The air had taken on a crisp edge, purple shadows stretched in front of the horses and every boulder seemed twice as large as it should be.
“Up ahead is a perfect campsite. We should probably stop for the night,” Clay said.
He turned and looked at her and for a brief moment their eyes met and she felt herself an open book for him to read— this scared her. After all, she could not help but think that feeling so crazy for a man like him could not end well. He seemed to be reading her mind because he glanced over at her again and smiled that lopsided grin where only one side of his mouth pulled up before speaking.
“Race you to the top of that hill?” Clay said.
They cantered the horses up the top of the next prominence and she found a natural circle of large stones, some quite tall. There was also thick grass for the horses. It was indeed the perfect campsite. As she slid from Major’s back and slipped the bridle and saddle from him, she felt lightheaded and tongue-tied. She worked silently brushing the sweat marks from Major’s coat, enjoying the way his glossy hair caught the rays of the dying sun. With each stroke of her hand her horse’s hair turned platinum, copper and silver-gold.
She wanted nothing more than to spend time with this mysterious man, and yet she could not string together two words now that they were alone. He was attending to his own mare and only once the horse had been untacked, groomed and hobbled did he approach Lenora and Major.
“Do you want me to put the hobbles on for tonight?” Clay said.
His hands were at his sides and the palms were turned towards her in the unthreatening way he used with the young horses he trained. She wondered if she looked frightened to him. Or maybe he too felt it? How could he not. Every time their hands touched even for the briefest second she felt as if she had laid her palm on the hot wood stove. He held her gaze, and she realized that he was waiting for her reply. She looked down quickly and felt her cheeks grow hot.
“Yes, please help. I’m, I’m still an English rider I guess,” she said. “I’m trying to figure out all this cowboy stuff and sometimes it seems like so much…”
She was rambling now. It was as if she either could not speak at all or had to babble like a bubbling steam.
Glancing up in time, she saw his eyes grow so soft and gentle. She felt all the air leave her body quickly and silently— she was as light as a poof of dandelion white. He took the two steps that separated them in one stride. With the same gentleness as when he first haltered a new colt, he brushed his palm along her cheek his thumb touching her lips.
“I love the color you turn,” he said. His voice was deep, and his hand trembled just a little.
Lenora could not draw in air. With the same gentleness his hand slid away and he knelt showing her the careful twist of the hobble. This was in order to keep Major from wandering too far, while still allowing him to enjoy all the fresh grass around their camp.
Next, Clay moved off to gather wood for the fire and Lenora made makeshift beds from their blanket rolls and gathered together the food supplies. Several apples, some dates and a bag of almonds and then a half loaf of bread and hunk of cheese plus two big potatoes and two ears of corn. It was nearly dark when he came back; whistling softly and stopping to let a curious Major sniff the bundle of wood he carried. He held up two still dripping trout, for Lenora’s inspection, his grin both proud and confident. Lenora pulled together dry grass and mounded stones to form a fireplace.
He knelt and nodded at the fireplace. “Not bad for an Easterner.” His eyes were teasing.
She could see that lopsided smile again though his face was nearly hidden in the shadow of darkening evening. His teeth shone white for just a minute and she felt her stomach tighten as he flicked the lighter, nursing the tiny flame into the bundle of grasses she had prepared.
Once the fire was strong, he showed her how to soak the corn in water and tie the shucks together and then rake a bed of coals, in which to cook the food. He said little, but when he spoke his voice was low and musical and she felt a little helpless as if he was somehow herding her, guiding her to someplace she hoped was safe. She supposed this was how his horses felt at first, not knowing if this was a human they could trust, yet hoping, against all hope— against the past really— that this was the one to trust.
They ate hot food, the smoke from the fire spiraling straight up into the clear, star-studded sky. The food filled her belly and she found herself nestling into her blanket roll feeling safe. He began to hum a little tune and then sang a ballad in Spanish that sounded sad and beautiful all at once. Lenora surprised herself when she lifted her voice in the old church hymn her mother had taught her. As her voice rose and drifted off in the clear air she realized she felt as safe as she had ever been.
When she fell silent, he spoke quietly. “I could listen to your voice, under these stars, forever.”
