High Horse Bastard

by Smart, Kit

  It was my turn to blink as the wind abruptly left my sails. “How this affects things…?”

  He sighed impatiently. I watched his pulse beat an angry rhythm along the side of his neck. This can’t be recommended post-seizure stress. I thought inanely. “I need you to tell me if you’re still interested in…” He trailed off, closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. When he reopened his eyes his gaze was calm and his pulse was no longer visible. “Or if this is a deal breaker.”

  “A deal breaker?” I repeated trying to catch up.

  He eyed me. “You know what a deal breaker is Sinclair.” He told me in his most acerbic editorial tones.

  “You have a fairly low opinion of me I see.”

  “Sinclair—”

  “Get dressed and then get in the car Hastings. It’s time for a scene change.” I shifted the bags I’d brought in from the counter to the table in front of him before he could tell me that he didn’t have any clothes. “Everything you need’s in here.”

  “Why—”

  “You don’t get to ask questions.” I interrupted him. Gave him my best fierce glare. “This is an abduction.”

  12

  Hastings slept the entire four hour drive to the estate and despite knowing that he needed the sleep, I was somewhat disappointed that he wasn’t awake when I turned off the main road and pulled through the impressive gates onto the private drive that led to the main house. At over a kilometer long flanked by trees and miles of white three rail fences, the drive showcased the acres and acres of lush pastureland and all of the stables, barns and training facilities that sat like benevolent jewels amongst all of the sun brightened greenery.

  Despite the fact that the majority of the horses had been sold and moved by the previous owners and the barns and stable were closed up, and the training facilities empty and unused, I was both excited and proud enough of my estate that despite his relatively piss poor mood, I wanted to nudge Hastings awake and show it off. A quick glance at his face—still gray with exhaustion despite having slept the majority of the morning—nixed the idea for me however and I contented myself with imagining the pastures full of horses and the training facilities in use as I pulled up to the main house and turned onto the drive that took me past it to the cottage behind it.

  Built entirely of stone, the cottage was a two story jumble of windows, french doors, balconies, sloping roofs, turrets, verandas with no fewer than two glass arboretums extending from various angles like butterflies caught in crystal; nestled in a cocoon of wisteria, lavender, rosemary and wild flowers. It was, in a word: magical, and it was mine. Pulling up in front of the walk that led to the front door for easy unloading. I turned off the engine of my car and nodded in satisfaction. “We. Are. Here.” I said softly just to finalize it to myself—I had no intention of waking Hastings until after I had completely unloaded the car. I knew he would try to help and I was determined not to allow it. His doctor had said that he would be groggy and disoriented for a day or so yet while he recovered from the seizure, and that sleeping as much as possible would aid his recovery.

  With that in mind, I slipped out of the car as quietly as I could even leaving the door open so as not to risk waking him with its slam, and made my way to hatch, which I opened with a stealth that would make a spy proud. Grabbing the food supplies first I trekked up the path, opened the cottage door, wedged it open with a stray boot that I had left in the entranceway on a previous visit and made my way into the kitchen, where, after depositing the grocery bags on the counter, and quickly shoving the perishable items in the fridge in no particular order, the first thing I did was throw open the french doors leading to the kitchen garden. As the stale air was replaced by the much fresher rosemary and lavender scented air of the garden, I switched on the garden fountain and turned to make my way back to the car opening windows and doors as I went. By the time I get everything unloaded and wake Hastings up it will smell like people actually live here and not like some mostly vacant half-forgotten holiday home.

  On my second trip, I brought my office supplies and computer into the sunroom off of the living room that served as my work area, and deposited them on the long farm table that held pride of place in the room. On my way back out, I pulled the sheets off the furniture in the living room and bundled them into a ball, which I tossed onto the floor of the laundry room as I made my way back down the hall leading to the front door.

