Fools Rush In

by Cora Marie Colt

  “I was actually referring to hiring you.”

  “I know.”

  So he really didn’t want her around. “I guess I’ll go. Call if you need me.” She turned, ready to go back to the hotel or find some way to amuse herself until the final horse was sold.

  “Dascha wait,” Oliver called.

  She paused, looking over her shoulder.

  “I’d love your company this afternoon if you’ll meet me.”

  A smile lightened Dascha’s face. “I’d like that. Very much.”

  He asked for her phone, and put in the address for her. “Four o’clock okay?”

  She nodded. Maybe he did want her around. And maybe he’d open up about Wyatt and she’d be able to be there for them.

  Dascha didn’t expect to meet Oliver at a beach riding place, but she had to admit she wasn’t surprised. In fact, it was sort of cute.

  Oliver introduced her to a heavy man with fingers like sausages.

  “This is Jerry. He owes me a favor,” Oliver said.

  Jerry shook Dascha’s hand with a smile. “More like betting debts.”

  Jerry lead them over to two sturdy, but scraggly looking horses. They only had bridles on. Jerry gave Dascha and Oliver a run down of the rules for safety on the beach. Dascha and Oliver couldn’t help continually exchange glances.

  When Jerry left them to the horses, Dascha got a little nervous.

  Oliver swung up onto his mount without a hitch. “Problem?” he asked, looking at Dascha still on the ground.

  She twisted her palms together. “I’ve never actually been on a horse.”

  “I thought you grew up around them?”

  “I diiiiid, buuuuut... Just never rode one.”

  Oliver bit his lip, looking as though he was trying not to laugh. He turned his horse. “Jerry!” Oliver called. “My lady friend needs some help.”

  Jerry came back out and after sizing up the situation, pulled out a mounting block to help Dascha onto her horse.

  “Her name’s Secret,” Jerry said of the liver chestnut mare. The horse had a flower woven into her mane. “You want to know why?”

  Dascha clambored on the horse awkwardly, grunting, “Not really. Why?”

  “She has a secret,” Jerry confided. He helped Dascha sit up properly and gather the reins.

  “What’s her secret?” Dascha asked, a little flustered.

  Jerry gave the mare a pop on the behind. “She’s a girl!”

  The horses took off with Dascha and Oliver. Dascha screeched, which only made her horse go faster. Oliver caught up and grabbed Secret’s reins to slow her down until Dascha was comfortable.

  “You okay?”

  Dascha brushed some stray hairs from her face and did a mental once over. “Yes, I think so.”

  Secret snorted. She craned her neck and nipped at Oliver’s horse who bared its teeth back with a squeal.

  “Quit it,” Oliver commanded.

  The horses tossed their manes like two reprimanded kids.

  His knee brushed against Dascha’s and between the tingle he gave her and the light tropical breeze, Dascha wasn’t sure where she stood with him.

  The sun was starting to set, staging a glorious purple and gold bar over the horizon. Waves crashed onto the beach. Oliver’s hand slid to hers on the reins.

  “Got her?”

  Dascha nodded, but she didn’t want him to let go. Not because she was afraid of the horse taking off, but the way his warmth and strong hands felt on hers.

  Even being this close to him was hard, knowing how he must feel about Wyatt.

  “So about you and Wyatt.”

  Oliver shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about that.” He looked at her. “Let’s talk about the future.”

  What was left of it? The grey would race, and Dascha would go home she supposed. She wasn’t sure if Oliver really wanted her around. It would be so much easier if he simply told her how he felt about everything. Lay it out for her. And she knew she was losing control, but she didn’t care. She only wanted to stay with Oliver. He felt like more of an anchor every day.

  He stared into her eyes, and the power of it made her gulp.

  She couldn’t deny it any longer. She was in love. Signed, sealed, delivered.

  And it was all spiraling into panic from there.

  She kicked secret into a canter and barreled down the beach.

  Not wanting to upset Dascha further, Oliver sent Jerry after her. Oliver tried calling Wyatt to see if he could get any insight to Dascha’s behavior. Had he done something wrong?

