Love Tangle: Riding Bareback

by S. E. Margaux

  “Why not?”

  Jo opened her mouth, closed it again, and pursed her lips.

  “It’s your bathroom. If you don’t want people having sex in it, that’s fair enough, really.”

  Jo sat up straight again.

  “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I will talk to him. You know, it’s probably time he moved on as it is, it’s not like we’re drowning in cash, we can’t be feeding and housing this man for the rest of the year.”

  “Yes, you should definitely speak to him about that,” Bella said.

  “Thanks.”

  A moment of silence, then:

  “I went over budget.”

  “Tragic,” Bella said dryly, and both of them laughed.

  “Do you ever feel like life dishes out everything at once?” Jo asked.

  “All the time,” Bella said. “All the time. Don’t worry about the budget so much, we’ll figure it out. Unless you spent the entirety of Connor’s salary.”

  “No, a dollar-fifty. But I don’t think Nikki understands how money works.”

  “I think she understands it more than most,” Bella mused. “Anyway, it’s not budgets we need to cut.”

  “No?”

  “It’s Weattie,” she said grimly.

  “Well, you said it.”

  Back on the ranch, Jo hopped out of the car.

  “Thanks, Bella,” she said, “you give the best advice.” Forgetting the oil in the trunk, she ran up towards the guest house, thinking that if Tristan would be anywhere, he would be there. When that was empty, she made her way to the barn. Sitting on a fence, a bowl of strawberries in one hand, was Anita. Jo approached her.

  “Hey, Jo.”

  “Hey. Have a good morning?”

  Anita shrugged.

  “Yeah, it was alright.”

  “Just alright?” Jo asked. “Well, that’s disappointing.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Well, I didn’t think you’d settle for ‘just alright’. And honestly, it sounded like you were having a good time in there. Sorry, I wasn’t listening in, I was just looking for Sally. You know. Who actually lives there.”

  “What? Who was having a good time? Where?”

  Jo stopped.

  “You. You and Tristan. Wasn’t that…?”

  “What? Where?”

  “Just earlier this morning, in the guest house, in the bathroom, there was…”

  Anita blushed.

  “You think I’m hooking up with someone in your bathroom? That makes no sense at all…” Her voice trailed off, and her eyes lit up with sudden understanding.

  “Oh my God.” She hopped off the fence and pushed the bowl of strawberries into Jo’s hands. “No. No, she wouldn’t.” Anita darted off across the yard.

  “What? Anita. Hey! Anita!” Jo stared at the bowl of strawberries, and at the fading figure. She wasn’t sure what had just happened, but it didn’t feel like good news.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  -

  “Anita. Hey! Anita!”

  But Anita was already past the orchard and running up to the guest house. It still hadn’t quite sunk in, and she wondered if perhaps Jo had lied to her. It was preferable, she thought, for her friend to have told her a painful lie like that, than for Tristan to have been... She slowed down her pace, and shook her head, as if she could fling the thought, the image, right out of it. If it was true, she decided, she wouldn't cry. She would definitely not cry. After all, Tristan wasn't hers, he was just a man who was passing through.

  She laughed bitterly to herself at her inability to lie to her own heart. Tristan wasn't just a man. There was no one she had ever felt so comfortable and at ease around. Of course, the others probably thought she was awkward and clumsy, but that didn't matter. She felt like she could be herself around Tristan. She liked that she could show him things, and that he listened to her, and that he enjoyed listening to her. Not that the others never listened, but sometimes it felt like they were just doing it to do her a favor. Tristan wanted to know what she had to say. He actually went out of his way to discover more about her. That was special, more special to her than he probably realized.

  They could always just be friends, she thought bitterly. They didn't have to be... anything else. Whatever they had begun being.

  Right?

  No. Even as she entered the guest house she knew she could never just be friends with him. There was just too much there, and it would hurt, it would hurt too much. She realized as she opened the door that she wasn't prepared. She didn't know what she was going to do if she found Tristan there with any of her friends. What could she do? Laugh and leave? Blow it off as if she had just been passing through, looking for some eggs? No, that wouldn't be believable. She'd just have to be upfront.

  Even if he had been just a guy passing through, she thought, she would not have expected this from her friend. How could her own friend do this to her? Surely she had made her feelings for Tristan clear to them. They knew. They all knew. The horses probably knew. Or at least that was what she had thought until now. But now... had she been misinterpreting Tristan's signs? Had he not been interested this whole time, after all? Perhaps he really was just using her, using them all, to get free board and food, and a vacation in the countryside. Free riding lessons, swimming in the lake, picnics, and five beautiful women between whom he could choose at will — well, sort of, at least. That sounded a lot more like most men Anita had known. And if Tristan had not felt like all other men, maybe that had just been her imagination. Maybe she had projected her own hopes and desires onto him, and what she had seen had been merely a reflection of her own emotions.

