Navy SEAL's Match

by Amber Leigh Williams

  “I never figured you for a Trekkie.”

  “What? Man can’t carry a gun and enjoy Star Trek?” He tsked at her, stuffing more figs in the pack. “You’re a little offbeat for a labeler.”

  She sniffed. “Always hated that word. Offbeat. Like everybody has to march to the same damn cadence in order to be accepted by society at large?”

  He heard bitterness and stopped picking to tilt his head and get a better angle on her. “Are you going to rack my nuts if I ask if you’re okay again?”

  “I might.”

  “I don’t care. I’m worried about you, Bracken.”

  “Hush.”

  “Zelda and I have a wager on whether you’ll let me carry you back to base.”

  “No. I mean it. Be quiet. Shh!” Mavis came quickly to her feet, her hand clapping over his mouth.

  His body drew up tight. From her. From wariness. He heard the low nicker in the trees beyond him and spoke through her fingers. “There’s a horse behind me, isn’t there?”

  “Bag,” she said. When he offered the pack, she reached in to rummage through the contents. One of Errol’s fairy-tale-red apples appeared from the depths. “Your knife.” He frowned at her. She widened her eyes, palm up. “Your knife, Gavin.”

  Worry slowed his hand, but he palmed the butt of the knife from the sheath on his belt.

  She frowned at the long blade. “Who the hell carries a knife like this?” At the indicative quirk of his brow, she shook her head. “Never mind.”

  “Are its ears back?” he asked. “Is it foaming at the mouth?”

  “Neither,” she said as she pared the apple. “It looks injured, around the foreleg.”

  After she sheathed the knife, finished, Gavin stayed her with a firm grasp above the elbow. “Remember that talk we had about approaching wounded predators in the wild?”

  “I know horses,” she told him, already moving around him in a slow circle. “If it bites, it bites.”

  “I’m more worried about you getting trampled.” And he cursed because there was no talking her out of this. He pivoted enough to see the horse’s form some twenty-odd feet from their position. It was still as a statue, its attention seized on them. “Careful, Frex,” he said.

  She took her time approaching, signaling Zelda across the cemetery to stay back. Gavin tried not to shift his feet. He wanted to pace. He’d shout if he was sure the animal wouldn’t bolt toward Mavis. Plus, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t trip headlong into a gravestone and spook it regardless. As the distance between Mavis and the horse closed to an arm’s length, Gavin’s fingers bit into the fig.

  Mavis stopped, keeping moderately back. Gavin heard her speak to it. He recognized the Zen tone. The apple rose as an offering on her palm.

  Gavin didn’t breathe as the horse weighed her and the gift.

  The sound of whirring droned over the quiet density of the woods. “Mavis,” Gavin barked. “Back away.”

  The horse skirted forward as the sound of the battery-powered engine grew. Gavin took several steps until Mavis’s back buffered his front. Drawing her in a quick backward retreat, he wound his arm over her chest as the animal’s hooves struck the moist ground. Gathering speed, the horse careered across the cemetery, tail feathered high.

  A white golf cart bumbled into view. Gavin checked the urge to yell at whoever was behind the wheel. Beneath his forearm, he could feel Mavis’s heart thumping hard against her breastbone. Loosening his grip, he drew her around to face him. He opened his mouth.

  She shook her head sharply. “Don’t say anything,” she said, shrugging free from his arms.

  Gavin scowled at the line of her back as she walked toward the golf cart, then he looked off into the trees on the other side of the cemetery where the horse had vanished.

  “You walkin’ back, handsome?” Zelda said from the golf cart.

  “I’m coming,” he called. He lifted Mavis’s pack to his shoulder and left the silent graves to themselves.

  * * *

  “THEY’VE CORNERED THE BRUTE.”

  Mavis frowned at the man in the power suit who stood at the balcony wall, hands planted across the high-gloss stones. The balcony jutted off the back of the first floor, but the house had been built over a raised basement, giving its edifice an imposing upsweep and offering an expansive view of the pasture. It might’ve been impressive had the whole house not had the entombed echo of an abandoned ruin. She might have been able to admire it if not for the sick feeling twining in the hard pit of her stomach. “Mr....”