  Noting that Hastings was still asleep in the passenger seat, I grabbed the remaining items from the back of the car and headed to the bedrooms. Laying out the clothes and personal items I had purchased for him this morning on top of the dresser where he could see them, I moved to the window and pushed it open. Next I pulled the dust covers off of the furniture in the room, tossed them into the hallway, and after pulling linens from the wardrobe got to work making the bed.

  Tossing the final feather pillow into place, I took a step back to consider my work before moving to pull the goose-down duvet back invitingly. Next I drew the diaphanous white cotton curtains across the window which served to diffuse the light in the room while still permitting the breeze from outside in. Sticking my head into the bathroom that connected the two bedrooms I noted that it was clean and well supplied. Nothing to do here. As I exited, I pulled some towels out of the cupboard below the sink and set them on the counter, and left the door open to show that it was a bathroom.

  I moved down the hallway to my own room, where the bathroom door mocked me with its smug reminders that I could have just gone directly through the bathroom from Hastings’ room into my room. Seriously. I harrumphed as I pulled the slip covers from the furniture and tossed them into the pile in the hallway. I made the bed but ultimately forewent unpacking and just tossed my bag onto the bed in favor of returning to the car and retrieving Hastings when a quick glance at my watch showed me that it was almost 11am. He needs to be sleeping and I need to be writing. More sleeping. I added when an errant corner of my brain protested that he was, in fact, already sleeping. Better sleeping. Sleeping in a bed.

  To my surprise Hastings was awake when I returned to the car. He had, in fact, opened the car door and rearranged himself so that he now sat on the edge of the seat with his legs outside of the car. “You’re awake.” I said inanely.

  “I am.” He answered laconically. “This is quite the scene change.” Reaching forward he gripped the top of the open car door in his left hand while grasping the door frame with his left. Using his arms he pulled himself up out of his seat and then bracing himself with an arm along the roof of the car, surveyed the cottage and grounds in front of him. “Mind telling me where we are?”

  I started forward. “Your crutches—” I gestured at the back seat of the car where they lay.

  “Don’t need them.” He forestalled me. “If you’d be so kind as to lend your shoulder, I can manage.” His gaze was thoughtful on my face as I started forward. “Is this yours Sinclair?”

  “Yes, it’s mine.” I came to a halt in front of him. “Which shoulder?”

  In response, he shifted until his back was braced against the car and reaching out took my left hand in his right and pulled me forward until I stood between his legs. A sigh escaped me as his hands came to rest on my hips. Apparently, I was forgiven for the morning’s trespasses. Instinctively moving my own hands to his shoulders I started to move forward to kiss him only to stop as I caught the exhaustion in his face. He lips twisted into the ghost of a smile as he began to run his hands up and down along my sides. “Is this why you’re quitting?” Pleasure flowed through me in response to his stroking.

  “Yeah.” I answered him absently still occupied with trying to figure out what was going on with this embrace. Almost of their own accord my hands began to stroke and rub his shoulders and neck. When his face suffused with pleasure in response, I understood. This is about comfort. I increased the range of my hands to include his arms.

  * * * * *

  The sound of cupboards opening and closing
in the kitchen brought me out of my writing stupor in time to see the last rays of the sun disappear over the horizon. Pressing save, and closing my laptop I pushed myself to my feet and spent a moment working the kinks out of my neck and back. With a glance at my desk to see that everything was in order, I stepped back into the moccasins I had kicked off at some point in the afternoon and went to investigate the goings on in the kitchen.

  I found Hastings with what seemed like the entire contents of the fridge and cupboards laid out in front of him on the counter. He looked up at me when I walked into the kitchen. “I thought I’d make dinner.”

  “You must be hungry.” Still gray around the edges but looking a bit more rested.

  “Yes—” He frowned down at the food.

  “What were you thinking of making?” I joined him on the other side of the counter.

  That earned me a long considering stare. “I’m not breakable Sinclair. Don’t handle me with kid gloves.”

  That threw me off balance momentarily until I remembered my research and his knowledge of my research. I leaned one hip against the counter, looked up at him. “Feeling foggy?”

