “I wouldn’t count on that, missy,” she says in a clipped voice.

  What’s this, and admission of some kind?

  “I can’t control the comings and goings of this house. It’s a Bed and Breakfast after all. There are people, strangers, in and out all the time. Your belongings cannot be the responsibility of the establishment.” She deposits her basket on the table in front of me.