  “Julian, please,” he said, turning to her with all the charm of an experienced businessman. His comb-over was neat, his hair silver and fine as a newborn’s. “A friend of Zelda’s is a friend of mine.”

  “Sure.” Clutching her glass of water with both hands, she held it against her stomach. “I guess in the spirit of friendship I should ask how long you’ve been hiring wranglers to catch this horse.”

  “Oh, weeks. Two months, to tell the truth. It nearly scared the socks off me the first time I came to assess the place. It must’ve been alone just as long before we realized it was here. A terrible pity they left it the way they did.”

  Only because you see it as a nuisance, she thought. Choosing her words carefully, she pondered through the swell of a headache. “Yes, terrible.”

  “And the wranglers aren’t hired,” Julian told her, pivoting back to the view and the men running across the field in strategy. They’d nearly locked down a corral with the horse backed against the stable wall. No room to run. “They’ll be paid if and when they secure it for transport.”

  “And from there?” Mavis asked. His back was to her, and she passed the cool sweating surface of the glass across her brow. “Where will they take him?”

  “Wherever they please.”

  “You don’t wish to be compensated?” Mavis asked. “To go against the house selling costs?”

  “I don’t know much about horses,” Julian replied, “but I do know this one couldn’t have been very valuable. Or else its owners wouldn’t have left it.”

  A distressed whinny broke across the pasture. Mavis did her best not to grimace as the handlers tried to fit the horse roughly with a bridle. “You do realize it’s hurt?”

  “Is it?” Julian asked, mildly curious.

  “I got close enough to see swelling around its front left splint.”

  “You know horses?”

  “My parents own several,” she explained. “I had a chestnut named Neptune. We did some show jumping.”

  “You’re an expert in many areas, it seems.”

  She drank the rest of her water, then set the glass down on the balustrade. “What would it take for me to convince you to talk these men into transferring the horse across the bay to my parents’ farm?”

  The question scrubbed Julian’s face blank. “Why would I do that?”

  “Well, do you know these men?”

  “No. They’re hired hands.”

  “So can you tell me you trust them to give the animal the proper care and attention it needs?”

  Julian pursed his lips, peering across the field from where shouting and cursing was audible. “I suppose not.”

  Mavis pressed harder, sizing him up. “This situation already smacks of an animal neglect case. You wouldn’t want the horse’s welfare to come back and haunt you. Would you, Julian?”

  “The men will expect to be compensated. I did offer a reward.”

  “How much?” Mavis challenged.

  A muscle in his face twitched. “Five.”

  “Hundred?” She narrowed her eyes as a beat of silence pressed between them. “Is that all?”

  “I thought it generous enough seeing as they’re getting the animal in the bargain.”

  “I thought the animal wasn’t worth much,” she countered. As Julian roote
d around for the appropriate reply, Mavis scanned him thoroughly, deciding that a friend like Julian was the kind she’d be better off passing up altogether. “Zelda! Could you bring me my bag, please?” To Julian, she added, “Will you accept a check? Or do you prefer cold hard cash?”

  Julian cleared his throat. “A check will be fine.”

  “Good,” she replied, and stepped forward to take the ballpoint pen from his lapel.

  * * *

  “WHERE’RE WE GOING EXACTLY?” Gavin asked as he moved with Mavis in determined strides across the pasture. The afternoon sun was high and harsh, bringing the temperature to its staggering climax. He felt his shoulders baking through the fabric of his T-shirt. A line of sweat sluiced down the center of his back.

  “You wanted to help,” Mavis reminded him. Was it just him or was she speaking through her teeth? Her focus was fixed on the skirmish in the stable yard. “I need to convince these men not only to give up the horse but to take it across the bay and deliver it to the farm.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I just bought it.” She ignored his answering oath. “They’re expecting a reward for its capture.”

  “Will they get it?” Gavin asked her.

  “We’ll see,” she said, and picked up her pace.

