Waiting On the Rain

by Caudia Connor

“Stuff.” She sent him a skeptical look over her shoulder. “Like?”

  “Like… check the feed levels.”

  “Check the feed levels?” She turned her face toward his, amusement and challenge in her expression.

  “Yeah.” To prove it, he went into the feed room opposite the office. There were bags of grain and buckets. A board listing what each horse got and how much. Regular grain, oats and honey. He forced himself to stand there at least a minute for show before he came out.

  “What’d you find out?” Her lips were pressed together like she was holding back a laugh which just made her dimples stand out even more. Pale strands that had fallen from her braid hung like a wispy frame around her face. She looked disheveled, a touch sweaty around her hairline and so beautiful he couldn’t stop looking at her.

  “You’re staring again.”

  “No, I’m not.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. The feed situation’s good by the way.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.”

  He watched as she tugged and unbuckled the leather running beneath the horse’s belly. Flipping it up and over the seat of the saddle, she reached up with both hands and lifted the saddle from the horse’s back.

  “I’ll get that,” he said, and stepped up to take it from her just as she swung around with her load. The force of the impact knocked her back half a step.

  “Shit. What are you doing?”

  “I’m helping you,” he said, steadying her with his hands on her upper arms.

  “No. You’re getting in my way.”

  “Okay.” He stepped back motioning for her to pass, then realizing she couldn’t see that. “After you.”

  She walked with the saddle, holding the twenty pounds up at chest height like it was nothing. And then he noticed exactly how she was walking with her hands too full to use her cane, or even hold one out to feel her way. Instead, she slid her left elbow along the barn wall and he heard the murmuring under her breath.

  “Nine, ten, eleven, twelve.”

  So soft it was almost a whisper. She stopped on fourteen and made a left turn right into the tack room.

  Intrigued, he followed her in, heard the counting again.

  “Four, five, six…”

  “What are you counting?”

  Her brows grew together in annoyance, and the whispering stopped but her lips were still moving.

  He stood there trying to figure it out, how she knew where and what. Everything he did relied on his sight. When he’d met her he’d been surprised, and intrigued. And maybe it just hadn’t hit him that this was her always. Her everywhere, every single day. Everything she did was in the dark. Or was it in the dark? Being blind didn’t necessarily mean dark and he wanted to understand.

  Ava stopped, strained to raise the saddle up high enough to rest it on the empty rack. Then she turned and started back so fast he didn’t get out of the way and she ran right into him. Again.

  “Seriously? You weren’t nearly such a hoverer at the wedding reception. I think I liked you better then,” she said, then eased her words with that sexy smirk she had.

  “Sorry. Really. My bad.”

  “Look, I can’t carry things with two hands and use my cane at the same time so if you want to help, then stay out of the way.”

  “Got it. I’m just… interested.”

  “Really? In what?”

  He followed her back out, making sure not to stand in her way. “How you do it? How you know what to do and where to go without seeing?”

  “Can you tie your shoes with your eyes closed?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Same thing.” She moved back to Banjo and took the halter hanging next to his head.

  He doubted it was the same thing. I mean how many times did a person tie their shoes in a lifetime? Too many to count. She couldn’t possibly repeat every motion that many times.

  He could take apart his gun and put it back together in the dark. Maybe. But could he get from point A to point B? Hell, no. And how much courage did it take to step off into the unknown?

  With the blue, nylon halter hanging on her left arm, she expertly unbuckled the bridle behind the horse’s ears, slid it over and down, then gently let the bit fall out of his mouth.

  When it was off Luke reached to take it from her, but she already had the leather hanging on her right shoulder as she slipped the halter from her left arm to the horse’s head. She buckled it into place, gave Banjo a stroke down his white striped face and turned toward the tack room with the bridle.

  He got out of her way this time, but followed her, stopping just outside the tack room. He watched her run her fingers over the hooks on the wall, touching each one until she found the one she wanted and hung the bridle.

