Slade and Kally: Letting Go of the Reins, Book 1
Page 13
My heart ached for relief. Still, I hesitated. “Is there ever a right time?”
“Your heart will tell you, Kally.” He turned toward the workbench, and the new dawn light poured through the window across the muscles of his back. The light clung to his skin, his sweat. He glanced at me over his shoulder. “You just let me know when the time comes, and I’ll be there to pick up the pieces if you fall apart.”
A sob broke loose. “I’m already falling apart.”
His tool clattered on the bench top. Slade turned, fresh sunlight and sweat. He reached for me and I did not flinch. I crumbled against his chest, broken and vulnerable in my cowboy’s arms. Slade held me together when the truth of Matt’s abuse ripped free in wrenching wails. He held me while I recounted the months of suppression and bruises, belittlement and broken noses. Cradling my face in his hands, Slade breathed new life into my wounded soul. “No woman deserves to be treated the way he treated you, Kally. You should be loved and protected. You should be cherished.”
He was close enough for me to taste his breath. I felt the familiar tumbling sensation. The only things holding me upright were Slade’s hands, and they pulled me to him. He brushed a delicate kiss against my forehead, and I buried my face against his neck. Slade crushed me in his arms. “If I could take away your pain, I would.”
“You are.” With the poison purged, his embrace was a bandage on a wound finally able to heal.
He held me until the sunlight of a fresh winter morning bathed the inside of his workshop. “Come on, girl, let’s get some breakfast. Then, I’m going to take you on a ride.”
“Please tell me it’s a ride in your truck. I don’t ride horses.” Fear of horses might be foolish, but it was very real to me. I pulled back from his embrace, a frown forming on my lips.
Slade’s head tilted to one side. “So you say now, Kally. If you can trust me with your pain, climbing up in a saddle and sitting with me should be a breeze.”
“You mean I can ride with you, not along side on another horse?”
“Yup.” His smile was infectious.
“If you’re with me, I’ll try it.”
He wiped sawdust from his pants with a clean paintbrush and grabbed his jacket from a peg by the door. The fleece lining slid over his skin like I wished my hands could. On some level I craved to touch Slade, to caress him and savor the simple intimacy of human touch. Impulsive, I ran a finger down the cleft between his abs. Slade twitched, his eyes widened and he grabbed my hand at his beltline. “You’re tickling me.”
“Oh? I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” His eyes smoldered. His pull was so sudden and strong, I thumped against his body. One arm cinched around my waist, and with the other Slade reached up and tangled his fingers in my hair. He pulled my head back. The warmth of his words bathed my neck. “I like it. You can tickle me anytime.”
“Yes, sir.” It was a promise, not a threat.
The workshop darkened with a flip of the power switch. He held me another moment, lips only a breath away from mine, our bodies burning in the cool shadows, then a rooster crowed in the nearby barn. Slade sighed, snorted something about ranch life and then released me and opened the door. Slade stepped into the snow and motioned for me to follow. But I stood in the doorway, my socks sopping wet and pasty with damp sawdust. He extended a hand, waving me forward. “Come on. Breakfast isn’t going to make itself, darlin’.”
My gaze fell from his face to my feet. His gaze followed.
“You should always wear boots on a ranch. You never know what you’re going to step in.”
Without further discussion Slade scooped me into his arms, which is where I yearned to be. He carried me toward the ranch house, and in the circle driveway a red Jeep 4 X 4 drove past. Mark Billings tooted the horn, and Mike pumped his fist in the air. I snorted, unable to suppress my smile. Slade looked down at me and laughed. “Hell, if the Billings boys had you, you’d be strapped over the hood.”
“Then I’m glad you have me.” I nestled my head on his shoulder.
He squeezed me tighter. “Me too.”
Slade and Kally: Letting Go of the Reins, Book 1
Chapter Nine
Slade set me down on the porch, and I swear I felt his eyes on my butt when I bent over to strip off my dirty socks in the foyer. I stood and looked at him. His face was covered with the impassive mask he knew drove me crazy. He whistled a few notes and then asked, “What?”
