High-Riding Heroes

by Joey Light

  They rolled, they twisted, the gentleness he promised himself he would give her, gone. Her fingers bit into his hips as she pushed against him. Fury, a storm of passion hovering and then streaking, pounding, and crashing.

  He caught her mouth with his and held her still. Their bodies joined and committed, found a world of heights and depths, of fire and ice as together they catapulted over some unseen, unexplored wall into a universe that consumed them.

  Chapter Eight

  Glad she had thought to pull on her cotton shawl, Victoria watched the sky change from light gray to fiery orange as the sun pushed its way upward. The first glow of color for a new day. She drew in the slightly chill air and kept walking. This was a beautiful time of day and really the first time she had ever been outside the moment Oklahoma night turned into Oklahoma day.

  Wrapping the ends of the shawl around her fingers, hands outstretched, she turned several circles; the hem of her skirt heavy with the dew of the tall morning grass, she got more than slightly dizzy. Jogging up the hill and over the top, she laughed out loud. No one was around to hear. No one was near to see her let loose all those things pent up in her for so long. Running, she headed for the stream that bubbled and rippled along its way at the bottom of the hill. Pink smartweed waved in the breeze alongside yellow mammillaria.

  Once there, her mother’s voice in her ear saying “You’ll only catch cold and have to spend boring time in bed,” she slipped her shoes off and held them dangling from one hand. The water was ankle deep and icy. It felt wild and was crazy. She walked down the middle of the stream, squealing and talking to the new morning as if it were her friend. “Yes!

  I can walk on water. I know where all the rocks are.” Giggling at her own foolishness, Victoria lifted her face to the glow of the warm sun.

  It was from the top of the hill, astride his horse bareback, that Wes spotted her. Reining the horse to a stop, he watched. Pushing his hat back on his head, he smiled. He had interrupted her private time. He shouldn’t sit here and watch as she played, childlike, in the stream. He shouldn’t, but he was damn well going to do it.

  He had never met anyone like her. She was intense one minute and perfectly silly the next. She could smile happily or scowl with the best of them. She had a spitfire temper and a suspicious and distrusting mind at times. And she could be giving. Last night, he had seen it and felt it. Thinking of her, lying in his arms…

  His horse nickered and Wes quieted him with his hand on his neck. He didn’t want anything to distract Victoria from the enjoyment she was finding in the new day. He watched as she caught the hem of the back of her skirt and brought it through her legs and tucked it in her waistband to pull it up safe from any more drenching as now she was jumping in the water, sending splashes of it shooting in the air. Wes smiled and a warmth he had never known filled him. It nearly made up for the restless night and slight headache.

  Unable to resist, he urged his mount down the hill. The pair walked behind her for a full minute before she heard them and, startled, yelped. “You scared me. How long have you been out here?”

  Grinning, Wes swung his legs. “Long enough.” Then guiding his horse beside her, he offered his hand. “Ride with me a while.”

  After losing at least the last half of a good night’s sleep over this man, lying in his arms being swept away with passion, was it safe to join him on the horse this morning?

  She took his hand and he lifted her, settling her in front of him.

  It was the strangest sensation she had ever experienced. Gravity pushed her body back against his. Full against his. The slow rock of the horse’s body as he picked his way through the rocks and then over the open field only amplified the hardness of his chest and thighs against her. She looked down at the hand that loosely held the reins a few inches from her stomach. Competent hands.

  They were good hands. Large with blunt fingers. She remembered the feel of them on her face, her body. Bringing her soul alive, forcing her to feel all she was afraid to feel. They were rough hands, yet smooth. Cool, assuring, and warm…confident hands that had done many things. Hands that had held a gun…a tiny little girl…made a horse dance under him and fluffed the flattened fur on a teddy bear…and made beautiful love to her.

  They were silent for a while, the horse picking his own path. As the wayward breeze lifted her hair, Victoria could feel Wes’s breath at her neck. As the sun rose higher in the sky to warm her skin, the man at her back warmed her heart.

