No White Knight

by Nicole Snow

  He’s quiet then, smiling at my side, though I won’t look to see what his eyes can tell me.

  “Not looking for love?” It’s there in his voice.

  I can’t answer that. But I can distract us both.

  It’s a good thing I trained Frost well. He doesn’t even balk as I edge him over next to Holt.

  Then lever myself out of Frost’s saddle and into Plath’s.

  There’s a jolt, a bit of a side step, Holt’s soft grunt as I land across his lap, straddling him, facing him.

  His hands fall to my hips, steadying me.

  Soon we’re just eye to eye, lips to lips, form to form.

  A frozen second.

  Those hazed, dark eyes of his pour into mine.

  God. There’s something sad there I can’t quite make out, but something just as hungry as the wildness in me.

  There’s barely another breath that passes before we crush into each other with a scalding heat.

  If you’ve never kissed a man on horseback, you haven’t lived.

  We spend a good long while kissing each other’s faces off.

  Best part is, I get to watch his sinful beauty the whole time.

  Holt Silverton, my own fallen angel.

  My secret wish, even if nobody chucks any flowers over the cliff today.

  18

  A Horse In This Race (Holt)

  I’m starting to think fate had something in mind when it threw us together.

  Maybe that’s just wishful thinking, but I can’t help wanting this to be real as I settle into my days with her.

  Weekdays on the site end with coming home to Libby’s cooking. We fall into bed together, pass out, and I wake up in the morning to whip her up some breakfast.

  Weekends on the ranch, putting in some hard labor to help her out and getting a feel for the place all my own. I start to get why she’s so attached to it.

  Her sweat’s in this land.

  Her blood.

  Her life.

  Her love.

  She’d rather die a thousand times than let anybody steal this place away.

  Yeah, I know I’m only temporary.

  I know I’m just here to keep her safe until we’re sure Declan’s hyenas aren’t coming back.

  Still, with every day that passes, I’m starting to feel like a part of me belongs on the Potter ranch, too.

  I’m starting to feel like it’s home.

  I’m also starting to feel like this place is too damn quiet.

  It’d be nice to think a tough-talker like Declan was actually a chickenshit, a coward who ran when he realized his easy mark wasn’t so easy after all.

  I’ve got a bad feeling, though.

  This silence feels more like the crackling ozone in the air right before a mother of a storm splits the sky in two.

  Which is why we’re back in Ursa today.

  Inside the old saloon.

  Standing over that fucking body, side to side with our hands on our hips, trying to figure out what to do with him.

  I cock my head to the left.

  She tilts hers to the right.

  Then she says, “Um, I hear if you put bones in lye—”

  “Libby, no!” I can’t help a tired laugh, dragging a hand over my face. “Look, buying enough lye to dissolve human bones is gonna leave a paper trail. The easiest way to do it without being noticed is through a purchase order with my company. Trouble is...paying for stuff in bulk leaves a cash trail even when you try to do it through back channels. You don’t want to leave evidence? No lye.”

  “Oh, fine. Don’t think I could dissolve a dead guy into nothing anyway. I don’t have it in me.” She sighs, folding her arms over her chest. “Jesus, I just want him gone.”

  “I don’t know. I still think there’s a story to tell, if we can figure out what went wrong here.” I stroke my fingers through my beard, frowning. “Leave him be. Blake’s gonna be here soon, anyway.”

  Libby grimaces. “You’re sure it’s a good idea to have them out here?”

  “If we want Blake’s help, yeah. Andrea and Clark are an unfortunate baggage to make it look like an ordinary family outing. Plus, the more he sees it, the more he can pull some answers out of the ether with his boys.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not them I’m worried about. The kids might talk.”

  “Not if we don’t talk too much in front of them.” I shrug. “Andrea already knows too much, anyway. Trust me, she’s a good kid. She knows when to keep her mouth shut.”

  “I’ll have to trust you on that. But we keep the kids out of the saloon, okay?”

