by Ella James
Just as he was turning to check the stables, he heard a thunder clap, the sound of hooves beating dirt, and the warbling whinny of a horse. Logan ran into the stable on putty legs, praying she’d taken off on Buckles or Gamma. But no.
The end stall was empty. Margo had taken Apollo, his every-morning project. Apollo, their one and a half year old—the only horse in the barn that wasn’t broken.
9
His antics matched her mood, so at first, Margo was happy to let the stallion run. She tightened her thighs around his girth and leaned over his muscular neck as they flew between giant hay bales. Tears slipped out the corners of her eyes, testament to the horse’s amazing speed.
When they crested a hill, she tugged the reigns, but the hotshot horse didn’t get the point. He barreled down the grassy incline, nearly losing her on a bump. When she jerked the reigns, he pranced and spun.
It took all her strength to work him out of his frantic spiral. When she got him straightened out, she directed him left, trying to gently reverse course with a wide u-turn. The horse whined and tossed his glossy black head, whipping right instead.
“Whoa!”
She tightened the reigns. Most horses didn’t like the metal bit cutting into their mouths, but this one didn’t seem to care. In fact, the pain seemed to invigorate him. He took off like a champion, headed straight for a row of pines. Through their thin trunks, Margo could see a glittering creek, and beyond that, on a distant hill, the airport tower. She prayed the water would slow the stallion down.
It didn’t.
He wove between the trees and ran toward the creek at breakneck speed. When he saw the water, all his muscles shuddered, but he was going too fast to stop. Margo tried to cut left, where the creek bent slightly; it would give him a few more seconds to slow down.
The horse jerked right, and before his front legs splashed into the water, he reared.
She knew she was screwed even as her fingers brushed the saddle blanket, then grappled blindly with the air. She didn’t have time to scream as the trees did a flip-flop with the sky and everything smeared.
Her head hit the ground hard.
Her muttered curse came a little too late, and anyway, it wasn’t audible. She didn’t have any air inside her lungs.
What she did have was a comet-burst of pain, pain so harsh it was like fire, except it didn’t burn, it incinerated every inch of her, turning her body into a puddle of agony. She was limp with hurt, and only after an eternity of it was she able to push the ache back to a single point of origin: her head.
She opened her eyes and knew immediately that something was wrong. The sky seemed to fade in and out as it spun. Sensations shorted through her body like crossed wires; her limbs felt numb and jerky.
She closed her eyes, because the blue sky hurt. She shrugged her shoulder, wiggled some fingers. Whatever was wrong, her arms seemed to work. She tried to lift her right one, but it stayed where it lay, in the mud.
Mud. Eeh. She had fallen in the mud again. She wasn’t paralyzed, though; she could feel the chilly, wet earth through her shirt.
She squeezed her eyes shut, for some reason thinking of her dad. If he was around… If her dad was still alive, she’d never be anywhere like this. Her eyes teared, and just as abruptly the emotion was gone.
She tensed her shoulders and tightened her back, thinking she could hoist herself up in one roll.
A lightning burst of pain struck her right temple, forcing her to curl up on her side. She was staring at the bushy grass when something like thunder shook the ground.
It was the horse that had thrown her, coming back to finish the job.
She peeked under her arm, but she couldn’t see him. He’d run behind her, over toward the stream; maybe he was circling. She clenched her teeth and lifted her head, preparing to make herself sit up and then—
“Margo! Margo! Talk to me!”
Logan dropped beside her, hands landing on her side and shoulder. His deep voice shook near her ear.
“Don’t move. Can you hear me? Shit.” In a shuffle of boots on dirt, he moved around her, his hand never leaving her neck.
Margo blinked her eyes, feeling moisture there. She really shouldn’t be crying, but she just felt so weird, and Logan didn’t like her, and his hand was rubbing her arm and she liked it. She shouldn’t like it.
“Does your head hurt?”
She nodded, and thought she might throw up.
“Okay. Now tell me, who am I?”
“Logan.” It came out sounding small and young. How nice. “I don’t like you.” She figured since he’d treated her like h-e-double-l and now she was Humpty Dumpty, it was okay to be upfront. “This is your fault.”
Her eyes shut of their own accord, and she felt him lean down close. “C’mon, Margo, just keep talking.” His hand on her back hovered, tickling. “Tell me what hurts.”
“My head.”
His fingertips felt like butterflies on her temples. “Okay, look up at me for just one second. Tell me if my eyes look blue or brown.”
She swallowed as his eyes got wider. They looked blue…or gray. Right now, blue. “Kind of blue,” she said, gritting her teeth against a shiver as his fingers tickled the skin under her eyes.
“All right. Does this hurt?” he asked, putting more pressure on her temples.
She started to shake her head and winced. “No. It hurts…right here,” she said, twirling her hand around over the lightning bolt just behind her left ear.