  The phone rang and rang. Wyatt never picked up. Oliver sighed and replaced the phone into the receiver on Jeff’s desk. He was on his own. How would he win Dascha over? Why had she run off like that?

  The phone rang. Without thinking, Oliver answered it. Maybe it was Wyatt.

  “Hullo?” Oliver said.

  “She’s fine,” Jeff answered.

  Oliver’s shoulders slumped. He was glad Dascha was okay, but disappointed his wingman had flown the coop for sure. “Thanks. Should I wait for her?”

  Jeff took a moment to ask, and Oliver heard Dascha decline in the background.

  “She’ll take care of herself,” Jeff said.

  Oliver said thank you and hung up. Back to the drawing board, and back to his lonely apartment. At least he still had the horses.

  FILL THIS IN

  “What is going on, Dascha? Just tell me!”

  Dascha bit her lip.

  Oliver looked desperate. “Don’t you like me? Can’t we have an adult conversation about how we feel?”

  “Yes,” she huffed exasperately. “I like you.”

  “Then what is the problem? Why do you keep pulling away?”

  “I mean... you and Wyatt.”

  Oliver’s eyes widened. “Wait. Me and Wyatt?”

  “Well, yes. You were always touchy touchy and seemed so close, and-- ”

  Oliver started laughing like it was a colossal joke.

  Dascha’s face scrunched up in that way he loved.

  “Your brother’s a great guy, but I’m not,” Oliver cleared his throat. “We were never together.”

  Dascha’s mouth opened slightly with an “oh.”

  “How could you not know, Dascha?”

  “I...” she stammered, “I just assumed.”

  He grasped her elbow gently. “Do you know your father’s favorite song?”

  “Sure it was Plastic Thunder by Bitter Creek.” Dascha paused and her face went stark as she pieced the two together. “Oh my gawd!” Did her father seriously do what she think he did? How had she not put the two together until now!

  Oliver chuckled. “Actually, he said it was Fool’s Rush In. He thought it was perfect for Faith. He just fell in love with her and rushed in to buy her.”

  Dascha had a faint memory of being very small and young, peeking into her father’s study and seeing her mother and father sway to the music.

  “And...” He brushed her hair aside, murmuring, “I can’t help falling in love with you.”

  His arm slipped around her back, gently tugging her close. It was all instinct from there; Dascha’s surrender, his lips tentatively brushing against hers, her going on tiptoe to meet him partway. He deepened the kiss, tongue flicking, teasing at her mouth. She inhaled sharply, swept away by the moment. Tingles everywhere.

  She didn’t want it to end.

  She loved this man.

  Oliver’s mouth followed hers as she broke away. Dascha pulled back abruptly, with questions in her eyes. Oliver didn’t understand. Why did she still look confused. She was tugging away from him, and all of a sudden he was spiraling inside too. What was happening? Slow the world down!

  “Don’t go,” he almost choked. He ached inside. She was leaving him all over again.

  Dascha paused with her back to him.

  “I don’t want you to ever go,” he confessed. He took a step toward her, sliding his hand into hers from behind. He lowered his head
and brushed his lips against the crook of her neck. Maybe she didn’t remember what he had told her before, but he knew it was now or never.

  “I thought the last girl I fell for was my forever girl,” he murmured. “I was so in love with her and so in love with racing. But she didn’t understand. She didn’t know how I could love two things equally.”

  Dascha’s fingers tightened on his, but she didn’t pull away.

  “And she left me.” He inhaled, nuzzling the spot behind her ear. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Please don’t leave me too.”

  Like a bad dream, Dascha’s hand fell from his and she walked away.

  Something deep down triggered inside. A drunken night where she’d kissed him blatantly. Oliver woke it all up. She remembered him telling her how his fiance had given him an ultimatum, and left him standing at the altar.

  So what was Dascha so hung up over now? He’d practically borne his soul to her. Also, she could definitely outdrink that girl.

  It wasn’t right, though. Something still wasn’t sitting right.