  Gavin widened his strides as she broke into a half run. The reason for her hurry became evident. Men shouted. The animal was on a lead rope, but it reared and bucked, trying to break free. One man fell, likely kicked, and scrambled out from under the horse’s hindquarters. Another man near the front called out, bitten.

  Gavin gripped the top of the metal railing. “Well, it might not look like much. But at least it’s plucky.”

  Mavis gasped as the horse bellowed in protest. Gavin winced as the man on the lead rope dragged the animal’s nose to the dirt, straining the lead until its body tipped. It hit the ground with a resounding thud.

  “Bastards!” Mavis cried as she bent and slipped through the rungs of the gate.

  “Mavis!” Gavin leaped over the top and sprinted to catch her.

  She was already on the posse. “All of you! Stop what you’re doing!”

  They did stop, momentarily. They assessed her quickly, then went back to struggling as the horse gained its feet and resumed its fight for escape. “Who’re you?” the man on the lead rope ground out.

  “Mavis Bracken,” she replied. “I’m the horse’s owner.”

  “Yeah,” the man replied with a laugh. “And I’m Jefferson Davis. Nice to frickin’ meet ya.”

  “This isn’t necessary,” she said, trying to butt against him so she could take the lead rope for herself. “You’ve got him pinned. There’s no reason for rough handling.”

  “How do we know it’s not going to make a leap for it? The guy who was here last week said it jumped their fencing. We’ve worked this hard. I’m not taking chances. Get back so we can get him into the effing crate.”

  Gavin noticed the horse trailer squatting behind a large truck on the other side of the fence, ready for use. “And by crate you mean crate,” he pointed out, sweeping his hat up to doff the sweat from his brow with the underside of the bill before settling it back on his head.

  Mavis had planted her hands on her hips. “At least give it that bucket of feed over there. It’s exhausted. It’s hot. It’s dirty. There’s a good hose with well water running to it. The best thing to do now would be to give it a cool rubdown.”

  “Why don’t you do it, clever clogs?” the wrangler replied. “And while you’re at it, the rest of us are hot and dirty, too. We could use a rubdown just the same.”

  Gavin’s arm lashed out to grip the man’s collar. He didn’t miss. “Say it again, dipshit,” he said.

  “Gavin,” Mavis said, cautioning.

  “Slower this time,” Gavin said to him. “I don’t think I heard you right.”

  “There’s no need for any more aggression,” Mavis pointed out.

  “Just grab the rope, Frexy,” Gavin directed without turning his head to her. He stared a hole between the man’s eyes. He waited until Mavis took possession of the horse. Then he added, “You ever hear of soap, goober?” He threw the man back several paces.

  “Gavin, really,” Mavis called wearily.

  “What? He smells like a garbage truck and a corpse flower had a baby.” Grabbing the rope, too, he helped Mavis guide the horse to the other side of the corral, near the hose. He tied it off for her on a hook. Grabbing the feed bucket, he set it on the peg on the fence rail under the horse’s nose. “Bite me, porcupine, and I’ll lead you back to ’em.”

  “No, you won’t,” Mavis said, already dragging the nozzle over the horse’s withers. A course of streaming water poured over its matted brown coat. “No, you won’t,” she repeated gently, circling her hand over the horse’s neck.

  Gavin willed himself to stop wishing that was his neck she were rubbing and held on to the halter. When Mavis moved away, he added in an undertone to the animal, “Kick the lady and I swear to God, pal...”

  The horse eyed him balefully. It jerked its head against Gavin’s hold, then settled down as the water caressed its back and hind legs, its ears lowering. The coarse sound of a nicker reached Gavin’s ears. “She’s good at that massage thing, right?” Gavin muttered. Despite himself, he moved his hand over the white diamond between the horse’s eyes. “Atta boy.”

  “Girl,” Mavis said from the horse’s side.

  “Yeah? That explains a thing or two.”

  “Like what?” came Mavis’s prickly response.

  He valued his tongue so he kept it safe inside his closed mouth.

  “Try feeding her.”