  “Agreed,” I say, then lift my head as I hear clopping hooves and Blake shouting. “We’ve got company.”

  Libby looks less than pleased.

  She’s had a puzzled scowl on her face ever since we rode out this morning.

  I guess she’s thinking about her old man again and this mess he left her.

  But she tosses me a faint smile anyway, and we turn to push through the saloon’s swinging doors, where Frost and Plath wait patiently by the hitching post.

  We get treated to the sight of Blake and the kids riding in on horseback.

  Naturally, my brother looks like he’s forgotten how to ride, shifting his ass from side to side in the saddle of a big stocky gelding who just plods on patiently while Blake squirms, clutching the reins every few steps like he’s about to fall.

  The teenagers look fine, though, perched on two leggy young mares who could be twins.

  Andrea and Clark lean over their saddles, murmuring to each other.

  I think somebody’s in love.

  And Blake’s probably mighty pissed about it.

  As they pull up and Blake swings down with a wince, I can’t help a bit of real concern.

  “Hey,” I say. “Your leg holding out okay, man?”

  “Yeah. You’d be surprised what this old boy can handle now that I’m hitched to a massage therapist.” He thumps his thigh.

  I nod. He’s got an old war injury there, one that used to plague him pretty bad before his miracle of a wife got through to him about regular therapy.

  “Mostly just a pain in my ass. Don’t have the saddle skills to hold up well anymore.” He grins, holding his hand out to Libby. “Hey, Libs.”

  “Blake,” she says dryly and reaches out to shake his hand. “I’m just glad you weren’t on my horses with how you were riding.”

  “Nah, borrowed these guys from the Carters. Put out a grease fire at their place a month or two back, so they owed me one. They said it’d be good to let the horses get out and stretch their legs. No way we were driving up through all that brush.” He whistles softly then, letting his hand drop and turning around slowly to take in the town. “So this is it, huh? Looks like a set from one of those old Wild West films. Perfectly preserved, almost.”

  “It’s eerie,” I say. “You’d think weather and wild animals should’ve done the whole place up, even if nobody knew it was here to loot.”

  “Nah, see?” Blake lifts a hand, pointing at the mountaintops and bluffs ringing the little depression where the town sits. “Got a lot of overhangs here. These high cliff walls...the whole place would miss the worst of it. Winds, snows, storms. Pretty arid, too. Creek bed looks dried up, no wind means no seeds dispersing down here, so not much in the way of grass or trees to attract herbivores, so nothing that eats them, either.” He shrugs. “It’s like a time capsule, and we just dug it up.”

  I glance at Libby dryly. “As you can see, he’s the smart one in the family.”

  Blake snorts. “I just know this shit because knowing how weather affects dispersal patterns helps with knowing how weather affects brush fires, they—hey!”

  He breaks off sharply, head swiveling around, and fixes a fierce glare on Clark and Andrea.

  They’re still in the saddle, leaning closer, their lips almost touching, acting like we’re not even here.

  But that holler from Andrea’s daddy bursts them apart real fast.
>
  They break back so sharply their horses kick.

  Clark lets out a startled sound. A blush lights up his face around all those punk piercings. Andrea gently pulls on the reins and pats her mare’s neck, her mouth thin and her face red.

  Blake glowers. “You two wanna get down and tie your horses up instead of trying to suck face on my watch?”

  “God,” Andrea mutters, rolling her eyes. “You’re so embarrassing.”

  They oblige, though, swinging down from their saddles.

  I glance at Libby, whose lips are twitching almost uncontrollably.

  “You thinking about having kids? ’Cause this is what you’re in for.”

  Andrea hisses at me. “Don’t embarrass me, Uncle Holt.”

  Libby doesn’t say anything.

  She’s just giving me a weird look, oddly wide-eyed and stricken.

  What’d I say?

  I don’t get the chance to ask. She just turns away, flicking her fingers and stepping off the saloon porch.