  Maybe it wasn’t the right time in her life, or Maybe Wyatt was right and she still wanted control over the way she loved. It wasn’t fair to Oliver either way. She had to pull back. Dascha barely knew him. What did they have in common? A couple of horses and a gay, eccentric comic relief... who wasn’t even there anymore.

  Dascha twisted her hands. The horses wouldn’t be there anymore either.

  Oliver needed to heal. The way he begged her to stay; she still heard the hurt in his voice, the vulnerability. He wasn’t ready for a relationship. Was Dascha?

  And there she went again, trying to control the situation. She pushed out Wyatt’s voice reminding her that love isn’t something you control. That’s not love at all.

  So was she in love or wasn’t she?

  Time would tell.

  But time, Dascha felt, was running out. Plastic Thunder’s race would come up soon, and that would be the end of her deal. Her father’s will would be done.

  So instead of being in his business and getting too personal, Dascha decided to see how she could help him instead. While they had time left, she’d learn how this racing thing worked.

  She showed up at the rail for Plastic Thunder’s morning workout, offering Oliver yet another coffee. She watched the gray gallop across the track, rolling her own cup of joe between her hands. Maybe the warmth would melt something in her; give her the courage she needed to make it through until Plastic Thunder’s race.

  Oliver took his cup and smiled. “Thanks.”

  Dascha nodded.

  They both trained their eyes on the grey.

  Oliver sipped his coffee. “So... Is this a regular thing now?”

  Dascha gazed at the steam escaping the spout of her lid. “Maaaaaybe.”

  Oliver smiled. “I’d like that,” he said without looking at her.

  Dascha’s arm hair rose to attention, her skin going all goose pimply.

  When Plastic Thunder returned to Oliver, his rider gave the trainer feedback and Oliver took over. Plastic Thunder snorted, flicking his tail. Dascha walked on the far side of oliver, safely away from the imposing horse.

  Her eyes darted to the gelding from time to time. He was older, and his body showed for it. He was musclely and powerful; the arc of his neck majestic. He had a look on his eye that was so intensely focused, Dascha thought it might blaze a hole through her like a laser.

  Oliver placed a steady hand on the gelding’s neck. They walked in silence back to the barn. Dascha couldn’t help notice the connection between them; a steady, lasting trust.

  She wanted that touch.

  When they reached Oliver’s stable, he asked Dascha if she’d like to help bathe Plastic Thunder-- or at least hold him so Oliver could.

  The old gelding seemed bomb-proof, so Dascha took his lead shank and held him while Oliver rinsed the horse down.

  Dascha carefully reached for Plastic Thunder’s face, placing a hand on his brow. This soul-moving subtle vibration moved between them, an energy she hadn’t known before. She smiled. As though to encourage her, Plastic Thunder rubbed his face against her palm. She curled her nails into his fur with a smile, gratifying his urge for a scratch.

  “You can call him Petey,” Oliver called from the gray’s damp rump.

  “Hello Petey,” Dascha said to the gelding who blew out a breath in response.

  He stood perfectly still for the both of them, letting Oliver work, unflinching.

  Oliver dried him off and they lead him back to his stall. Dascha began to note how steadfast the gelding was compared to Faith. Faith was laid back, but Petey was a soldier waiting for a command. All business-- much as Dascha had been.

  He went willingly into his stall, ripping into his hay net. Oliver patted him, then said hello to Faith. Bitter Creek swung his head over the stall guard mesh, his tongue hanging out to the side like an oversized Great Dane. He threw his head making his tongue flop around. Dascha couldn’t help but laugh.

  Oliver called him a weirdo and attention hog. “You’re such a goof,” Oliver said. “Even when you run.” He playfully shoved the colt’s head back into the stall.

  “Do they all have personalities like this?” Dascha asked.

  Oliver nodded. “Yup. They’re like people. Faith is laid back. Petey is a hard working, straightforward guy. And this bozo here... well...”

  Bitter Creek poked his head out again and Oliver noogied his forelock. “They’re not just adrenaline on spindles.”

  “Does it affect how they run?”

  Oliver nodded. “Yeah, but sometimes even the most courageous horse can’t outrun his pedigree. That’s Petey’s lot in life.”