If he wasn’t going to admit looking, I wasn’t going to push him about it. Shrugging my shoulders I stepped into the living room. The house was quiet, full of sunbeams and shadows, the fireplace empty of the homey blaze. The kitchen was still shadowed and utterly devoid of life. “Where is everybody?”
“Many of the Fourth Moon’s residents attend church services on Sunday mornings.” Slade flicked on the kitchen lights. “It makes Sunday breakfasts a simpler affair, good time for the family to reconnect.”
“You don’t go to church?”
He shook his head. “Nah. My mom meant it when she said she was a kitchen witch. She,” he paused, “well, we believe in a Great Spirit, a holy energy in all things.”
Interconnected—part of one great whole. I’d always held a similar theology, and knowing we had similar beliefs gave me a richer sense of comfort. “A quiet meal would be pleasant.” I tugged on Slade’s hand. “If I start coffee brewing, will you start a fire?”
He agreed, and we parted company. Not long after, a new fire snapped and sizzled when sap leaked from the logs. The smell of fresh coffee spread through the house and Slade joined me in the kitchen, making a mess of the countertops when he mixed ingredients for a batch of hoecakes. I took over the skillet, flipping the golden cakes while he fried a pound of bacon. Coffee mugs steaming, we settled with our meal in the little breakfast nook off from the kitchen.
The nook occupied a large bay of narrow windows. The padded benches were covered in saddle leather, and the tabletop was distressed wood with a shiny finish. The high gloss sealer on the table looked like spring run off, and our rustic pottery ware seemed to float above the wood grain.
I leaned back beneath a painting of running horses and between two narrow windows. The window across from me opened on the nearby barn. Goats rooted through the snow in the pen, and in the shadows of the barn a golden tail swished outside a stall door. Saddles, bridles and things I didn’t know the names of cluttered the upper left corner. I had to smile, reclining and sipping the dark brew. This was never a life I would have intended, but I felt more comfortable in the moment than I had since I snuggled on my father’s lap while Mom read fairytales.
Slade tore through his breakfast like he hadn’t eaten in days. His plate was cleaned and heaped with seconds, yet I’d hardly touched my hoecakes. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you hungry?”
I nipped off a bit of bacon and then took in a fork of the rich, buttered cake. “Nothing’s wrong, Slade. In fact, things feel pretty near perfect.”
“Oh, well you could’ve fooled me, going all quiet like and not eating.”
“Just taking it all in—the peace and quiet, the horses whinnying in the barn. Feeling like I can breathe deep and freely.”
After my revelations in the workshop and the way he held me, I knew things would never be the same, and Slade did too. His face warmed with a tender smile. “Then take your time, darlin’.”
I finally finished my breakfast by the time Slade’s plate had been emptied twice. We cleared the dishes together, filling the dishwasher and turning it on before I choked down my morning meds and headed upstairs for clothes. The stairwell was the warm channel I had missed in my morning descent, but I could not linger with Slade following me. He was a man on a mission, and he rushed me mercilessly.
Slade tapped my shoulder at the top of the stairs, and then spoke while he hurried down the hall to his room. “I’ll meet you back in the great room in five minutes.”
“Okay, Mr. Hasty Pants.”
He s
norted. “Hurry up, Ms. Dawdle Butt.”
I stuck my tongue out at him and then ducked into my room. Panting, I leaned against the door, my heart pounding in a mix of excitement and fear. I hadn’t been on the dating scene in over a year, and it had been at least a year or more since I felt such a consuming attraction for a man. Riding a horse was the least of my worries.
Somehow, his arms felt empty without her in them. Slade’s forehead rested against the door panel, his hand drifting down the wood surface. The thumping of his heart echoed in his ears. Her face, tear-streaked in the early dawn light, was all he could see.
He’d waited, given her the opportunity to open up to him. Slade never expected the full depth of her suffering. He’d suppressed the urge to pummel the abusers on every domestic abuse call he ran on the force. Not one incidence report compared to her experiences. Those reports were cut and dry, filled out behind the safety of his badge, behind his buffering wall. Kally had passed his defenses, and her tale cut them both, raw and bleeding. It brought him to the edge of tears and anger at the same time. Anger not at her, but at the asshole who had dared to hurt her.
