by Mima
He laughed again, and it wasn’t a masculine chuckle or a man’s satisfaction. It was a little boy’s gleeful delight. “Ready?”
She looked over. The black was actually a few inches shorter than the white, and built more delicately. The immense field seemed to have plenty of room and no obstacles. She took a breath. Images of Christopher Reeve in a wheelchair flashed through her mind. The gorgeous, shining coat and flowing mane of the black filled her blurry vision.
“No! No way, you maniac!” she screamed into the wind and the sound of thundering hooves. “You are not doing this. Stop!” It turned out fear gave her enough breath to snarl very convincingly.
Snarling curses of his own, Luke slowed the white and let the beautiful black princess race away. “Fuckin’ A, woman! I coulda done it.”
“You’re obviously an expert horse rider, Luke.” It took several billowing breaths to get that sentence out. “But I’m not. I could have died.”
The white had slowed to a walk.
“Hop down. I’ll try to go get her on my own.”
Lauren sat up, pushing back against his weight so she could twist and look him in the eyes. “Excuse me?”
Frowning, his gaze tracked the black across the field. “I’ll never get her on foot.”
He put his hands on her ribs and lifted. Lauren squirmed, crying out, fingers still locked in the white’s mane. “What are you doing?”
“Get down,” he insisted.
“Not like this. Quit pushing me.”
“Stubborn female, just let go.”
The invasive sound of revving motors echoed from the distance. He eased his grip and they both swiveled to look. Two four-wheel all-terrain vehicles came bouncing across the field. Both drivers sported buff-colored cowboy hats.
“Fuck!” Luke swiveled the horse. “Shit!”
He clicked and the horse broke into a run.
Lauren wasn’t as secure in her seat as she had been before, and started to slide off to one side. “Luke. Stop.” But her teeth were gritted and she doubted he’d heard her.
“Goddamn police.” Luke clicked to the horse again.
Now Lauren knew what the term “running flat out” meant. The white’s head stretched like a bridge before Lauren, who could now see clearly ahead. The white’s back hardly moved as the hoofbeats echoed through Lauren’s bones.
Police? For bareback riding without permission? Surely they had better things to do? Wait. Was she now involved in a flight from police?
Managing to heave her hips back up into the sweet spot of balance, she shot a look over her shoulder. The men were maintaining pace on the ATVs. The other horses in the field had scattered.
Luke called out, “Whoaaaa!”
Lauren felt him shift his legs beneath hers, doing something with the horse’s ribs. The horse skidded to a stop, her front hooves hopping with the force. In a flash, he was off, the horse danced, and Lauren was in the prickly field, sitting on her stinging ass. He ducked under a wire Lauren had again failed to notice, and the horse shook herself and strolled away.
“Nice knowing you, Blue Eyes.” His voice barely came to her over the encroaching motors. He didn’t look back.
Her breath reentered her lungs in a noisy rush. “What?”
He stepped into a stand of fir, and disappeared into the shadows.
“What? Luke?” Lauren blinked.
They were in the middle of nowhere. How did he think he was getting away? Montana had, like, five hundred people. How did he think he was going to hide?
The ATVs sounded louder, and Lauren applied the effort it took to get stiffly to her feet. She rubbed her butt. When the frontmost rider didn’t slow down, she stepped forward and waved her arms wildly, like some chick from an old western movie when the train tracks were out.
He braked in front of her in a rush of dust.
“There’s a fence here.” She pointed. And she had no compunction about her next words. “Luke went into those trees.”
The man nodded and picked up a little handheld microphone. His amplified voice popped out.
“Luke, we want to ask you some questions about some missing horses.”
The other man came up next to Lauren and cut his engine. She noticed she was strategically boxed in. Lauren the Dangerous, she thought with amusement, all contained.
“Ma’am. You a guest here?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Are you all right?”
She nodded again, waving the dust from her face. “Yes. Are we in trouble for riding the horse?”
“That’s for the ranch to say. It sure wasn’t smart.”
She sighed. “Ain’t that the truth?”
The first man repeated his demand over the megaphone, but the branches kept on swaying in their peaceful way. The sun had shifted to the glow of coming evening, and the breeze swept cooler. She wiped her forehead on her arm.
“Well, we’ll catch up with him at the next rodeo. You need a ride?”
She checked out his uniform. He seemed like a cop. A western cop, but a real one. “Thanks. Are you trying to arrest Luke?”
“Not yet. We need to ask him some questions.”
The older, first man hooked up his microphone with a huff of irritation. “Luke has a habit of gambling with known rustlers, and horses keep disappearing from ranches shortly after his rodeo demo group rolls through.”
The older man with the big star on his chest shot the second man a dark look. “Just give the lady a ride back to the lodge, Cliff. I’m going to go take a look-see.”
He got off his ATV and pushed it under the wire, then ducked under himself. He nodded to her. “Ma’am. You might want to stick to the scripted offerings from now on.”
“Absolutely,” Lauren said with a heartfelt solemnity.
The younger guy spoke as the older man started his engine. “I’m Deputy Cliff Levitt, Ma’am. Hop on.”