  “Let’s take a look around and see if we can find anything new.” Then she points a stern finger at Andrea and Clark. “Saloon’s off-limits, guys. Stay where I can see you. If I catch you trying to go in there, I’ll get your daddy to ground you.”

  “You’re just making me more curious,” Clark says. Little punk to the core with his blue-tipped hair and ripped-up black clothes. “And Blake—uh, Mr. Silverton’s not my dad. He can’t ground me.”

  “Bullshit, boy. I’ve got your Uncle Rog’s number on speed dial,” Blake growls.

  Clark blanches, then wrinkles his nose at Blake.

  “You still suck,” he says.

  “I could’ve said you can’t even come,” Blake mutters. “Shut up and try to have some fun.”

  I smirk while the kids cluster together and wander off toward the old church, holding hands the whole time.

  It’s almost a bonding activity, having a common enemy.

  “I don’t really think that’s how it works,” I say mildly, and Blake groans, dragging a hand over his face.

  “Maybe not, but they’re too distracted being mad to think about disobeying me, so that works for now.” He tosses his head. “Give me the grand tour, bro.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Libby’s walking ahead of us, not looking back, her shoulders tight as we wander through the town, looking into the various buildings: shanties, the bank, a boarding house, the old sheriff’s station.

  I want to ask her what’s wrong, but not now.

  She’s too proud.

  If I ask her, she won’t tell me in front of Blake.

  Guess I’m being kind of obvious, though.

  While Blake walks next to me, he nudges me with his elbow.

  “Well?” he asks, his voice low, but just to be safe I drop back a little. I know what he’s about to get into. “What’s going on with you and the firecracker?”

  I stuff my hands in my pockets, shrugging. “What makes you think there’s anything going on at all?”

  “Aw, don’t even fucking try it.” He smacks my arm. “Everybody’s seen you two around. At the barn dance, at the drive-in...”

  Shit.

  I don’t know why I’m defensive about this, but all my hackles go up.

  Maybe I’m so used to everyone having a say about what I do, who I sleep with, that I want this to be private. Don’t want other nosy townsfolk prying.

  My business is with Libby and nobody else.

  “What about it?” I snarl. “We’re dating. That a problem?”

  “Not for me.” Blake holds his hands up. “Hey, man. Cool it. I’m not judging. This just seems different than usual for you. I just wanna know if you’re happy.”

  I eye him. “Shouldn’t you be asking if she’s happy? Since I’m such a loser gigolo who fucks everything that talks?”

  “Think that’s between you and her.” My brother chuckles, watching me with eyes that seem to know me too well after being estranged until recently. “But is that what you’re doing here? Being a loser gigolo who fucks around with everyone? Who’s fucking around with her?”

  “Enough.” It comes out of me in a seething growl, my voice pitching louder.

  Libby turns her head as she stops on the porch of a little mini-barn up ahead that looks like it might’ve been a craftsman’s place, judging by the horseshoe hung over the door.

  One blue eye flicks over us curiously. “Everything okay?”

  “We’re fine,” I say, forcing my mouth into a smile and lifting a hand. “Just arguing like we always do. You wanna check that out while we look in over here at the...” My eyes land on the nearest building, the wooden shanty with a faded red cross painted over the door. “Hospital, I guess. Or what passes for the nearest thing.”

  “Sure,” Libby says, but she sounds skeptical.

  She never has wholly bought my bullshit.

  Still, I flash her another smile while she disappears inside, then grab Blake’s arm and steer him toward the building, glaring at him.

  “How about we not have this conversation in earshot of her?”

  That asshole just smirks. “What? You afraid of her hearing that you actually damn well like her?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  We step through the half-broken door of what’s less a hospital and more like...I don’t even know what to call it.

  Makes me think of the old medic’s tents set up on deployment more than a real hospital or doctor’s office. All the old equipment and supplies are scattered on tables on the far end of the large single room, one big slab of an operating table, rows of cots with old, mouse-eaten sheets still stained.