  “Yes.” He flicked a glance at the pile of food. “I could use some help with dinner.”

  “Okay. What do you want to make?”

  He sighed. “I have no idea.”

  That brought me up short.

  “My stomach.” He answered in response to my questioning look. He stared at me. A challenge? “I don’t remember how anything tastes.”

  A side effect of the seizure. Problem solving 101. “Let’s figure it out.” Stepping back I snagged one of the high-backed barstools on the other side of the breakfast bar. Pulling it up beside the counter, I nodded at it. “Have a seat.” Deliberately not giving him a chance to question me, I turned away and began to put away the food on the counter.

  After a few moments, I felt more than saw him climb onto the stool. As a reward for following my instructions I kissed him on the jaw as I reached around him for the cutting board only to find myself pleasantly surprised as he wrapped an arm around my waist and drew me between his legs. Position of the day? I thought slightly wildly as every nerve ending in my body sprang to life. I tried to catch his eye only to find myself thwarted as he dropped his head against my shoulder and pressed his lips against the place where my neck joined my shoulder. Endorphins flooded my body and I raised my free hand to his shoulder to steady myself as a wobble ran through my legs.

  I felt a similar wobble run through Hastings and abruptly the way he’d been drawing me close throughout the day made sense. He’s stiff, sore and disoriented; and the connection feels good.

  “Okay.” With that in mind, I swung the cutting board over onto the counter and put my newly freed hand on his other shoulder.

  * * * * *

  “Pippa.”

  “Mmmmm.” I snuggled into the hand rubbing gently at my right shoulder trying to convey without words that I wasn’t into being woken up.

  “Pippa.” The hand lifted, began to stroke my cheek. “It’s time to go to bed.”

  “Is that an invitation?” I opened my eyes slightly and watched Hastings blink at me. “No.” He quirked a smile at me. “It’s a fact. Come-on,” He nodded in the direction of the hallway. “You’ve got to get up and write tomorrow morning.”

  “We haven’t gone over my pages for the day.” Shaking my head to clear the sleep from my brain, I pushed myself upright on the sofa only to flop back down when my elbows failed to lock. “What time is it exactly?”

  “Half past one.” Was that amusement? “Let’s go princess.” That was definitely amusement. I decided taking in the decidedly unholy sparkle in his eyes.

  “Princess?” I narrowed my eyes at him as menacingly as I could under the circumstances. You’d best not be comparing me to one of those damsel-in-distress type princesses.

  “Paper bag Princess.” He clarified quickly.

  “Acceptable.” I nodded pushing myself upright successfully this time. “I’ve got this shit handled.”

  “I’ve never doubted it.” He stepped back to permit me room to stand.

  “Could have fooled me.” I snorted padding past him toward the entrance to the hallway.

  “I haven’t.” He fell into step behind me.

  “You have a funny way of showing it.” I paused at the door to my room and turned to face him. “The amount of grief you’ve given me over the years?”

  He leaned forward on his crutches and regarded me down the length of his nose. Classic High Horse Bastard. “I have never doubted your ability to handle anything Pippa.” He arched his eyebrows at me. “What I have taken issue with—what I take issue with is the sheer number and types of things you have taken and take on.” His eyes took on an intensity that was hypnotic. “You don’t need to light yourself on fire to keep everyone else warm.”

  I felt a shiver work its way along my spine as that struck a nerve. “Is that what I do?”

  He stared at me unblinking. “You don’t feel it?”

  I shrugged. Thought about it. “I suppose so… sometimes.” The idea was still nebulous and I struggled to find exact examples. “It depends…”

  “Depends?”

  “On the person.” That feels right.

  “You resented organizing my birthday party.”

  “I did.” I admitted. “But that was a unique situation.”

  “Unique?”

  “You’ve been particularly horrid to me.” Tired of standing in the doorway, I turned and climbed onto the bed. Scooting backwards until I could lean against the headboard. “Come on.” I patted the space beside me.