His hand curled into a fist when he inhaled. Anger. Frustration. He felt them, acknowledged them and then released those emotions when he exhaled. There wouldn’t be room on the horse for them.
His Hulett P.D. uniform hung in his closet. It commanded his attention every time he reached for a shirt. This time, his glance slid past it with hardly a tick of emotion. It was nice not to want or need the excitement. His smile was lopsided as he grabbed a heavy flannel shirt and pulled it on.
He closed the closet door on the memories of the force.
Kally stood in the hall, right outside his door; her hand was poised to knock, and a silly smile brightened her face. “Knock, knock.”
He laughed. “Ready to go?”
Her gaze fell, recouped quickly. Her bottom lip, however, sank just a little. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
He resisted the urge to pat her on the back, tell her everything was going to be just fine. Her automatic flinch slowly faded, but was not gone yet, and it hurt him to see.
They walked together through the hall, Slade a couple inches behind and watching her body, liking the way her butt wiggled when she didn’t know someone watched her. He stopped at the top of the stairs, following the unwritten cowboy code demanding, ladies first. Kally passed him with a breathy “thank you”, drifting down the stairs until the bottom window near the landing. She always stopped at the window and looked out. Today was no different. “Whatcha doing, darlin’?”
She looked up at him, light from the window caressing her face. “I don’t know. I just like the view from this window. It’s so rustic, so different from the views out of…” Kally’s voice trailed off and her gaze fell. She shrugged her shoulders and covered the last couple of steps. “Well, it’s not like the views I’m used to seeing.”
“Hopefully nothing here is like what you’re used to.” He regretted it the moment he said it. Truth was it was exactly how he felt. From what she’d said, he wanted everything about her life at the Fourth Moon to be different from her life with Stransberg in Michigan. Kally’s expression was one of surprise and something close to happy. Slade just smiled.
His cell phone came to life in his pocket, singing the chorus of “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy”. Oh God, how embarrassing.
Kally’s eyebrows went up, and a smirk colored her cheeks. “I didn’t know you had a tractor.”
Really embarrassing. “Um, yeah, it’s in the big barn.” He fished the phone out of his pocket on the third refrain. The display screen read, Baxter, Red.
He flipped open the phone. “Hey, can you hold for a second?” Slade covered the little microphone hole. “Kally, I need to take this call, can you give me a minute?”
“Sure.” She moved from the stairway and took a seat by the fire. Slade excused himself again and scooted past into the office, easing the door closed behind him.
He held the phone up to his ear. “What’s up, Red?”
Red spoke in his business tone, which was his method of delivering less than good news. “Ran the name you requested.”
Slade damn near tasted the adrenaline dump when it flushed his body. He could feel the squad car seat beneath his ass and the steering wheel in his hands while Red continued with a litany of crimes and convictions.
“Stransberg definitely has priors, and there’s a pattern emerging.” He heard Red shuffle papers. “It started out with a B&E in his teens, and a date rape charge by a girl, but the charge was later dropped. At twenty-two, Stransberg was held over on a domestic abuse charge—that one stuck—misdemeanor with less than a year in lock up.”
A fire blazed in his gut similar to the one after Kally’s sister’s last call. No wonder Kally was so damned skittish. His jaw was on edge while he listened to the rest of Red’s report. “And then there was a felony aggravated assault charge with a weapons violation. The weapons charge was dropped in a plea bargain. He did less than the two-year maximum sentence, released early on good behavior.”
Slade forcibly unclenched his jaw. “Thanks for the info, Red.”
“Glad to help, partner. Keep your eyes open, Slade. I have a bad feeling about this guy.”
He inhaled, forcing himself to relax. “Me, too, Red. Me too.”
They disconnected the call with a promise to keep in touch, and then Slade eased open the office door. He stood, watching Kally poke the fire’s coals with a cast iron rod. She was certainly playing with fire before she came here. The look on her face, the manners she displayed told him she didn’t know what kind of guy Stransberg really was.