  Because he needed to know, Wes said, “Tell me what you used to do on a day like this back in Virginia.”

  She let her mind zero back to the East. To a morning like this one. “I’d ride Tonka early. Usually Mother and I would join her friends later and ride again. I went to the veterans hospital almost every day just before noon. So many of them need assistance to eat and hospitals are always understaffed. I stayed till three or so depending on the needs of the day.” Remembering, she sighed. “Then there was always a dinner or a party to go to. My mother was big into social events and she belonged to many clubs that used any excuse to party. After my divorce from David, her friends were always trying to match me with one of their relatives or a long lost friend. I guess most of my attention was lavished on my horses and my veterans. They never expected anything of me.”

  “Buck mentioned the VA hospital but I didn’t think you were so involved.”

  “It’s all volunteer. I have the time and they need the help. Besides, I love those guys. Such spirits. Such strength. Some have lost it for a while but they get it back. Most of them.” A sadness washed over her when faces flitted across her mind’s eye of ones she’d lost.

  Her giving, her caring touched him when they lived in a world so caught up in the me generation. “What’d you do for them?”

  “Anything that needed to be done. Like I said, some need help to eat. Some need letters written or phone calls connected. I ran errands, like shopping for their girlfriends or wives and kids. I take some of them to therapy to encourage and bully and hoorah. Whatever is called for. The physical needs are sometimes much easier to care for than the emotional. A lot of the time I’m simply listening and hearing stories no one should ever hear let alone live through. Scars. Deep, deep permanent scars. Some of these men will never be fully functional again. Were you there, in Vietnam?”

  “Yes. But I wasn’t in combat much. We were on the perimeter and only involved in small skirmishes. I spent a lot of time in the bush, on edge, alert to the point where I thought I could hear my pores opening and closing. Snipers were a problem. But there were plenty of other guys who had it a lot worse. Huge firefights that lasted for days and nights…and bombings.”

  She pictured him, slightly disabled sitting in a corner, tormented and in mental and physical pain. Shaking her head, she said, “I take the guys in wheelchairs on walks around the hospital and sometimes I’d take them out to the house and have them sit on the porch beside me in the rocker. There was this one man. A special one. I learned a lot about myself from what he told me. My emotions, how deeply I can care, how strongly I can feel. We’d sit for hours and he’d tell me, teach me. What it was like to be in war.

  And I would look at him and try to imagine him there. That body. That mind. Those hands. That heart. Then and only then did I learn about the human spirit. And love. We talked about everything. And laughed, we could make serious things funny. My friend…my friend gave me all that. What a gift it is.” She missed him.

  Bringing herself back to the present, she drew a deep breath. “I guess I was just a person who cares, who wants them to have a real friend while they are in the hospital. It takes just a little effort to make a change in someone’s life or outlook. I think I’ve helped a few.”

  “I’m sure you have. You miss them. I can hear it in your voice.”

  “I sure do. I’ll go back and visit. Of course, it won’t be the same but—I guess when this opportunity came along I became selfish. But then again, maybe I seek my freedom as
much as they seek theirs. They were happy for me. All of them. But when it came time for me to leave, some cried. I cried.”

  He hugged her then. He simply lifted the arm that had been dangling at his side and wrapped it around her…and left it there.

  After another few moments of silence, Wes nudged the horse in the sides and the three of them were off across the field like a streak of lightning. After the first jolt, Victoria grabbed a handful of mane, tightened her legs against the horse’s sides, and held on. Her hair flowed back as they rocketed past the trees and through the grass. In response to Wes’s slight move forward, she bent her body to fit his and with eyes cut against the wind, her laughter rolled out over the air. Fast, faster, the horse thundered, the sound of his hooves muffled against the grass. Wes’s body was hard and arousing. His arms kept her safe and his heart beat in time with hers. Every inch of their bodies was touching, moving in time to the horse’s hoofbeats.

  Friction building fire. Confidence building confidence.