  “And what about you, Mister Way?” Dascha stepped closer to him. “Do you think people can overcome their circumstances?”

  He slipped his hand into hers so slowly, she had to look down. She felt him trembling, as though he weren’t sure she’d accept him. His other hand folded around theirs, lifting them up so she’d look him in the eye.

  “If given the chance.”

  His gaze alone asked it of her.

  A shiver raced down her back. The kind that makes your toes curl and your core warm. She didn’t want to let go, and yet she needed to her. Her hand pulled from his and she turned away.

  “Is there anything else you need from me today?” She asked.

  Oliver sighed so heavily she could almost see his shoulders falling with it. “No.”

  “Until tomorrow, Mister Way.” She didn’t look back as she walked away, but she knew he was standing there rubbing his neck futilely.

  “Yeah.”

  Oliver didn’t get it. He felt like they were getting closer, but then she’d push away. It wasn’t exactly rejection. Something was holding Dascha back. He shared his past with her-- the parts that hurt-- but she’d stayed with the basics. What was her hang up?

  Faith whickered to him.

  Oliver turned around and regarded her. He rubbed her face. “What do you think Faith? Got any girl tips for me?”

  She head butted him, then rubbed her faced against his chest.

  He hugged her neck. “Not much help, but thanks.”

  Oliver was about to walk away to tend to his other steeds when he stopped to consider how he had acquired her. Was Dascha still mad over his underhandedness? Was it a trust issue? He stepped back. Faith blinked at him. Oliver understood how trust could get in the way of things.

  He nodded to himself. Hopefully Dascha would come back in the morning.

  Dascha was already at the rail when Oliver stepped over to it. He had just sent Bitter Creek out for a jog when he noticed her.

  He elbowed her playfully. “Fancing seeing you here.”

  She passed him his coffee wordlessly, her eyes fixated on the dark bay colt moving into the morning mist.

  Oliver took it, feeling awkward already. Now what? He cleared his throat. “I’m glad you came.”

  She sipped her coffee when Bitter Cr
eek disappeared in the haze. “What’s on the docket?”

  Oliver shifted his weight to one foot, hitching the other. “Same ol’, same ol’. Horses gotta eat. This guy’s gotta train.”

  Dascha didn’t seem to acknowledge it.

  Oliver stared down at his cup, wondering how to approach her with his question.

  She finally looked at him, and he made sure she was met with a hopeful smile.

  “Mind if I help out again this morning?” she asked.

  He nodded firmly. “Please do.”

  Bitter Creek finally emerged on the other side of the track where a hash of god rays lit up his coat, burnishing him bright and burgundy. He tugged at the reins, asking his rider to let him go faster, but settled when he was held back. Except for the boing-boing crow hop of a toddler-like tantrum.

  Oliver shook his head. “Goober.”

  Dascha actually smirked.

  They waited for the colt to finish his workout, circling the track again at a walk before he came back in.

  Oliver took his reins, exchanging words with the rider. Bitter Creek’s eyes were wide and wiley. He danced like blue electric across a wire, snorting and prancing like a circus horse.

  Oliver gave his reins a tug, asking him to settle down, but the the colt was too full of himself. Oliver glanced over his shoulder to see if Dascha was following, and she had-- well back. He got it. Bitter Creek had a big personality. His energy was easily felt like the ripple that starts a tidal wave.

  When the colt suddenly skirted to the side, Oliver’s attention was instantly back on him, tugging on his reins again to get his attention. Bitter Creek shook his head, half-rearing.

  “Now is not the time to put on a show, bud,” Oliver warned.

  The colt came back down and settled into step beside him. Oliver shook his own head, exasperatedly.

  Dascha gave them a wide berth to meet Oliver’s stride away from the horse. “He must be feeling his oats.”

  Oliver sighed. “I wish it were that. I haven’t even fed him yet today.”

  Dascha chortled, which made Oliver smile. It put him at ease, and that tension release seemed to zap right up the lead shank to Battle Creek who finally chilled the heck out.