  But the guest house seemed empty. All the doors had been left ajar, the sunlight streamed through the windows and motes drifted through the air like flecks of gold. She stood quietly, still, looking at them, remembering how she had met Tristan, right there in that corner, and how his own hair had seemed haloed in gold against the sun. She thought of how easily he had joked with her, even before knowing who she was, how his hand had lingered around her wrist, and she had felt, just for a moment, his heartbeat seeming to reach her through his touch. She had never seen anyone so beautiful. It had been in his eyes, the kindness and nonchalant grace that had shone through them, through those intensely blue irises, which shimmered in the early morning like sunlight reflected on the water.

  But still waters do run deep, and deep waters are treacherous.

  "Hello?" she asked, tentatively taking a look around. But it was well and truly empty. Perhaps Jo had just been playing a prank. A cruel, needless prank, but perhaps it had just been a prank. Her room was a mess, and Sally's even more so, but it didn't look like either of them had been recently occupied. The bathroom, however, was still damp, the steam on the mirror had not quite dissipated from the edges, and the shower curtain stuck to itself and the side of the tub. So someone had been here recently, after all.

  Anita looked at the crack in Tristan's door. It was just an inch, but it was open, and it was empty. She had been in Jo and Sally's rooms before, had even slept there when her own room had been repainted, and the two girls weren't overly private about their home They never even locked the door, not even at night. But going into Tristan's room was different.

  It felt, she thought as she pushed the door open, a bit like betrayal. But she had to know. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, but when she found it, she'd know.

  The spare room was smaller than the other two, with just a single bed haphazardly put together from the old steel frame Nikki had found hidden away in the loft. The mattress had come from Connor’s old bed in the farmhouse. The bed was made, the covers pulled over it, the pillow fluffed, and if the room was a mess, it was just because it had been used to store everything that didn't fit anywhere else. The writing desk was an antique, scuffed and worn, but still beautiful. Nikki had moved it, in favor of a larger desk for her own room. There was a small stack of plastic chairs in a corner, and a folded up garden table, which the
y used for barbeques but couldn't fit in the shed. Two tall lamps, both probably broken, stood in the corner behind the door, and the bedside table was actually a stack of old books. Tristan didn't seem to have arrived with anything much: there was no sign but the bed that anyone else lived here, and even the bed was so pristine it may have been unoccupied for weeks.

  Which, Anita thought, made sense, if Sally and Tristan were... She shook her head again, and the thought ran like ripples through her raven hair. Feeling dejected, she sat down on the corner of the bed, making sure not to crease the covers too much.

  That's when she saw the bag. It had been placed under the small desk, probably to not take up any more floor space than necessary. It was a regular looking backpack, red and black, with reflective stripes across it for cars to see.

  And it was open. Not the kind of open that the door had been, but completely unzipped. Anita could see its contents, some shirts and a book, and a small stack of letters. Curiously, she looked up, and peeked outside into the living room again, just to make sure she was alone.

  She really shouldn't. But then, she was already here, and she had shared enough with Tristan, she thought, that he owed her some explanations. He had always been so vague about his life, didn't she deserve to know something about him? For all they knew he could have been an escaped murderer, or an arsonist, or a drug dealer. She took the letters from the backpack. This wasn't bills or bank statements, she thought, looking carefully at the handwritten addresses on the front. This was a correspondence. The handwriting on the front was beautiful, looping and elegant... A woman's handwriting, though Anita knew she shouldn't be so quick to judge. Perhaps it was his mother. At the top of the pile was a postcard, depicting a scarlet sunset. Anita turned the card over.

  February 4th

  Dear Tristan,

  It was lovely meeting you the other week! Your brother has nearly recovered from his hangover, but I told him that’s what being 21 is all about. I asked your brother for an address, so I could send you a postcard, you said you like receiving mail. I took the photo myself the other day. I hope that you’re enjoying being back in NYC. Send me something from the city?

  All the best,

  Callie

  Callie. Anita looked at the last two lines. So it was a girl. But "all the best" didn't particularly inspire romance or love. She put the postcard aside and after another glance at the door pulled out the first letter.

  February 28th

  Dear Tristan,

  Thank you for the postcard! I was so excited when I saw it, the picture is beautiful. I can't believe you live so close to the sea. I've never seen the sea, but it's on my bucket list. I always want to head off, take a trip, maybe go and see New York or San Francisco. I'd love to see San Francisco. Have you been there? I hear the people are really nice. And the sea must be beautiful. But things just always seem to get in the way, work, family, life. It's a shame. It must be great to have a job where you can work with such a great view. I think the highest building I've ever been on was five floors, and I was a bit terrified, to be honest. I don't think I can imagine being on the thirty-second. It must be dizzying. Classes are finishing up next week for spring break. Maybe I should take a city break this year… ?

  All the best,

  Callie

  So they were sharing bucket lists and aspirations. And was she flirting with him? But it meant nothing, Anita thought, even if she’d gone to see him in New York. Friends visit each other. The next one was dated

  March 14th

  Dear Tristan,

  Thanks for showing me around NYC on the weekend. I don’t think I’d have been able to do it without you. I’ve included the photo that couple took of us in Central Park — I think it came out really well, don’t you? Let me know when you’re back in Denver. I know you grew up here, but you’ve never seen Denver until you’ve seen Denver with me! I promise, there are some excellent coffee shops here, too.

