Handful of Sky

by Cates, Tory

  “Feel like a hike?” He didn’t wait for an answer to his question before setting off up the steep mountain. Shallie followed behind, slightly puzzled, but only too glad to accompany Hunt, no matter where he led her. By the time he stopped, she was puffing madly in the high altitude. Once she got her breath, she noticed how still it was in the pine-roofed sanctuary Hunt had led her to. He glanced around, alert as a wild animal.

  “Good, there’s no one else here. I didn’t think there would be this early in the summer.” He stripped off his flannel shirt and, leaving Shallie stupefied, ducked behind a thick growth of pine. A minute later she heard a splash and entered the enclosure to find Hunt basking in undisguised bliss in a pool of water. His satisfied grin was half-hidden by the wreath of steam rising from the pool.

  “Hot springs,” Shallie said needlessly, feeling slightly foolish that she, the native, had failed to guess Hunt’s destination.

  “Come on in. I can’t tell you how good this feels.” Shallie hesitated. The thought of undressing in front of Hunt in broad daylight, on the side of a mountain, made her feel as shy as she had that first evening in Hunt’s whirlpool.

  “All right,” Hunt sighed, sinking further into the steaming water, “but you’ll never know how exquisite it is to be immersed in warmth at the same time you’re looking out onto snowcapped mountains.”

  Shallie couldn’t resist the description and hurriedly shrugged off her clothes. Her rushed movements slowed, then froze when she turned to see Hunt watching her, the sleepy look of contentment gone now from his eyes. In its place was a keen, piercing gaze that carved over her exposed curves with an edge of flint.

  “My God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered.

  Shallie dropped her modesty, seeing it through Hunt’s eyes for the false pretense it had been. What had made her timid wasn’t the thought of Hunt seeing her unclothed in the full light of day, but the fear that what he saw might not please him. Desire had made his words come out in a rasp that underscored his honesty. Shallie finished draping her clothes across a pine limb and started toward him. Her movements were slow, languorous. She knew the pleasure the sight of Hunt’s body afforded her, and now that she was sure of her own, she wanted to share the same pleasure with him. His eyes caressed her, feeding her newfound confidence. For the first time in her life, she felt completely at home within her own flesh. Hunt’s frank admiration of her high, firm breasts, her taut stomach, and long, muscle-striped legs told Shallie of their allure, their power to arouse desire.

  The water that burbled up from a geothermal spring deep under the earth was as warm on her foot as the blood heating her veins. She stepped into it, the mist parting to allow her entrance. The stillness bore down upon her. For a hundred miles the land rolled away in front of her vision, dead-ending only when it came to the Sandias. Above her there were only the pines arching like spires to direct the eye toward the blue infinity above. There was nothing and no one except her and Hunt McIver.

  The heated water lapped up around her knees. It licked at her legs, enveloping her in its delicious warmth. She ducked under the water, tasting its mineral tang on her lips and bobbed up again, her hair slicked back in a shining ribbon against her head. Sunlight caught in the droplets of water on her eyelashes, transforming them into sparkling crystals. Liquid gems collected in the tiny hollows of her collarbone and ran in rivulets between her breasts.

  She was less than an arm’s length from Hunt and still he had not touched her. Instead he let the water and the heat from his searing examination gently arouse her. And they did. Every inch of Shallie’s moist skin tingled with desire, waiting for his touch. Her breasts ached for the feel of his hard chest against them. She knelt before him. The water swirled between her legs, tantalizing her, making her yearn for the fevered press of his body. Still he did not touch her. Yet his eyes never left her.

  Slowly, with just the slightest ripple of water to betray the movement, Hunt’s hands moved. They cupped Shallie’s breasts from beneath. He held them, the lordly potentate, judging their firmness, their weight. His eyes never broke contact with hers. He watched her face as he trapped her straining nipples between his thumb and forefinger, watched as Shallie’s lips parted and her eyelids fluttered closed. Surges of pleasure, delayed by minutes that had seemed like hours, swept through her at the masterful touch of his fingers.

