“Lemonade would be better,” Bill called, holding Mariska’s wrist as I laid her on the soft leather cushions. “Her pulse is steady. It’s probably altitude sickness.”
“Altitude?” That couldn’t be right. “She’s never had a problem before.”
“She wasn’t pregnant before.”
Mom came back with a damp washcloth and a glass of lemonade. “Move back so I can put this on her face.”
Reluctantly, I stepped out of the way, but not too far. “I think we should call 911.”
“Let’s see if this works before we panic.”
That fueled my anger. “I’m not panicking.” Mom cut her eyes at me, but fuck if I was sorry. “She could be in serious danger.”
“I think she’s going to be okay.” Mom leaned back as Mariska exhaled a soft noise and turned her head.
Every muscle in my body shuddered with release.
“What happened?” Her voice was soft but strong, and all three of us let out the collective breath we were holding.
The tension had just started to ease until Mariska said she hadn’t eaten… It was good that my mom sent me to the kitchen to get her a plate of food. I might have said something I’d regret in that moment. At least she seemed to realize the seriousness of what happened. I silently decided to do a better job making sure she eats.
Now on my way back to check on Jessie, all this adrenaline has left me drained. The little horse is in the pen with the line still attached to her halter, which is dangerous. As I approach, she kicks her feet and runs away, dragging it. I have to pick it up so she doesn’t hurt herself.
What happened isn’t the greatest thing when training a new colt, but it’s not the worst either. We’ll get to desensitization before too long. She has to be ready for the unexpected and not panic—she just got an early lesson today.
“Ho, girl, easy,” I say in an even tone. She keeps running, but as I walk closer, she struggles.
Her instinct is to run. Horses are easy prey for mountain lions and other big cats in the area, and their flight instinct is strong. But she’s coming back around. Mariska’s right. She’s a smart little thing.
Before we leave the pen, I keep working with her until she’s calm again, coming to me and putting her nose on my chest so I can touch her head. Then I stroke her neck, thinking about the coming winter and returning to Princeton.
Perhaps I can convince Bill to hold onto her during the long season. My jaw tightens. It’s not fair to her with no one riding her or working with her. When we come back in the spring it’ll be like starting all over. Still, Mariska loves her so much…
“What do you think, girl?” I ask, scratching behind her ears. “How much will you remember after six months?”
She lowers her head, and I almost think she understands me. I unfasten the line from her halter and wrap it up, coiling it over my elbow and shoulder. Then I do a quick loop around the center and throw it over my shoulder. I make a clucking noise and start to walk. She walks beside me, not going too far ahead or dropping back.
“Good girl,” I say when we reach the gate, smoothing her neck.
She’s learning really well, but when we get into the open space between the barn and the ring, her head lifts fast and she looks out away from the house, toward the open prairie. Her ears twitch, and I recognize that body language. I’ve seen it in her mother on more than one occasion.
Reaching for her halter, I catch the side by her face. “Come on. You’re not going anywhere.”
It’ll take more than a few weeks of gentling to get that urge to run out of her, if we ever do.
“Finished?” I look up and see Mariska coming toward me. The color is back in her cheeks, and her strength seems fully returned.
“She’s done enough for today.” We walk her to the barn. “How are you feeling?”
“I have a little headache, but I feel a lot better.” She smiles up at me, and my chest tightens. If anything happened to her…
Jessie’s stall is right beside her mother’s. Once she’s inside, Freckles nickers and stamps around her corral. “Freckles should be ridden more. Part of her problem is being cooped up too long.
“Let’s do it then!” Mariska has climbed onto the rails and is watching as I brush Jessie’s neck.
I give her a glance then shake my head. “I don’t know.”
“My blood sugar dropped. I’m not sick!” She catches my shirtsleeve and pulls it. “I wanted to go to that lake where Patrick took us last year. You can ride Freckles, and I’ll saddle up Cheyenne.”
“I’ll saddle up Cheyenne. You can worry about the bridle.”