  She came out with a brush and ran it and her hands over the horse’s head, neck, sides and down each leg. When she was satisfied, she tugged on the end of the leather lead rope to unknot it from the hook and turned to lead Banjo to his stall.

  She secured him inside, murmured something softly to him, then came back down the aisle with the white cane she’d had at the wedding. She held it like a pencil, using her fingers and wrist to move it in a wide arc along the ground about two feet in front of her. She continued, walking with confidence to the tack room.

  At the risk of being yelled at, he stayed out of her way and followed her. The room was jumbled and crowded with riding gear. Helmets and saddles, bridles and halters, hanging on hooks and a pile of saddle pads piled on a trunk against the back wall.

  Special modified saddles hung on another wall and a shelf lined with stacks of foam blocks of various size and shape. He’d seen Hannah use these to help children remain upright in the saddle.

  The scents were familiar to him now. The oil and leather, stronger in here than horse and hay. Even with the pile of saddle pads and rarely used blankets in the— “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “What?”

  “The cat.” He made his way across the room to Tom, the fat cat. His body was mostly white mixed with large puddles of black and four white paws. Even his face was half black, half white. “It’s Tom, the cat Hannah was looking for.”

  “Oh?”

  He felt Ava come to stand beside.

  “Hey, buddy. We thought you were lost.” He stroked the cat from head to tail. Ava reached out and after a tentative touch, she did the same. “You were just off tom cattin’, weren’t you? Doing what Tom cats do.”

  Ava rubbed her hand over the cat’s belly.

  “You might want to lay off the mice, though.”

  She paused, then rubbed the belly again. “Are you sure this is a tom cat?”

  “Well, his name is Tom. I don’t guess I know exactly what a tom cat it is. Why?”

  “Because I’m thinking Tom might be a Tina and that Tina is very pregnant.”

  “No, shit.” He rubbed the cat’s belly as Ava had. “Huh.”

  Tom stretched, liking the belly rubs. “You sure he’s not just fat?”

  Ava lightly ran her finger’s over the cat’s nipples. “I’m pretty sure.” She gave Tom one more scratch under the chin then turned back to the shelving. “You might want to tell Hannah she’s going to have more than one cat soon.”

  “I’ll do that.” Luke left Tom and watched Ava. A rack of wooden shelves lined the wall closest to the door and held rags, saddle soap and hoof oil. Three wooden caddies lined one shelf and held brushes and hoof picks. Ava felt her way along the third shelf from the floor until she found what she was looking for.

  “Look, no offense, Luke, but I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “I can see that. Would it be wrong for me to offer to help or are you going to snap my head off? I happen to know everything in here’s not labeled in braille.”

  And I don’t want to leave yet.

  “There are other ways to find things, but no. It’s not wrong.” She took a rag and an old metal can from the shelf. “You can hand me the bridle I used today.”

  He did and she sat wit
h it on an old black trunk in the center of the room. She carefully unscrewed the rusty lid, covered the hole with her rag and tipped the can. Then she didn’t just set the can beside her on the trunk as he might. She screwed the lid back on, and when she put the can down, she did so deliberately, sliding it from the edge and back.

  Again, he never would have known she was blind, not unless he was really looking. She didn’t look right at what her hands were doing, just in the general direction.

  “You know, it could be a half hour or more before my ride gets here. Are you going to stand there staring at me the whole time?”

  “No. Maybe.” He smiled. Her eyes were even bluer, bigger, than he remembered. Her mouth…he shouldn’t be thinking about her mouth.

  She sighed, and continued working the bridle for several minutes. “Are you a cowboy?”

  That made him laugh. “What? No.”

  “Oh. I just thought…” She gestured at the floor. “Your boots.”

  “Ah…” He took a seat on the trunk beside her and looked at his feet. “Still no. Just handy that I already had these.”

  “Do you have a hat?”

  “Like a cowboy hat? No.” Did she look disappointed? Maybe he should get one. “Why do women always want to date a cowboy?”