  Then Hunt’s control was gone as completely as Shallie’s. He pulled her to him, their tongues meeting, then entering a feverish duel. The press of his body against hers revealed that he had been as achingly ready as she. Neither one of them could wait a moment longer. He slid her on top of him, her legs straddling his. Shock waves of sensation collided within her as he bent her toward him to take the tip of her breast into his mouth. His hands on her hips raised and lowered her, guiding her expertly into a rhythm that wrought the ultimate in pleasure for them both. The rhythm grew more fierce until it seemed to take control of them, dictating with a relentless need that had to be satisfied. It left them spent and gasping.

  “Shallie, my darling.” Hunt’s words were lost in Shallie’s damp curls.

  She clung to him, dazed by the ferocity of desire that had risen up and taken her by surprise. Trembling still, she raised her head from the damp mat of Hunt’s chest. Her eyes found his. He was as awed as she by the intensity of their hunger for one another.

  “Shallie.” He said her name as if it were a statement, the summation of all he’d aspired to in his life. His lips were soft on hers, mere echoes of the lust that had screamed through them both as he kissed away the crystals of water hanging from her lashes.

  Hunt rolled over, Shallie secure in his arms, and he began to love her again. The water supported them, transforming their coupling into a weightless ballet in which each was freed of the restraint of gravity. Their only thought was to lavish the other with pleasure.

  As they descended the mountain, Hunt’s arm wrapped around her shoulders, Shallie felt her legs wobble beneath her like two sticks of licorice. But there was no time for rejuvenation. They both had to be back at the arena.

  Chapter 14

  Shallie approached the turquoise-colored coliseum with the first prickles of regret beginning to stab through the dreamy haze she’d been in since leaving the hot springs. It was the last performance of the rodeo. She hated to see it end. The past ten days had been enchanted. She tried to make herself believe that there were more in store, but in a deep corner of herself, she believed that life, or at any rate her life, wasn’t like that. It had been too good, too perfect. You didn’t get both the man and the career you dreamed of all in one tidy package.

  Once she stepped into the arena, Shallie had no more time for such gloomy ruminations. The next chance she had to pause was during the National Anthem. Throughout it she felt someone’s eyes hot on her neck. She glanced over her shoulder. Hunt, standing on the catwalk above his bronc, was smiling at her. Her own smile came in automatic response. She turned quickly away, afraid that anyone who’d seen them would be sure to guess the secret they shared. She groped in her pocket for the list Walter had hastily thrust into her hand as she arrived late, and read the first three names:

  Hatch Glover—Pegasus

  Emile Boulier—Odin

  Hunt McIver—Avalanche

  Damn, Shallie muttered—Hunt hadn’t drawn Pegasus. Jesse Southerland was far in the lead, with an average of 87.5 from his two rides, while Hunt was going into his second with a mediocre 79. It would have helped if Hunt had drawn Pegasus and ridden the roan the way Shallie had seen him ride.

  The first rider out didn’t even come close to challenging Southerland’s lead. Shallie watched Hatch Glover, a cowboy in his late twenties with a thick, drooping moustache, settle down on Pegasus’s back. She felt a hum of pride. Her horse didn’t even flinch as the man’s weight bore down on him. It was as if he had been trained from birth to be nothing less than the perfect bareback bronc.

  “In chute number one, ladies and gentlemen, we
have Mr. Hatch Glover from Salinas, California. Hatch is a familiar face to all of you who follow pro rodeo. He’s a consistent runner-up at the National Finals in the bareback riding. He was National College Rodeo champion in this event for three years running.”

  Shallie frowned. She hadn’t realized what an impressive reputation the moustachioed cowboy had. Could he best Pegasus? He certainly had the credentials and, from the set of his jaw, it appeared he had the spirit as well. The moustache bobbed down as he nodded for the gate. Pegasus burst out as if blown loose by dynamite. He took two thundering leaps, then seemed to cock his head and decide to change his strategy, almost as if he realized he’d never unloose the strong rider with moon-grazing bucks. So he switched to a snaky, shimmying style of bucking that had Glover running all over his back like spilled pudding. With a jaunty flip of his hindquarters, Pegasus tumbled him into the dust.