Her pink lips press together, but I brush that off. If she thinks she’s going to be stubborn with me, she’s got her work cut out for her. Still, it’s a good idea. We need to run the horses, so I relent.
Freckles is jumpy and pulls on the reins the entire way to the lake. I hold her at an easy canter because I don’t want Mariska riding at a full gallop. She’s not only pregnant, she’s inexperienced—something my little brother didn’t worry about last year.
I ease my horse to a stop at the top of the last hill so we can look over the small valley with the large pond in the center. It’s in the opposite direction from the cabin but still about as far from the ranch house.
“In the winter it’s black,” Mariska says, pushing her hair back as she adjusts her seat on Cheyenne. “The grasses around it were brown, and it looked like something from another planet.”
“It changes with the season.” I turn Freckles to the side. She doesn’t want to stand still.
“It’s beautiful.” Mariska gives Cheyenne a nudge, and we start down the hill at an easy walk. Today the grasses are sage green and the water of the lake reflects the blue sky.
When we reach the clump of small trees near the bank, I leave Cheyenne’s reins loose on a scrub bush, but I have to tie Freckles to a branch. I don’t usually tie the horses, but she’s so flighty. I don’t want to have to tell Bill she ran away again—with all his tack.
Mariska takes off with a shriek. “Last one in is a rotten egg!”
Freckles dances in place, but I can’t help a laugh as I watch my fiancée stripping off her top and tossing it aside followed quickly by her bra. Her black mini is next, and in a flash of golden skin and wild chestnut hair she cannonballs into the water, creating a huge splash.
Since I’m clearly the rotten egg in this scenario, I take my time removing my boots and hat and leaving them by the horses. I asked Winona to pack us a snack just in case, and I take the towel off the back of my saddle.
Leaving my shirt with my boots, I walk out onto the weathered wooden pier, collecting discarded items of clothing as I go. Mariska is in the center of the lake dog paddling around.
“It’s so warm!” she calls out. “It was like ice last winter.”
“It was probably about to freeze before the Chinook blew in.”
“What are you waiting for? Get in!” She swims toward the end of the pier and holds the posts as she waits.
I can’t help smiling down at her. Her face is glowing, and she’s so damn happy. What happened earlier today seems far away. “Give me a second.”
Shrugging out of my jeans, I toss them aside and do a shallow-dive into the warm water. Mariska is on me in a second.
“You went commando!” Her bare breasts pressing against my chest cause a definite rise down below.
“We’re on vacation.”
“I wish that worked with bras.”
“You won’t hear me complaining.” I cup her breasts, rolling her nipples between my fingers and thumbs, watching her eyes darken.
Her slim hands cover mine, threading our fingers and pulling them away. “Hang on, I want to talk first.”
I do a little growl, wrapping our laced hands around her waist and drawing her flush against me. “Talk second.”
She giggles and chases my lips with hers. Our mouths unite and a little moan tells me all I need to know. Unfasten
ing our fingers, I cup her ass, sliding her up over my waist, I position my head at her entrance, and in a stomach-tingling thrust, we’re together.
Sighs and moans are the only noise surrounding us. We rock together, her soft meeting my hard. In all my life, I’ve only had this with her. I’ve been with other women—some I remember better than others—but it’s not about that. It’s about us, how we complete each other.
I touch her, and she moans. I kiss that little spot behind her ear, and she shivers. She touches me, and my brow feels tight. I can’t think beyond needing her, possessing her, loving her, protecting her.
“Mariska,” I exhale through the pulses of my orgasm. Her slim hands hold my face as our mouths fuse together. Her knees are bent, legs tight around my waist, and I’m deep inside her.
She sighs, and I kiss her again, giving her tongue a suck. Her inner muscles clench, drawing another pulse from me, and I groan. We hold each other so close. Her soft breasts are crushed against my chest, and our bodies touch from face to chest to thigh.
Her lips taste like the fresh water of the lake. I hold her to me, thinking beneath her softness is our baby. The baby we made.