  “Do they?” She angled her head toward him. “I hadn’t heard that. Did you take a survey or something?”

  “No. Just a guess. There was this guy in my squad, he’d never seen a cow in his life but he wore the boots, the hat, laid on the southern drawl like he was from Texas or some shit even though I’m pretty sure he’d never been to Texas. Anyway, seemed to work for him.”

  “Worked for him, huh?” Her lips twitched, trying not to smile and it turned him on. “And what works for you?”

  “Hmm…Cookies usually does the trick.”

  “Funny,” she said, refolding the rag. “I thought Army Rangers were kind of like Navy SEALs. I wouldn’t have thought you guys needed an angle. Don’t women pretty much drop their panties right in your beer?”

  “Um…” He opened his mouth. Closed it. “Where did you hear that?”

  She laughed out loud at his obvious embarrassment. “Forget it. I was just messing with you.”

  She reached for the can, brushing her hand along his thigh as she did and jerked her hand back. “Sorry. If you’re going to sit right beside me you run the risk of being touched.”

  Being touched? If she only knew how many times the thought of touching her again had crossed his mind.

  “No problem. Here. I’ll—” He fumbled to hand her the can which she didn’t need him to do and only succeeded in making it more awkward as their hands bumped.

  He watched her work. Her fingers deftly moving over the leather, not at all like her heart was beating out of her chest because their hands had brushed. She had pretty hands, slender but strong with short unpainted, nails with clean rounded edges. No rings. “You know if you needed a ride home, I could take you.”

  “My brother insists. As annoying as it is sometimes it’s easier just to let him. I’m sure he’s almost here. He’s not entirely happy his wife gave me a bundle of riding lessons.”

  “Really? Why? You’re obviously good at it.”

  She angled her head at him again.

  “I saw you riding when I pulled in.”

  “Oh. Well… thanks. He just worries I guess,” Ava said. “It is weird though. Growing up my brother was always the one I could count on to let me do stuff. He’s gotten super protective since…”

  “Since what?”

  “Oh… um nothing. Do you ride?”

  “I can.” He’d like to get back to why her brother had gotten so protective but he let it go for now. “So your brother lives here, your parents live here. I’m going to guess you’re from around here.”

  “Yep. Born and raised.”

  “How did you end up a city girl?”

  “I went to college in upstate New York.”

  “Why there?”

  She slid him a sideways glance. “You’re a lot nosier than you were the last time I talked to you.”

  “Just curious.” And he liked talking to her, listening to her. The woman was good company. “But hey, if it’s a secret…

  “I went to Cornell on a swimming scholarship.”

  “No shit?”

  She laughed. “No shit.” She shrugged. “I’d always liked swimming. It was a safe way for me to play I guess, to be not careful and not constantly hear, be careful. Then it grew into more, the speed, the competition. It was the only time I could be fast, that I could really push myself and go all out. So I got a scholarship to swim.”

  “Nice. Were you good?”

  “Yeah, I was good.” She slid him a grin. “State champion in Butterfly. Twice.” She held up two fingers.

  “Impressive.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So, what do you do in the big bad city?” He was being nosy, he realized but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

  “I’m an interpreter at the UN.”

  “Really? Interesting. You work with a particular country?”

  “I interpret for all types of meetings between US officials and… anyone they want to talk to.”

  “How many languages so you speak?”

  “A few.” She smiled like she was pleased with herself.

  “How many is a few.”

  “Seven at the moment.”

  “Wait.” He held up a hand. “Seven? What are they?”

  “Four of the six official languages at the UN… French, Spanish, Italian, and English. I’m not fluent in Arabic or Chinese.”

  “Slacker.”

  “I know, right?” She smiled. “But I do speak Portuguese, Russian, and German. I can even send you a message in morse code if you want.”

  “Oh, yeah? I might be able to send you one back.” He had a vision of the two of them, in the dark, naked, knocking out code. He smiled at the thought. “Sounds like a cool job.”