  There was a burst of scattered applause. Shallie looked behind her to see where it was coming from. The applauders were the handful of true aficionados in the crowd, the ones who actually understood what was happening in the ring. They were clapping for Pegasus! She looked over at the cowboys behind the chute. Every pair of eyes was on her horse.

  “Did you see what that damned horse did?” she overheard one stupefied cowboy ask his buddy. “I swear to God that animal changed up his style. I swear he did it on purpose.”

  “Damn, wish I’d drawn that, what’s that horse’s name? Pegasus? Wish I’d drawn him. A man could score some points on an animal like that. He must have had all four feet a couple of yards up in the air going out.”

  “Horse should be in the Olympic high jump. Damn!”

  Shallie smiled. These were the men who voted for the stock that went to the National Finals, and they were undeniably impressed.

  “. . . had a couple of bad years.” Shallie’s attention was captured by Slick Bridgers’s announcement. Damn him, she thought. Why does he have to keep bringing up Hunt’s bad years as if they hadn’t been preceded by four record-breaking ones? She sought out Hunt’s face. It didn’t betray even the tiniest flicker of response to Slick’s comment. His eyes, so soft and loving that afternoon, now glittered like a frozen chunk of the North Sea. They had an eerie, abandoned look about them, oblivious to the chaos that churned around Hunt. His features were honed as sharp as obsidian. She thought of how pliant and warm they had been and a surge of raw physical desire shot through her.

  “Hunt’s going to be riding Avalanche, a bronc who has gone to the National Finals for three years running. There have been rumors that Hunt’s getting some of his old licks back. Well, we’ll see here tonight how far old Hunt will get down the comeback trail. Avalanche has knocked the licks out of more than one cowboy. That is one tough bronc.”

  Shallie shut the words out and watched Hunt’s lips carve out the words that called for the gate. Shallie followed his eyes. They were focused on something far outside of the arena. Avalanche thundered out of the chute as if he were paying homage to his namesake. He landed with a spine-jarring thud. Shallie felt the shock tear through her, but Hunt’s face registered nothing. He could have been riding in a trance. His body, though, was fully alive and tuned in.

  Hunt took the next jolt lying back on the horse’s hindquarters. He seemed to feed the shock wave back into the animal so that the next buck was even higher and showier. Hunt took it as casually as a kid on a bike riding over a bump in the sidewalk.

  “He’s doing it,” Shallie screamed as the wild, primitive side of Hunt called out to the horse beneath him and brought forth torrents of the same untamed, savage energy. Shallie could feel the electricity running through the crowd. Even those who didn’t know enough about rodeo to appreciate what they were seeing realized that it was different and more exciting than what they were accustomed to. The buzzer blared. Hunt slacked off. As if the current had been broken, Avalanche rumbled to a sputtering finale. With one last halfhearted buck he threw the rider who had mastered him into the air. Hunt landed on his feet, his hat still firmly planted on his brow.

  The crowd was stunned into silence for a fraction of a second, then the tumult erupted. The only person in the coliseum not stomping his approval was Jesse Southerland. The judges knew and appreciated what Hunt had done and their scores reflected that knowledge. One held up a chalkboard with the figure 48 scrawled on it. The other held up a 49.

  “Ninety-seven points!” Slick Bridgers shouted into his microphone. “That is our highest score for the entire run in any of the riding events. Let me get verification from our rodeo secretary. Yes, it’s true, that score just put Hunt McIver in the lead, making him our unofficial winner for the bareback riding by half a point.”

  Shallie shot a triumphant fist into the air in jubilation. An arm swept around, pulling her off to the sideline. The vacant look was gone from Hunt’s face. He was one hundred percent there, with her, glowing his victory.

  “Hunt, you were wonderful. You rode like I knew you could.”

  “Yeah, wish Jake had been here to see it. I think he would have been surprised.”

  Later, behind the chutes, Hunt collected the prize that rodeo cowboys value more than any other, the understated praise of their colleagues.