  Exhilarating. Thrilling. Breathtaking. The world whirled away from them in a blur as they seemed to leave the hard, packed earth for the soft weightlessness of the atmosphere. Wind streamed through her hair and earned her laughter up and away. It was fantasy. It was reality. It was a dream. Together, two humans and one animal, mutually forged in a world of speed and pleasure. Unafraid, completely trusting Wes and the horse, she let herself go. Complete abandon. No fears, no doubts. No mooring ropes. Freedom. She loved it. The wind dragged across her ankles and up her bare legs. On they went.

  When Wes slowed the horse to a trot and then back to a walk, she turned and planted a kiss on his chin, noticing for the first time the stubble of a night’s growth of beard.

  He pulled the horse to a halt beneath the tree and dismounted. Turning, he held up his arms and she slid into them. Taking her shawl, he spread it on the ground and took her down with him.

  “Do you always ride so early in the morning?” she asked, her lips close to his.

  “Only when I can’t sleep.” She could feel the vibration of his voice in his chest where her hand rested.

  She grinned, knowing he couldn’t see it. So with only a thin wall between them, both had tossed and turned the rest of the night away. Somehow that made her smug. “Did you feed the horses already?”

  “All taken care of. The men and I are meeting at ten to go over some of the rodeo skills. I feel like having a great big breakfast. Want to go back and see what cook has on the stove?”

  She didn’t want this to end. Ever. “Okay. You need sustenance before you start your hard day’s work. I know that much about cowboys.”

  He chuckled. “But you have a lot more to learn. And I’m just the man to teach you.”

  She circled his neck with her arms, looking up at him through a wide sweep of dark lashes. “Teach me.”

  Still moved from the night before and fired up from their ride across the grass, Wes cradled her in his arms and touched his lips to hers. He was almost afraid it wouldn’t be there again. But it was. Stronger. Vibrant. Potent.

  Lying still when all she wanted was to hurry him, she waited as he tasted her, traced her body with his hands. She didn’t object when their lovemaking became ardent. She had never made love in the shade of a big old tree before.

  He took his time and relished her. She watched the emotions cross his face and smiled when he tucked his head to nuzzle her. Like young lovers, never before together, they tested, experimented. As her heart soared with a happiness never before known, she saw it in his eyes, too. Last night it had been too dark to see. This morning it was bright and clear. Slowly, their clothes were cast aside.

  Not once did Victoria worry about being seen. The horse would warn them of anyone approaching, which was a long shot. And besides, she couldn’t have prevented their coming together. It just happened naturally. It was a freedom she had never allowed herself to experience.

  When he covered her with his body, it was as if she were coming home. A strange mix of the comfortable and the unknown. One of expectations and surprises.

  He filled her. A complete union, the feelings as new as if they had never been together like this before. Arching toward him, murmuring his name, she exploded with more love and heat than she ever thought possible.

  He was home. Each time he drove hard into her and rode closer to completion, he wondered at it all. Never, never had he loved someone as much.

  Later, much later, he kicked his gelding into an easy gallop and they headed toward Glory Town.

  Victoria leaned back into him. She hoped he would think it was the momentum of the gallop but it was her. She wanted to feel his long, lean body supporting hers. It would be nice to know what it would be like to have a man to lean on, mentally and physically.

  Glory Town was just stretching into the waking hour. People stirred here and there. They rode to the barn, through the gate and inside. The first thing Victoria saw shot ice water through her veins. Her horse wasn’t in his stall but on the sawdust-covered floor of the barn. Stall door open…feed room door open. Two and two added up to death.

  “Oh God. He’s down. Didn’t you lock the doors?” It was more an accusation than a question as she jumped off his horse and ran to hers. Tonka’s breathing was labored, and after putting an ear to his stomach and hearing silence, she knew. Colic! The dreaded word among horse owners.

  Wes was beside her. “Of course, I locked the doors. Do you think I’m a fool? Horses are my job. Get him up.”

  Her groan was almost a cry. “You really screwed up this time and it’s liable to cost me my animal. Damn. Call the vet.”