“I love you so much.” I almost sound angry, but shit, it’s only because I mean the words so fiercely.
She exhales a laugh, kissing my chin. “Always so serious. Have I told you how much I love you, my sexy Marine?”
I’m not sure the emotions in my chest can get any tighter. I don’t know the words for how I’m feeling. I’ve never been much for words. Action is what I’m about.
“You don’t have to.”
She lifts her head, and our eyes meet. Her golden sunset eyes. I could lose days in them. They’re like the desert. They’re like the sun rising in the Montana sky. They’re everywhere I want to be.
“Why do we have to leave?” Her question is gentle, not hard or accusatory. Only curious.
I know better than to give her the real reason. The best way to have Mariska arguing we should stay in Montana is to tell her the reason we have to leave is the baby.
“I have to set up the Princeton office.” I kiss the side of her neck, nip her earlobe with my lips. I won’t look in her eyes and tell her half-truths. “You know that.”
“But… it’s not what you want. We all know you want to be here.”
My sweet Mariska. I’ve only talked about it with Derek, but the women in my life are always dissecting my motives—my fiancée, my mother, my sister, my sister-in-law, Derek’s wife… I don’t know why I’m often the topic of discussion, but I’ve come to accept it.
“I have an obligation to Derek and Patrick to be a part of the team. You know this.”
Her chin goes out. “You don’t like being cooped up in an office. You hate it.”
“Some things change.” Leaning down, I kiss her temple, taking a deep inhale of her jasmine-scented hair.
“Not that.” She pushes back, out of my arms to meet my gaze head-on. “You’re doing this because of me. Aren’t you?”
Her defiance is adorable. Still, I straighten in the water, putting space between us. She’s not giving me orders, and what we have to do is non-negotiable.
“I’m doing the right thing for all of us.” My tone is firm, and her eyes drop.
A little pout is on her lips. I can’t tell if she’s angry or sad, but conflict is not what I want for today. We had a ridiculous morning followed by this very satisfying trip to the lake. Now I want peace, calm.
“Come here.” I hold out my hand. “I love you.”
She drifts to me in the water, putting her arms over my shoulders. My face is at her neck, and I kiss her soft skin.
“I don’t want you to give up what makes you happy for me,” she says softly.
“You make me happy.” I hold her as I say the words, truer than she can ever understand.
“Have you ever considered that I like it here, too?”
“I’m glad to hear it, and we’ve got plenty of time. For now, we’re headed back to Princeton.”
Visitors
Mariska
How one man can be the most infuriating person in the world and at the same time the most irresistible is beyond me. As we ride back to the house, I try not to let my impatience grow as he again takes a slower pace, holding poor Freckles from the gallop she so desperately craves. I want to scream, “I’m not made of glass!” But I don’t.
I look up at the sky and take a deep inhale. It smells like rain. An enormous formation of dark grey clouds rolls slowly from the south, building into what looks like an upside down volcano, and the grasses sway in ripples like water, showing their light green undersides before returning to darker green on top.
I want to sit on the porch and sketch it all out. It will be my first painting here—Coming Storm.
Stuart pulls up beside me. “When we get to the house, head on in. Cheyenne gets jittery in bad weather, and Freckles is already a handful.”
I press my lips together to keep from saying what I want to say, and instead I only nod. We’re off again, but as we get closer to the house, I forget all about being impatient with him. A new car is in the driveway, and by the time we’re at the barn, Stuart’s mother is on the porch followed closely by his sister Amy.
We pull up, and I quickly hop off Cheyenne, heading toward the two women at the ranch house.
“There she is!” Sylvia calls, and Amy’s face breaks into a huge smile.
“Come here and give me a hug!” She skips down the porch steps, fashionable as always in a fringed beige tunic over dark skinny jeans and brown western ankle boots. “You really are a wonder!”
She gives me a tight squeeze, then loops her arm through mine, leading me back to the house, her pale blonde hair swirling in the breeze around us.