  “Nice ride, Hunt.” Emile Boulier’s praise was untinged by any taint of jealousy. The other compliments were just as genuine. Shallie had seen that same spirit at every rodeo she’d ever attended, in the way one contestant would tell his hottest rival everything he knew about a horse the competitor was about to ride, in the way riders helped one another rig up in the tense moments before a ride. Maybe the men and women in rodeo weren’t bigger-hearted than those in any other sport. Maybe it was just a matter of mutual survival or a ritualized show of magnanimity, but to Shallie it felt like something more, which was why it surprised her that Jesse Southerland didn’t offer his congratulations. He stood back glowering at Hunt, Trish by his side. When the newly crowned queen stepped forward in their direction, Jesse yanked her back with a vicious jerk. As he pulled Trish away, her gaze lingered on Hunt. Shallie read the feelings behind it clearly. Jesse had been either a passing fancy or the pawn in a ploy to make Hunt jealous. Either way it was clear that Trish was finished with him. She wanted Hunt again.

  “Why don’t you go on ahead and start getting ready for the banquet? I’ll help Petey run the rest of the show,” Hunt whispered. “As if there’s anything to run—you’ve organized it all so well.”

  Shallie hesitated for a moment, then realized that Hunt was right. All there was left to do was to hurry the contestants and Hunt could hustle cowboys along as well as she.

  “Get going,” he laughed, swatting her lightly on her bottom. “I’ll come by for you at your hotel room.”

  For once, Shallie had ample time to prepare. She decided she would make the most of it by transforming dressing into a stylized ritual. She started by laying out the cloud-soft silk dress as if she were her own lady-in-waiting. Again she delighted in its rippling smoothness as she pulled it from its tissue-paper wrapping. Then she noticed that there was something else in the box. She drew out a slinky bit of apricot fluff. A teddy, Shallie realized with delight as she identified the exquisite piece of lingerie. She remembered hearing Hunt speaking with the saleswoman while she was dressing. He must have chosen the flimsy garment as an unspoken message to her, a message that Shallie found quite exciting.

  She poured several capfuls of bath oil into the flooding stream of water she turned on. Although the air was heavy with the oil’s fragrance, it was Hunt’s scent still clinging to her that Shallie inhaled as she lowered herself into the steaming water, which plunged her instantly back into the embrace of memories only a few hours old. I’m obsessed, Shallie thought as the image of Hunt’s naked form rippling beneath the water of the hot springs seeped into her mind. To have her every thought so dominated was unsettling for Shallie, who had for so long been a paragon of control and discipline. She hurried through the rest of her bath at a more characteristicall
y efficient pace.

  Shallie wiped a circle in the mirror free of steam. The face that greeted her was a surprise. It was somehow different. Both younger and older at the same time. Her skin glowed with the luminosity only the young possess, yet her eyes had a wiser, more womanly look. Her lips were slightly swollen as if being well kissed had brought them to full flower. She patted herself dry, finding that every point on her body had become a souvenir reminding her of Hunt’s touch. She slipped on the teddy. Its apricot color brought out the sunny tones of her skin perfectly. She looked at herself with Hunt’s eyes and happily anticipated his pleasure. She would wear nothing else under the dress.

  In honor of the occasion, she brought out her rarely used supply of cosmetics. The mascara and liner intensified the color of her eyes to a rich, velvety brown. A terra-cotta blusher and lip gloss supplied a shimmering crown to her own natural luster. She dabbed touches of the bath oil behind her knees and ears and deep in the cleft between her breasts, knowing that the oil would last longer than a cologne and thinking of how sensuous it would become when combined with the body heat that Hunt invariably generated.

  Hunt knocked at her door just in time to help her with the buttons at the back of the neck of her dress. His hands lingered as they forced the delicate pearl-shaped buttons through the loop of fabric. Then they slid to her shoulders and pulled her to his chest. He looked over her shoulder at their reflection in the mirror ahead.

  The image in the mirror bewitched Shallie. They looked so right together. Shallie was so captivated that she dared to imagine Hunt as her husband helping her with the cozy chore of buttoning her dress.