  Her mind skimmed over all she knew about colic. Any time a horse ingested too much of something it wasn’t used to—lush green grass, alfalfa, or too much grain—it ferments before it can be digested, forming gas in the intestines. Unless the blockage can move along the insides and out…the internal agitation causes extreme pain. And if the horse lies down and rolls to relieve the suffering, it can twist the intestine, closing off any hope of passing the blockage. The horse dies. In a matter of eight to ten hours, the animal is gone. A long, painful death.

  Panic threatened to pour in but she held it at bay. Running for a lead shank, she returned and clicked it on his halter.

  It took some coaxing, but she had the horse on his feet and walking as Wes dialed the vet.

  He had locked the doors. He was no greenhorn. How the hell could she assume this was his doing? Because he was the one who came in early and fed and took his horse out for a ride. He was the one. Hanging up, assured help was on the way, he hurried to the refrigerator and pulled out a syringe. Sticking the needle in the bottle of Banamine, he withdrew 100 cc’s. Holding the syringe up to the light, he flicked the air out of it and rejoined her in the arena.

  Walking on the other side of the horse, Wes injected the muscle relaxant in hopes that they had found him soon enough. Time. Time would tell. He felt his gut tighten up as he stood back and watched Victoria walk the horse around the barn in a wide circle. It was going to be a long, long day. “Let’s hope we found him early enough. If the Banamine relaxes the muscles and the blockage is small, we’ll be all right.”

  “Vet coming?” she demanded as she passed him.

  “Right away.” Even though he understood her tone of voice, he didn’t like it. “I didn’t leave any doors open.”

  “Hardly matters to me now. Walk him while I run back to the hotel and change.” She needed her jeans and boots on. Not looking at Wes, she handed him the lead, and after patting her horse on the side, she took off at a jog. She wasn’t going to lose this horse simply because someone was careless. Dammit. Dammit. She wouldn’t.

  It didn’t make any sense that Wes would be that lax, she argued with herself, but, she continued the silent battle, he was the only one in there. But he’s been around horses all his life. Hadn’t she mentioned to him that she didn’t like the feed room being accessible from the main arena area? Many a time the horses w
ere set loose inside so they could run in and out of the paddock area at will. He had assured her it would be all right, and guess what? It hadn’t been.

  Returning to the barn, she was relieved to see the vet’s car parked outside. Running inside, she stopped. They were tubing him now and a bucketful of fluid was coming from the rubber tube in his nose that tapped his stomach. Squelching a squeamish flow in her own, she marched up and helped hold the gelding still.

  “I’m sure you know this only relieves some of the pressure. If he hasn’t already rolled and twisted an intestine, we have a chance of saving him. Later this afternoon, we’ll know more. You know the routine. Walk him fifteen minutes, rest him thirty. Walk fifteen and rest. Don’t let him go down and, for God’s sake, don’t let him roll.”

  “We know, Doc, and thanks.” Wes turned to Victoria. “Doc is leaving us more Banamine.”

  Victoria offered, hopefully, “I heard a little bit of movement in his gut when I first got him up. Maybe he’ll do okay.”

  The vet stripped off his rubber gloves and put the hose and bucket away. “We’ll see. I’ve done all I can for now. I’ll come back,” he looked at his watch, “at six. If you need me before that, don’t hesitate to call.”

  Victoria knew what that meant. If the horse went down and couldn’t get up, if he rolled…it was time to put him down. When the pain got so bad…no, she wouldn’t think of that now. Just walk.

  She began circling again and watched Wes walk out with the vet. Both men were about the same age but the veterinarian was small and wiry with sharp features and short legs. They mumbled quietly to each other as they walked, and soon both men were out of sight.

  She rubbed Tonka’s nose and talked reassuringly as they walked. Step. Another. Another. She felt the horse falter a little and talked louder to him, tightening her hold on his halter. How much feed had he eaten? How much water had he drunk? How bad did his stomach ache? Those questions whirled in her mind. Checking her watch, she led him to his stall and clipped the lead off.