“Let me see.” He leaned over her, so his chest was by her face, so close that she inhaled him. Hay and sweat. He cupped her shoulder and squeezed.
“Do you remember what happened?”
She squinted again, shocked to find that she did not.
“We were riding…and he…” What had the devil horse done? Maybe she needed to go back a little more. She swallowed. “I got on that dark horse, and he was kind of hard to reign. Then we…” Crap. She really didn’t remember.
“It’s okay.” He swept her hair up off her forehead. “I think you can get up now.”
“How do you know?” The whole time he’d been acting like he knew what he was doing. The way he touched her…not like this—she shut her eyes as his fingers stroked her forearm, light and warm—the way he touched her earlier, he had seemed to know. “Are you a doctor?”
It seemed ludicrous to ask, but if he was really, really smart…
She opened her eyes and saw him smile. “I worked as an EMT this past year, to make some extra cash.”
He rubbed her one more time, from her elbow to her wrist. Then he went down to her legs and squeezed her ankles. “No pain here?”
“No,” she whispered.
“I’ll help you up. Your head will hurt, and you might feel kind of weak, okay?”
His hoisting grip was strong and firm, and his chest felt hard against her cheek. She wanted to pull away, but he was right; she did feel tired.
“Any dizziness? You feel sick?”
“No.” She couldn’t look up at him as she answered, but she could feel him peering down at her.
“We’ve got two choices,” he said. “I can either leave you here and go get a truck, or I can put you on the horse with me, and the two of us can ride back together.”
Margo blinked. Things were starting to get weird. Like, her vision blurred, and her legs started to shake. She didn’t plan to say anything because she didn’t trust her voice, so she was shocked when her mouth opened and she said, “Don’t leave.”
“Okay,” he murmured. “We’ll go real slow.” With one arm still around her back, he shifted a little to wrap his other arm around her waist. “Do you think you can walk on your own?”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
As they turned to face the shining stream—there was a whiteish horse beside it—Margo’s hair stuck to his shirt. The slight tugging on her scalp made goose bumps sweep her face. Her sensations were all off. One minute she smelled his deodorant—cool, mountainy—and the
next, her nose was stuffy. Logan noticed her sniffle and he stopped.
“It’s okay,” he said lightly, but his arm on her stiffened. “Why don’t I bring her to you.”
He left Margo sitting on a stump, and she watched him jog to the horse. She thought how weird it was: Now he was nice.
She felt glad when he helped her up into the saddle. He climbed behind her, sitting so close she could feel him breathe.
He turned them out of the sun, thank God, and she asked, “Why do I feel so crappy?”
“You hit your head.” Near her ear, his voice sounded loud, and she flinched. He mumbled, “Sorry,” and, more softly, added, “Gamma here is a Peruvian Paso. They’re known for their smooth gait. Lean back against me and you can close your eyes. I’m not sure if you noticed, but your sunglasses are broken.”
She hadn’t, and she wondered what else she had missed.
“I’d lend you mine,” he was saying, “but they’re back at the barn. I left as soon as I saw you took Apollo.” He cleared his throat. “I’m really sorry about this.”
“It’s not really your fault. At least not all of it.”
She felt him shake his head. “I should have given you the tour. Apollo’s not trained. I guess you figured that much out.”
“He’s not?”
His chest rumbled with a sort-of laugh. “I can’t believe you got a bridle on him. Did you take off bareback?”
“Bareback?” She laughed, then winced, trying to speak without moving her head. “No way. I fell off the saddle.” Her trainer back in Napa would be shocked.
“And you don’t remember what happened.”
“Yeah.” That was embarrassing, too. It seemed that everything was. She’d gotten all upset, rushed off on a horse she couldn’t ride, and ended up flat on her back with a bump on the head. He must think I’m an idiot.
But he didn’t act like it. His arm around her tightened, and he said, “He’s a hellion.”
“So he’s Thirteen and not Eleven?”
When Logan laughed, his chest vibrating pleasantly against her back. “Apollo Thirteen. Yeah, pretty much.” She let him take even more of her weight. “I spend a couple of hours with him every morning; he’s kicked me real good a few times. I’ve got a bruise on my thigh the size of Texas.”
Margo wished he hadn’t mentioned anything about bruises; the thought made her head throb. “Ow.” She hadn’t meant to say anything, but the pain was intense. It made her eyes water, and again she felt a wave of exhaustion. She leaned back against Logan, feeling his chin brush her hair.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she squeaked.
A few minutes later, that nothing was not nothing. She’d started to sweat, and then she’d started to shiver, while the back of her throat got hot and slick, and she started to feel sick…like the way that she felt if she used her iPad in the car.