  “It is. I learn a lot in preparation, reading documents on a wide array of subject matter. Economy, law, geographical situations in regions and countries. And then interpreting for closed sessions there’s always the unexpected that I didn’t prepare for like a sudden interest in Japanese opera or the discovered common love of raising guinea hens. Never a dull moment.”

  He nodded as she spoke. “Wow. I had no idea.” He’d accomplished a lot. Was proud of all he’d done, but he hadn’t gone to college. When it came to that type of knowledge, he wasn’t in her league. Not even close. “Do you speak pig Latin?”

  She gave him a funny look. “Uh, I could probably understand it, but I’m not fluent.”

  He smiled. “My brothers and I made up this secret language. Well, we thought so.” Funny he’d forgotten that and how many hours they’d spent up in their old tree house.

  “I’ve actually applied for a new job. Not because I don’t like the UN, but just for something different. It would be more direct work, more detailed. I love what I do, but this would have the potential to make a real difference. Diplomatically speaking.”

  Her smile faltered, her expression going from excitement to worry as a little pinch formed between her brows. “Problem?”

  “Not really, no. It’s just that, one, I may not get it, and two, I haven’t told my parents and they already hate the idea of me in New York.”

  “Why would a new job matter if you’re already there?”

  “Because the new job’s not in New York. It’s in Italy. Rome, to be exact. Though I’d be traveling to China, South Korea, Spain. France.” She stopped her wiping and laid the rag in her lap. “I want it,” she said, her face full of determination. “I’ve loved New York, still do, but…Sometimes you just need a change, you know?”

  “Yeah.” He knew. “So from one overgrown city to another.”

  “What can I say? I’m a city girl. It’s like I can see in the city, if that makes sense. I can’t see in a small town with no noise, no scents.�
�

  He gave an exaggerated sniff. “Plenty of scents around here.” She smiled and it nearly knocked him off the edge of the trunk.

  “I’m not saying small towns aren’t nice, it’s just not for me. Where’s home for you? I know from Hannah your family didn’t start out here.”

  “Mmm. For a long time, nowhere. Anywhere.”

  A long moment of silence followed.

  “Well, anyway, it’s not a sure thing, but fingers crossed. My parents still haven’t forgiven me for never coming back after college. I’ve been in New York ten years and I swear every day they’re waiting for me to get murdered. If I don’t get this other job then it’ll be back to NYC and that’ll have to be enough.”

  He wondered why the look on her face told him that wasn’t enough.

  He was still thinking when Ava stood and moved to return the now cleaned bridle to its hook and tripped over his outstretched boot. It happened fast. He made a grab for her but not before she rapped her forehead on the edge of a shelf hard enough to make her wince.

  10

  Ouch. Ava threw up her hand, touched the spot. She heard Luke curse then felt his hands on her arms.

  “Let me see.”

  “It’s fine. Really.” She stepped back. “Not your fault. I should have steered around.” The spot above her brow throbbed, but what had her heart running wild was Luke.

  “Going to leave a mark,” Luke said. “Maybe a bruise. Damn. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m used to it,” she said, waving it off. “I don’t bruise easily.”

  “Run into a lot things, do you? I ran into a clothing rack sticking out like that once. Metal with a sharp end. Cracked my head on it good.”

  Ava felt him move in closer, close enough that she felt the heat coming off his body. He stroked his thumb gently over the spot and the pain was all but forgotten. He smelled of the barn and sun and male. She felt his warm breath on her forehead. She’d wanted him to kiss her when they’d stood outside waiting for Hannah. She wanted him to kiss her now.

  The familiar scents of the tack room surrounded her, usually calmed her. But right now the overwhelming scent was Luke. Different than he’d smelled at the wedding reception. No more baby spit up. No cologne. But he smelled male. A pinewood scent. And God, her heart had been thumping since the minute she’d heard his voice standing in the barn aisle.