“What have I done this time?” I ask with a laugh.
“First you get him to settle down, now you turn him into a father!”
“The wonder is how she puts up with him,” Sylvia grouses, following us inside.
I can’t help it, I burst out laughing. Amy drops my arm and looks at me, a wide smile on her face, eyes dancing. “Oh, no. What happened?”
“Nothing!” I’m laughing so hard, tears are spilling onto my cheeks.
“Now you have to tell us,” she insists.
Shaking my head, I try to swallow my mirth. “It’s just what your mom said. I was thinking the same thing as we were riding back.”
Sylvia comes up behind me, putting her arm over my shoulder. “Try to be patient with him. Like I said, he’s a lot like his father.”
Amy’s lips press together in a small frown. “But not entirely,” she says quietly.
I can tell there’s a story there, but I don’t have time to say any more. My future sister-in-law has my arm again and is dragging me to the kitchen. “Come on. I’m here for the weekend, and we’re going to do all the corny things you’re supposed to do when you’re pregnant.
“Like what?” I look from her to Sylvia, who only shakes her head.
“Amy’s always been very headstrong,” she says.
“First!” Amy reaches in her brown suede bag and pulls out an old-school camera. “Turn to the side, and let’s get a picture of that bump!”
“Oh,” I poke out my lips as I pull up my loose black top. “We have wait on that one. No bump.”
“Hmm,” Amy frowns, pressing her hand against my flat stomach. “I thought you might be hiding something under there.”
“I’m only twelve weeks.” I turn to the side, looking down. “And it’s my first time, so apparently that means it takes longer.”
She’s quiet for a split second before waving her hands. “No matter! We’ll take one anyway. You have to have a reference point, after all. Come over here.”
I follow her to a bare wall in the living room, and she positions me in profile.
“Now hold up your shirt.” Then she pushes down the front of my skirt. I almost grab her hand, since now I’m going commando. My wet pan
ties are in Stuart’s saddlebag.
“That’s good!” I say with a laugh, and she gives me a sly look. “We were swimming!”
Her eyes flick to the window where we can see rain falling steadily outside.
“It hadn’t started raining yet!” I cry.
“Hey, whatever floats your canoe.”
Shaking my head, I smile as she snaps the photo. The camera spits out a white print with a black center.
“Where did you find a Polaroid camera?” I skip forward to look at the print she’s shaking back and forth.
“I’ve had it for years. Finding film is the tricky part.”
Sylvia joins us to wait for the image to appear. As soon as it does, she takes it over to the fridge. “It’s a wonderful shot. Look how your eyes are dancing!”
“Because I busted you not wearing panties,” Amy murmurs in my ear, and I elbow her.
“Shh!”
We both laugh, and she skips back to the bar. “Next up! Measuring your circumference.”
“You make me sound like a planet.”
“Hold up your shirt again. No need to push down your skirt. We’re not officially sisters yet.”
Narrowing my eyes, I do as she asks, and she stretches a piece of pink yarn around my waist, clipping it at the center before holding it up. “This is where you’re starting. Sort of.”
The yarn goes in an envelope labeled Week 12, and she puts it to the side.
“Now we all have to fill out a wish card.” She takes out a small stack of decorated index cards and puts them on the bar. “You can do it at any time, but everybody does one. Then you give it to her… whenever!”
“I really like that one,” I say, running my fingers along the stack. “We only get one? I have lots of wishes for her.”
“Only one.”
“Then I’ll have to think about it,” I say, going to the hall leading to our bedroom. “In the meantime, I need to shower and wash my hair.”
“I’ll say,” she calls after me. I only roll my eyes, but she adds. “When you get back, I want you to sketch my portrait! And read my coffee grounds.”
I shake my head, laughing as I continue down the hall. Amy’s presence will hopefully curb her brother’s overprotectiveness. At the very least, she’ll help me laugh it off.
Broken and Beautiful Page 107