  Blake and I move from bed to bed, checking the windowsills, under the mattresses, places where sick or injured people might’ve kept little journals or keepsakes that might be just what we need to put this place on the map.

  Something more significant than a few antiques that might fetch a nice price at auction, but won’t do much else.

  Blake glances at me now and then.

  “You really do like her, don’t you?” he grumbles.

  I straighten from feeling the bottom of a lumpy mattress to see if there’s anything stitched into it. Gold, even. Might be useful.

  “Is it that obvious?” I ask, lifting my head and scanning the room. “She gets me going, yeah. Makes me want to be...” I search for words, shaking my head. “Better than I am, that’s for sure.”

  “You really think you were that bad a guy?” my brother asks.

  “Don’t know about bad, but maybe just...fuck.” I shrug, moving on to peer over the exam table and the racks of tattered bandages, old cloudy bottles with dried residue inside, ancient tools I don’t even want to think about being used on a human body. “I was focused on the wrong shit. Libby makes me focus on what’s right.”

  “You talk different now, you know.”

  I blink, squinting at him. “I do what now?”

  Blake grins. “You sound more like me. Pure country. No more of that New York city slicker shit.”

  I snort, rolling my eyes. “Shut up. Look, you can’t take the country out of the boy. You know that.”

  “Yeah, well...”

  There’s a pause, and then Blake mumbles something.

  I frown, eyeing him.

  “What was that?”

  He clears his throat, pretends to cough, turning his head to muffle it against his shoulder and talking in a low mumble. “I said...itsgoodtohavemybrotherback.”

  That’s how it comes out.

  One long word.

  Now it’s my turn to fake clear my throat, looking away, scrubbing a hand over the back of my neck.

  My face feels warm.

  It reminds me of why I keep going back to see him, Andrea, and Peace.

  To be Uncle Holt, not just this drifter.

  “Yeah, well,” I mutter, “it’s good to be back, Blake.”

  We don’t say anything else after that, picking through everything.

 
I find what looks like an old doctor’s logbook. Ragged black leather, faded pages in a sort of weird pale green with thin blue lines printed in grids. Looks like names, notations of dosages, dates.

  “Damn, man. Doc would have a field day with this old stuff,” Blake whispers.

  I flip through. It dates as far back as the eighteen fifties.

  This could be good.

  Especially if we cross-check the names and come up with anyone famous like the legendary bandits.

  I set it on a shelf carefully, mentally noting where it is. I don’t want to touch it any more in case the acid in my skin messes with the paper.

  Just as I move over to check out some dried-up test tubes with a thin skim of flaky rust inside, a call comes from outside.

  The kids.

  I don’t even hear what they’re saying, don’t even think.

  My heart nearly slams out of my chest, and I go rocketing toward the door. Blake’s ahead of me, off like a gunshot.

  You don’t get between him and his little girl when she’s yelling.

  Just as we bolt out, Libby comes leaping out of the horseshoe place with her ponytail bouncing.

  The three of us stop and stare.

  Andrea and Clark stand in the middle of a little fenced yard in front of the church, blinking at us like they’re wondering what the hell our problems are.

  Brats.

  They’re just fine, oblivious to scaring the living crap out of us.

  Blake stops, wheezing, bending over and bracing his hands on his thighs. “Andrea? What’s wrong? What happened?”

  “Dad, calm down.” She rolls her eyes. “We found some stuff. Thought you might want to see it.”

  Blake closes his eyes with a deep, long-suffering breath.

  “The next time you start hollering like that,” he says, “you better be in trouble.”

  Andrea arches a brow, pursing her lips and folding her arms with a sassy little switch of her hip. “I thought you told me to stay out of trouble. Now you’re telling me to get into it?”

  I flick Blake’s shoulder. “She’s got you there.”

  “I knew there was a reason I liked her,” Libby snickers.

  “Y’all done?” Blake straightens, growling at all of us.

  “We are now,” Libby says firmly. “Let’s go see what’s inside.”