  Gavin tugged on the rope. The horse jerked. “Come on,” he said, scooping a hand into the bucket. “Nothing but figs to eat for weeks? Gotta be hungry.” Laying his hand flat, he offered the feed in a slow gesture of goodwill, hoping he didn’t lose a finger in the process.

  The rub of whiskered lips grazed his callouses. Gavin raised a brow as the horse chowed. The feed disappeared. Gavin felt a slow smile crawling across his face and scooped another handful. The animal took the second offer without delay, putting scruples aside and giving way to hunger.

  “Oh, good girl!” Mavis said.

  Gavin looked up at Mavis, the hose dripping from her slackened arm. “How ’bout that?” he said, rubbing the damp hair on the horse’s neck.

  “She likes you,” Mavis murmured.

  “Poor lamb,” he muttered, spreading the caress wider. “Her judgment’s off.”

  “No. It’s bang on.”

  His eyes charted back to Mavis as she moved to the barren trough lining the fence. He watched her bend over to sweep a line of dirt from the bottom. He traced the slope of her back and tried to etch the muscles of her calves more clearly. They were tight and round, probably from all that yoga.

  The hose clattered to the dusty earth and Mavis made a grab for the fence in front of her. “Ohh,” she moaned. Her hair dropped over her face, veiling her profile. “Oh, no...”

  “Mavis?” When her brow dropped to the edge of the trough and she didn’t respond, Gavin rushed toward her. “Hey—”

  Her knees hit the ground. The feed bucket toppled off its hook, littering grain everywhere. “Mavis?” He made a grab for her.

  Her hand came up to meet his. Her body seized, and she began falling back to the grass.

  Gavin caught her around the shoulders. “Mavis!” She didn’t respond. His stomach flattened. He grabbed her by the chin.

  A twitch went through her, small, followed closely by another. His mind traveled back to the Bradley overseas where Benji had slipped away. The sweat on Gavin’s body became chilled. Fear jammed the back of his throat. He tasted it. His lungs burned.

  He felt himself start to slide away, into the anxious spiral. He shook his head, trying to groun
d himself to the present. To Mavis. He patted her cheek with the back of his hand. “Mavis, baby. You gotta talk to me. Talk to me, damn it!”

  “Out of my way! Out of my way!”

  Something pink nearly knocked Gavin flat. Zelda pushed her big floppy hat at him. “Hold this, sug! Where’s her pack?”

  Her pack? How the hell should he know where Mavis’s pack was? Why did it matter where her pack was?

  Zelda pinned him. Her hand clamped on to his upper arm. “Okay, first, calm down. Can you do that for me?”

  “She’s—”

  “—having a seizure,” Zelda informed him matter-of-factly. “You do know she’s epileptic?”

  Epilepsy. Yes, he had known that. Kyle had told him at some point or another, when Mavis was still a kid. Gavin had never been around to see the disorder take effect. In fact, it had been so many years since he’d heard it mentioned, it had slipped his mind.

  “You, calm down,” Zelda repeated. “What she needs now is calm. Take some deep breaths and help me turn her on her side.”

  While the first set of instructions had revealed the very large weight of terror sitting on his torso, this second set punched through because it required action.

  He felt himself shake, then stilled the tremors and helped Zelda get Mavis onto one side. He made sure there was no shaking in his hand when he reached out to comb the hair back from Mavis’s cheek. “She—She needs something under her head.”

  “Here.”

  Gavin looked around to the mouthy wrangler and the offered towel. “Thank you,” Gavin said, taking it. Cradling Mavis’s head in his hand, he lifted her just enough to position the bunched fabric underneath. He lowered her to the makeshift pillow.

  A whistle cut across the yard. The wranglers who had crowded around them parted and Errol was there with Mavis’s pack.

  “Oh, thank goodness for you,” Zelda praised him.

  Errol wasted no time upending the open bag. Items tumbled free. Among the gear and personal items that littered the sparse grass, a medicine bottle caught Gavin’s eye. He grabbed it, only for Miss Zelda to take it from him. Steady as a soldier, Zelda unscrewed the childproof lid, then shook out a capsule. “If we can get her to come to, we can do this a lot easier.”