Dusty, aching, clinging to the slender but muscled young man, she couldn’t believe her afternoon dalliance had gone so wrong. And to think she’d almost taken Luke back to her cabin.
The deputy stopped at the fence back at the trail she’d walked with Luke. She ducked under the electric fence and watched as he pushed his ATV under. He resettled his hat.
“Even cops wear cowboy hats out here.”
He looked at her warily. “And how.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean it to be a criticism. Just in the city, such a hat either means you’re gay or a tourist.”
Propping one hip on the machine, he opened the back hatch and pulled out a bottle of water. “Want some?”
“I’d love some, thanks.”
“What city would that be?” He handed her a bottle and took one himself.
“New York.” She suddenly missed the pub in the bottom of her apartment building fiercely. “The greatest city on earth.”
“Huh. I’m transferring into the thirteenth precinct of the NYPD next month.”
“You’re kidding! That’s terrific. You’ll love it.” She wasn’t sure where that was, but he’d certainly be accessible.
He drank the water in one long chug. “I’m not sure about loving it. I think it’s going to be lonely, but I wanted a challenge and a change.”
She pulled up his name. Cliff Levitt. He was tall, with lightly curling brown hair and an unremarkable, nice face. Luke had been sexy. Cliff wasn’t—at first glance.
He lowered the empty bottle and drew his forearm across his jaw.
She could tell by the way he looked back at the stand of fir he was still thinking of rustlers.
“I have bad taste in guys,” Lauren said. “I’m kind of scared to give you my number.”
He looked at her, eyebrows rising in amusement. “Luke’s been known for trouble since he was in juvie. His daddy was, too. He isn’t a
scumbag, though. I can see how he’d be interesting to a beautiful city girl.”
He held her gaze until her lashes fluttered. From the breeze, she told herself. She opened her water and sipped. Delicious.
“I’m generally considered a very law-abiding, upstanding, decent person. I bet if you gave me your number, it would be safe.”
She looked at him from beneath her lashes. “Manhattan can be a hard place for newbies. I’d be happy to share my secret list of great restaurants, hard won through many bad meals.”
“I’d rather have to earn the list myself, but I wouldn’t mind some company. You can’t have tried them all.”
She shook her head slowly. “Nope. It’s the least I can do for the guy who saved me from Sweet Luke.”
She put the water down on the fender. “Do you have your cell?” He passed one to her, and she input her number.
Giving it back, his hand captured hers. He held it for a minute. “What’s your name?”
“Lauren Smythe.” She wondered if any apartments were open in her building. She’d ask Luigi when she got back. “Are you going to the hoedown tonight?”
He swung onto the padded saddle of the ATV. “Wasn’t. But I’m off at nine.”
Smiling, she scrambled on behind him, enjoying again the hard muscles she held on to. Who knew Montana had so many available guys? He revved the machine and she stuck tight to Cliff until he pulled up to the trail to the barn.
Motioning him to cut the engine, she hopped off. “Thanks for the ride and the water.”
He touched the brim of his hat. “It was nice to meet you, Ma’am. Hope it will happen again soon.” With a nod, he turned and headed back toward the pasture.
Eagerly planning what to wear, Lauren decided she would hit the hoedown late, around nine-thirty, even if it meant facing Sorrel. After all, she had backup coming in.
Congratulations. You have found the ending called Hang ’Em High. Click this link to return to the Choice Index. Dare to decide again!
An aching need to touch him burned through her. But she shook her head, pointing one accusing finger at him.
“You are a powerful temptation, but I want your regard more. No more kissing. For now.”
The rocks were soft and slick. Her fingers traveled over them as she held herself to the wall. “Not that I don’t admire the view. Maybe I’ll just stay here while you get your jeans on.”
He chuckled. “You do know that getting a show off of me means I’ll get a show off of you later.”
“I do know that.” She swallowed hard. “I promise to make it a good one.”
Letting the current hold her, she draped her arms along the top of the dam and pulled her knees up, bracing her feet against it. A few of the rocks tumbled off the top of the line, plopping over with the push of water.
“I can’t make the same promise. I’ve got no notion of how to tease. I’ve got the basics and that’s about it.” He turned and moved toward the shore, giving her a truly spectacular view of his ass.
She froze, riveted. Spreading her feet she smiled at the naughty rush of cold water against her open thighs as he climbed onto shore. It would be easy to finger herself. The water was dark enough he wouldn’t notice. But she didn’t. The wanting was much more fun. He dried himself off with his shirt.
Watching his shifting muscles had her arching her back, pressing her shoulders hard into the stones. “You’re not going to keep those soaked underwear on, are you?”
He looked at her, pausing. “I’ll take them off in the bathroom later.”
She shook her head. “You don’t have to. I’m all the way over here. Drat it all.” She smiled at him.
Checking himself out, he said, “Well, I guess you pretty much see everything anyway.” He glanced over at her. “And you’ve seen it all before, right?”
She acknowledged his question about her experience. “I’ve seen a few. Not enough to be bored by yours. You’re an absolutely beautiful man, Walt.”
He snorted. “Lauren, if you want to go complimenting ranchers, don’t be using a word like beautiful. It’s sweet of you, though.”