“You should stop.” She tried her hardest to keep her voice steady and loud. She didn’t want to lean on him. Literally or figuratively.
“You feel sick?”
“Yes,” she exhaled. Then, “Stop now.”
She was already pulling her feet out of the stirrups and leaning forward, but his grip on her tightened.
“Hold on,” he said, as blood rushed in her ears. “Sit real still for just a second and listen to me.” She slumped, while the pasture out front tilted and slowly spun.
“That’s good.” As he murmured, he slid his arm around her waist, bringing her back to his chest and leaning up slightly, so her head came to rest in the crook of his big, warm arm. With his left hand curled around her waist and his right one clutching the reins, he nuzzled her hair with his chin; the motion was almost imperceptible, but it tickled her, and that sensation distracted Margo from the typhoon in her stomach.
“You’re not gonna get sick.”
There was strength in his voice. Margo loved it as much as she hated it.
“You’re shivering,” he murmured. “Are you cold?”
She nodded painfully, wishing she could scoot away from him.
Instead, the arm around her waist came up across her chest. “Just relax. I won’t let you fall.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” His voice was a rumble in her ear. “Shut your eyes, okay?”
She did. Closing her eyes, she let her whole sore tired body relax.
“That’s good. I’ve got you. In just a second, you’re going to open your eyes. Do that now. Open your eyes and look down at Gamma’s back. That way the sun won’t hurt as much. It’s important to keep your eyes open, okay Margo?”
“Why?” The word sounded raspy and weird.
“Because,” he said. “You’re going to talk to me.”
10
“Talk to you?”
“Tell me all about yourself. What’s it like to be Margo Ford?”
She inhaled, filling her lungs slowly, until she felt sure she wasn’t going to be sick. Then she stiffened her spine to see if he’d loosen his hold on her. He didn’t.
“Why do you care?” Hadn’t he told her on the patio that he didn’t want to be her friend?
“I’m interested.” He flattened his hand out on her ribs, resituating just a bit, so she could feel every inch of him, hard and hot. “I’ve been down here since the twenty-first of May with a bunch of astronomers. They’re fine to talk to, but all they’re interested in is space. I love it, too, but, you know, it can get pretty dry...”
She said nothing. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say, and it was probably the head trauma, but she found herself tongue-tied.
“…So,” he said at last, “Margo, what’s your favorite movie?”
His voice was a purr, so soft and gentle. Could she trust him? If she remembered he was being nice because she’d hit her head.
“Star Wars.”
He laughed, a warm, rich sound. “You really do have a horse named R2D2? I thought you were kidding.”
“Had,” she corrected. “And no, not kidding. Star Wars is my favorite.”
“Why?”
“It’s…happy.”
“Happy?”
“It is happy. Especially the first one. It’s like a fairy tale.”
“So that’s your favorite? A New Hope?” Logan laughed. “You know what that means,” he said.
“No.”
He leaned his head down, so his breath was a puff against her neck. “It means,” he said, slowly and dramatically, so that all the hairs on her arms raised up in prescient splendor, “that you’re possibly—well, probably…my soul mate.”
The world seemed to slow to half speed. The white seagull-looking bird she had been watching took twice as long to reach his branch. The horse seemed to swim through the grass. Even the air stilled, as every cell of her homed in on his voice.
“It’s not easy to find a pretty girl whose favorite movie is Star Wars. Do you know how many geeks there are out there who would kill to meet someone like you?” He laughed.
“And you’re a geek?” she asked skeptically.
“Absolutely. I love Star Wars. I love the optimism in A New Hope. Not that it’s my favorite. I’m a Return of the Jedi kind of guy. Luke versus Vader, Leia as a slave.”
The way his words came, tumbling out, bursts of life and air. The way his voice felt, hummed into her ear. The way his shoulders cupped hers as Gamma walked. Each fragment of the moment burrowed deep into her skin, and without any warning, tears stung in her eyes.
Crying—again? She widened her eyes, hoping to staunch the flow, and her body must have tensed, because Logan groaned.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I was just yanking your chain. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You don’t have to lean up like that. Lean back again. If you fall off, Jana will think I’m trying to kill you.”
You are.
“I’m fine,” she lied. “My head just hurts.”
“I know it’s gotta hurt. But we’re getting closer now. See?” He nodded, chin brus
hing her hair. “The barn’s just a little ways away. Keep on talking to me. Consider it charity, so I don’t worry. Start with where you’re from.”
He wrapped her close to him, and Margo held her breath, pathetically elated; he would worry. “Where I’m from… You mean Napa, or New Orleans?”
“Either one—or both. Why don’t you tell me about both of them?”
She took a deep breath, struggling to think. “I’m from Napa Valley. I used to live there with my dad. And then I moved to Kerrigan in New Orleans. It’s a girls’ school. Really old and schmoozy.”