  Callie

  March 28th

  Dear Tristan,

  I'm sorry about your father, I hope he gets well soon. I went to see him with your brother, he seems to be doing better than last week. It's strange, isn't it, how life seems to go faster and faster the longer you live? Your brother says you and your dad don't get along, and I know we've only been writing to each other for a short while, and I don't really have any right to stick my nose into your business like this, but I feel like we can be honest with each other, you know? Maybe it's writing that brings out the honesty in me, but I think you should go and see your father. There's no relationship so strained it can't be mended, I think, and running away is never a solution. It just postpones the problem, it doesn't make it go away. If you don't want to stay with your parents, you could sleep here, there’s always a couch for you to crash on.

  Think about it.

  Callie

  Anita's hands trembled as she pulled out the next letter. It was dated the July fourth.

  July 4th

  Dear Tristan,

  The fireworks are going on outside, but they feel less vivid without you here. It was so good to see you again. That connection you spoke about on the last night, I feel that too. I think we really have something special. You're not like all the other guys, and I feel like with you I can just be myself, you know? I know you love to receive mail, but I miss seeing you, looking into your eyes, hearing you laugh, feeling your touch... How long until you can come back again?

  Love,

  Callie

  Love. It hit Anita like a slap in the face. But this had been July last year. It was over a year ago. It was probably no longer relevant. And yet, he’d kept the letters.

  September 6th

  Dear Tristan,

  I'm so sorry. I know you didn't think you got along, but losing a parent is always painful. I'm writing to let you know that everyone wants you back for the funeral. Your father put you in his will, too. You're the eldest son and you should be there, and if you hate me for saying it, then so be it. But I know that if you don't go, you'll never forgive yourself. I can't watch you eat away at yourself with the guilt, I love you too much for that. Please consider it. You know you always have a place to stay here, and I will come with you if you want me to, and not if you don't.

  I know the pressure must feel like too much, but remember that you're not alone in this. Your brother says he's tried contacting you but you're not answering. He's your brother, Tristan, and Thomas was his father, too. There is no cure for grief, you just have to wait for it to pass on its own. I would know. And I know you think that it might be better to be alone, but it never is, in these situations. Please don't lock yourself away from the world, I've seen people get lost in their work and forget all the beautiful things life has to offer. I don't want to lose you, and your family misses you.

  Write back soon.

  Love, as always,

  Callie

  Anita lay the letter down on her lap and wiped her eyes. No wonder he didn't like to talk about his parents if his father had died. She quickly dug out the next letter.

  September 21st

  Dear Tristan,

  You said my letters keep you going, so I'll be writing more often. I'm so glad you came, and I know how hard it must have been for you, but your brother and mother really needed you, and you may not think so, but you needed them, too. I know it's a lot to take in, but you'll be glad, someday, that you did this. And I know I said that it was the grief and the funeral making you say things and that you should think about it, first, but if you were serious, then know that I love you, and I can't imagine my life without you. So, although I know these things should be done in person: yes — if you still want to?

  Yours,

  Callie.

  October 5th

  Dearest,

  That was the best surprise I could ever have hoped for! I know that you have always been under a lot of pressure from your father, but I think he would be proud to know that you're taking on this job. With your father's name and fir
m, I'm sure you'll do wonderfully. Your father would be so proud. Your mother is, and your brother, too, I went to dinner with them last night, they're all very excited to see you next month — and I can’t wait to see you next week on break! Can we visit the Chrysler building this trip?

  Love you, always,

  Callie

  November 5th

  Dear Tristan,

  I haven't heard from you in a while, is everything alright? I know you're stressed, and I know it's hard, leaving behind a life, but I'm excited for us to start a new life here, together. You should see your office, it's beautiful! Panelled with mahogany, and a view over the edge of the city. You always said you love the countryside. You'll definitely love your new office, it's forest all the way to the horizon outside. I can't wait to see you again.

  Love,

  Callie

  PS. Your father's will is taking a while to get through, but your mother told me it won't be long now.

  December 31st

  Dear Tristan,

  I miss you. I'm sending a few photos with this letter, consider it a new year's gift ;)

  See you in February,

  Callie

  Anita closed this and picked up the last letter. It was heavier than the others. Hands trembling, she extracted the paper from the envelope.

  February 20th

  Dear Tristan,

  I don’t know what your brother told you, but—

  There was a shuffle outside the front door. At a speed she didn’t know she possessed, Anita stuffed the letter back in the envelope and put the pile back in the bag. She was just about to walk out of Tristan’s room when he opened the front door. She looked at him, the way a strand of hair had fallen across his forehead and nearly over his eyes; his fierce, piercing, lying eyes. She felt as if someone had shoved a red hot nail through her stomach. She trembled, on the spot, for a moment, before composing herself. She would not be seen as weak. She would not be seen as helpless. If he was sleeping with Sally, or Nikki, or Bella, or Callie, or whoever else, that wasn’t her problem. There were plenty of men who would appreciate her, in a way he obviously didn’t.

  But it broke her heart, nonetheless.

  He beamed at her. “Hey, Anita, what…”