Bending, he peeled the underwear off. He was right. She didn’t see anything new, because she could pretty much see it all before, and she’d been with a few guys. But she was right, too. His hips were a lean work of art, his thighs meeting them with deep hollows of strong sinew. His hair curled tightly around his base and he didn’t in the least seem self-conscious about how he’d shrunk in the cold.
She was positive every single guy she’d ever been with would have been worried what she’d think. Walt knew it was a fact of nature and wasn’t going to defend himself. Even drawn up from the cold his balls were large and round. Oh, touching him would be so fine. She stood, shoving off from the wall, aching to get closer despite his speed at pulling his jeans up.
Maybe he was hurrying because the sun seemed to be thawing him quickly. His penis was swelling, hanging long and thick. His hand grabbed himself and paused.
Their eyes met. She simply could not stop herself from licking her lips. His jaw clenched, and he stuffed himself brutally inside the pants.
He buttoned the fly and put his arms through the plaid shirt, leaving it hanging open off his shoulders. “How was the show?”
“Really terrific, thanks. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Tony-award-winning, definitely. Encore!” She held up her hands and clapped madly.
They both laughed. That’s when the dam broke. Literally. The rock wall crumbled, and a rush of water mowed right over her like a mini-tsunami. Gasping, shocked, she snatched in a breath and floundered as she slammed into a pile of rocks, was spun legs over ass, and flailed to get to the surface.
“Lauren!” She could hear Walt shout her name, but her mind was frozen by how easily the current toyed with her body.
One foot scraped across a rough rock edge, and her arm slammed hard into something that felt like a log. Grab that! The thought came too late and she spun on.
Okay, I’m just in a creek. Stand up. Her feet kicked but couldn’t find the riverbed. The surface flowed over her face and she gasped out a breath, catching a glimpse of trees flashing by. Then she was under again. Swim for the shore at an angle. She got herself onto her belly and got her head up again, stroking with the current but trying to cut across it.
“Feet first!” She heard Walt call, just as a boulder took her in the jaw and shoulder.
Pain bloomed hard through her skull but she scrambled to hold to the slimy stone as her body eased over the lump. Her arms clamped and the water was full force in her face. She strained to arch her back and stretch her neck, anything to clear her mouth from the rush.
The rock was too low and she lost the grip of one arm. Her body flew away from the rock, one hand still locked, claw-like, to the mound. Now she could clear the water and she faced downstream, her body dangling and flowing from the rock like a piece of stubborn seaweed.
Walt leaped into the shallows and braced one foot on a rock nearby. He strained to reach out to her. His hand was only about a foot away, but might as well have been a mile. She saw his intense face, saw his mouth move but couldn’t hear from the water pouring against her ears. He couldn’t go in any deeper or he’d get swept away himself, and the rock he braced against was submerged like hers. He stepped back and she could tell he was about to leap onto the rock, to try to get closer and pull her out. If he did that, he’d surely get knocked in, too.
Choking, she lifted her head out of the water. “No.”
He retorted, “Hold on.”
“No!” How dare he risk himself? “You’ll fall in, too!”
He backed up in order to get a running start. So she let go. His horrified eyes were the last thing she saw for the next several minutes.
Trying to focus on keeping her feet to the front and her back to the bottom, she strained to put her legs to
gether and stretch her arms wide for balance. Flailing down the stream, she let the water pull her to one side of an obstacle or another, continually trying to grab onto passing rocks or limbs, but afraid of turning her face into the water and losing control.
Eventually, she was shoved against a steep, muddy bank full of icky roots and sticks. The water held her tight. Gratefully, she flung her chest at the muck and gasped for breath.
“Stay right there, Lauren, I’m coming.” Walt’s voice was a firm order.
She nodded, unable to call out. On the opposite bank, he raced past her, running farther downstream in huge, yard-eating strides. Her arms shivered with strain and the current began to pull at her legs again. She clung like a monkey, trying to keep her body flush to the bank so the water had nothing to pick at. After a few breaths, she thought to stretch down with her legs, but couldn’t feel the bottom, just more slimy sticks. One was jabbing her ribs badly and another scraped hard into her thigh, but she didn’t try to get away from the pain.
She heard crashing through brush, and then Walt was there. He was about two feet above her. He threw himself to his stomach, reaching for her. His hands fell short a few inches, but she was utterly unable to let go and gain any height to grab him.
He disappeared and then reappeared, his shirt dangling down into the water. “Take it. Wrap it around your wrist before you let go with both hands.”
Letting go of the riverbank in order to take his shirt’s sleeve was incredibly hard to do. She cried out, forcing her fingers to follow her command. Frantically twisting her wrist, she got the cloth around one forearm, then rested her head in the mud before letting go with the other hand. As soon as she latched on, he drew her up in a smooth hand-over-hand motion. She rose up into the air and tried to push with her feet, but got a bit scraped as she oozed over a branch. Cobwebs swept over her face and she closed her eyes tightly.
Being hauled onto the brushy edge of the bank and pulled into Walt’s strong arms was a revelation. He wrapped her up tight and yanked her farther from the water.