  He didn’t move.

  “We slept together last night; have kissed several times now and made out in a restaurant. It’s a little late to be squeamish.”

  “I—” After a brief hesitation, he moved into the room. “It made me furious how nice you were when we met.” He told me as he came to a stop beside the bed. “You were just so bloody nice and accommodating to everyone and everything.”

  I frowned. “That’s an odd thing to be mad over.”

  He was silent as he leaned his crutches against the wall and sat on the bed. “I was jealous.” He said finally and swung his legs up onto the bed. Using his hands he pushed himself back against the headboard. “I wanted you to look at me; to treat me like you looked at and treated everyone else.”

  I tilted my head to the side until I could see his profile. Seriously? “I did.” I shrugged. “Until you started being so awful to me in any case.”

  He slanted a glance at me without moving his head. “I wanted it for myself. Not just as a reflex; not just as part of the MO you use with everyone.” He tilted his head then; just a few degrees in my direction; just enough so I could make out the edge of his other eye over the bridge of his nose. “I had a crush.”

  “You had a crush?” I repeated stunned. Your radar clearly needs work Pippa. “Were you one of those boys that chased the girls they liked around and threw rocks at them in grade school?”

  He smiled slightly. “Well, yes to the rock part. Proverbial rocks.”

  13

  “So next on the agenda is sex.”

  Hastings looked up from the manuscript. “Excuse me?”

  “The next chapter.” I nodded at the manuscript in his lap. Reversing myself on the bed I positioned myself cross-legged near his feet. “Nice socks.”

  Hastings glanced down at his feet. “They were a gift.” He said frowning.

  “No secret affinity for monkeys then?” I teased. “I could always scour the internet for matching underwear.”

  He blinked looking a bit disoriented and I mentally kicked myself. Probably shouldn’t be teasing someone who’s recovering from a seizure. I had opened my mouth to apologize when he spoke.

  “As much as I enjoy the image of you scouring the internet for more lingerie Sinclair, I don’t think I could bring myself to wear monkeys on my man bits.”

  Pleased by
the familiar dry humor in his tone, I reached out to run a finger along the monkey on the nearest foot. “Sure? This is an awfully sexy looking monkey Hastings. It would probably complement your man bits nicely.”

  The foot flexed beneath my hand and I looked up to see a low burning heat smoldering in his eyes. “You think my man bits are sexy?” He asked softly.

  “Just a guess based on the rest of you.” I kept my tone light and teasing despite the heat that began to coil in my belly. I could see from the way he moved and held himself that he was still stiff and sore from yesterday’s seizure and I didn’t want to start anything that he wasn’t ready for.

  “You think I’m sexy?” He tilted his head back slightly as he asked and it felt wary to me as if he were hesitant to ask.

  “Does it matter what I think?” His hesitation made me wary.

  Silence for a long moment during which he regarded me steadily. “It matters—what you think, matters to me.”

  “Oh.” Unable to think of what to say in response to that admission, I began to rub his foot in earnest. “I think you’re sexy.” I told his foot softly; then when it occurred to me that this wasn’t exactly the way Blackbeard would have done it, I forced my self to look up and meet his eyes. “I think you’re sexy.” I told him and then when it came out a little more loudly than I would have liked, blushed in mortification.

  Hastings looked—I studied his face—pleased and a little shy perhaps. I wasn’t able to quite understand it until he opened his mouth. “I think you’re pretty sexy too.” He told me and the shyness made sense. Delight washed through me at the sentiment only to be overtaken with a certain bashfulness at where the sentiment would lead. An image of myself naked and moving astride him flashed through my mind and had me at once hot and wet in anticipation of having him between my legs and shy at the thought of being actually naked in front of him.

  “So, sex—” I tried to distract myself from the feelings whirling through me.

  I half felt, half heard Hastings rumble with laughter. “Yes, sex.” He concurred.