He didn’t plan on telling her, unless it was necessary. No use in adding insult to injury.
His gaze slid over Kally, riding the dip of her waist, climbing the round curve of her butt when she bent to tuck the fireplace tool back in the rack. How could anyone hit a girl like Kally? He knew the spirit inside her was bigger than the Wyoming sky. Physically, she appeared to be the embodiment of her delicate floral perfumes. Slade was determined to help coax her inner spirit out. He took his Stetson from its peg and settled it over his head. “Ready to go, Kally?”
“Sure.” She dusted soot from her hands onto her jeans. Her brow narrowed. “Was it an important phone call?”
Evasion is never a good thing. An honest life meant you didn’t need a good memory, but in this case, Slade felt it was warranted. “Just my old partner from the P.D. We were discussing a case.”
She handed Slade’s coat to him. “Is everything okay?”
“He’s concerned about a guy with prior convictions causing more trouble.” I am too.
“Oh my.” Her bottom lip turned down and a shadow settled over her eyes when she pulled on the jacket he held out for her. “I’d hate to think someone might get hurt.”
He shook his head and opened the door. He was both relieved she was clueless, and worried as hell. “Me, too, especially in this case.”
Kally had her hand on the doorknob when Slade cleared his throat. “Remember what you said about chivalry?”
She turned her head, while she maintained her grip on the doorknob. “Are you saying you want to open the door for me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Instead of arguing, Kally stepped aside. Slade turned the knob and opened the door, standing to the side with the knob in his hand. Kally gave him a puckish grin, smacked him on the butt and then breezed through the door while she pulled on a pair of mittens. Slade smiled at her back. That’s my girl.
The winter chill nipped my skin beneath my jeans, but my new lined barn coat and sweater kept me quite warm otherwise. I watched Slade put the bit and reins on the same white horse he’d ridden the night he found me. Standing outside the barn, I sneezed twice and wondered if it was the hay in the barn, or the unfamiliar, persistent aroma of poop. Slade laughed while I danced foot to foot around a steaming pile when he beckoned me forward. He handed me a round, fla
t brush while he wrapped the stallion’s reins around a post.
Reaching out and grabbing the hem of my jacket, Slade pulled me toward him and the horse. “His name is Jack and he is very gentle, just don’t walk behind him.”
“Why not?” It was a stupid question, but honest.
“Horses can be brats. I don’t want you to get kicked because Jack gets spooked.”
“Okay, thanks for the advice.” Unfortunately, it only fueled the fear racing through me.
Slade tugged me to him. Holding my fear was difficult beside Slade. He instilled confidence without even trying. “Put your hand through the leather strap over the back of the brush.” I followed his instructions and he nodded. He eased me closer to the horse and then wrapped his fingers over mine, guiding my hand along Jack’s shoulders downward. “Brush him in the direction his hair grows. Just like this. Jack likes it and it makes sure there’s nothing in his coat when we put the blanket and saddle on him.”
The brush smoothed the hairs, running easily over his coat. Slade stood near, coaching me through a few more strokes before removing his hand from mine. The simple motion and the warmth of Jack’s body were soothing. Relaxing, I enjoyed the honest, natural connection between the horse and me. I soon found my left hand on Jack’s sides, stroking his coat while I brushed his haunches with my right.
I walked in front of Jack to his other side, brushing him from his neck down and back, while Slade rounded up a blanket and saddle. Stroking the horse’s neck, Slade settled a thick, plush blanket on Jack’s back. The saddle was large, covered with deep brown leather, and creaked when Slade set it carefully on Jack.
While he tightened the straps, he explained proper saddling procedures. “First you need to make sure the horse is not a puffer.” He settled the saddle and pulled down the stirrup. “Because some horses will puff up when you tighten the straps, so then when you put your foot in the stirrup, the saddle slides and you fall on your ass. And make sure the stirrup is over the saddle, and doesn’t smack them when you put the saddle over.” He fed the straps through to me. “Here, hold this.”