A shiver ran up her spine, she watched as he ran his hand through his hair, tucking the ends behind his ears. He was facing away from her, towards the fire and the night, and when he turned back she could not read all that was in his face, because he blocked the light from the fire. But what she did see scared her. There was depth to this man. He took her hand in his and brought her knuckles to his lips. His eyes were dark and never left her face, asking permission she realized. He must have seen it because he bent his head and she felt his lips brush hers. Sparks surely hissed between them she thought. His hand cradled her face. He was the one to pull away and she watched his profile in the flickering light as he ran his hand through his hair again. When he turned back towards her his face was once again half in shadow but his words were earnest:
“It’s crazy to, to feel this way. I’m not really a kid anymore and wasn’t expecting to meet someone and feel out of control. Are you the White Buffalo woman my people speak of?”
She knew she should say something in return but she was frightened suddenly. Wrapping her blanket tightly around her shoulders she leaned away hoping the shadows would hide her own face.
“I don’t know.” She kept it simple.
Frightened, was an understatement. She wanted this, whatever this was but also felt her insides curl up with fear at what this man might end up meaning to her.
“We don’t really know each other,” he said. “My wife.” There was a long pause, and she felt her shoulders tighten even further.
“My, ex-wife and I knew each other nearly our whole adult lives.”
She must have been holding her breath, because, once released, it came out like a gasp.
“You didn’t know I was married before? Surely you asked around?” He sounded confused.
“Who would I ask? I’ve been the ranch hermit since coming out here! I guess you asked around?” Lenora said.
“Well, yes. I… you were the beautiful niece,” he replied.
She mulled that over that one word: beautiful.
“How long were you married?”
“Longer than I should have been.” He paused: “She works down at Carl’s, you’ve probably seen her.”
Lenora had seen her with dark hair swinging down her back, and lovely silver bracelets on each wrist. She worked at the tack store that also was a diner , the only one for miles and miles. Her name tag had read: Crystal. Lenora remembered how quick her smile was for all the cowboys in the place.
There were ghosts out in the dark and Lenora realized she had brought them with her. The past could be clung to or released: her choice. As if proving her thoughts valid a lone coyote cried from the ridge across from their tiny fire.
“I’ll water the horses again and get another log for the fire,” Clay said.
“Thank you. I mean thank you, for bringing me,” Lenora said.
He stood over her for a second and smiled that lopsided grin before walking into the dark.
“The pleasure’s all mine. Ma’am,” he said.
She laughed and waited for him to leave before peeing behind one of the big rocks.
She must have fallen asleep before he returned, because she remembered only seeing his shadowed back towards her as he stoked the fire. Much later she woke cold and stiff, the fire was burning down to gray ash and orange coals. She shifted in her blankets trying to get warm. She could hear his even breaths and wanted to drift off herself, but decided to try and pee again. As she returned to her blankets, he said: “Cold?”
“Yes,” she replied.
As she burrowed into her blankets he stood and shook out his ground roll next to hers. Then spread his blankets on top of her stiff, chilled body and slipped in behind her. He was wearing a cotton shirt and some type of trousers; he nestled into her back and very, very carefully wrapped his arm around her. Her breathing went quick at first, but, as the warmth from his body and the added blankets spread through her, she soon forgot the thrill of having this man in her bed and relaxed. Thankful to be warm she drifted in the haze of the dream world.
Just at the brink of sleep she imagined that he bent his face into the crook of her neck and kissed her.
She woke to the warmth of sunlight on her face. The sky to the east was a glorious tapestry of impossible pinks and brilliant orange. Major and Dark Moon were close by, grazing as the sun rose beside them. Clay was adding kindling to the fire, coaxing the flames back to life.
“Sleep well?” He said.
He looked amazing; his cotton shirt was unbuttoned halfway showing his dark, sculpted chest. He must have just washed in the river, because his hair was wet, and his face was glowing a warm copper from the cold.
“Yes, I did,” Lenora said. She smiled at him and felt alive and very well. “I think I’ll go wash up down at the river too.”
She slipped out of the blankets and grabbed her towel and a bar of soap. The water was icy and so refreshing. Modestly, she went down to where the banks were steepest and hid her body from his view. But she could not help imagining stripping down with his eyes on her. She scrubbed until her body was glowing pink and alive, she mapped the freckles across her chest and arms. As she dressed she was surprised at how she felt as if the rest of her life was before her, like the rest of her life was her own. For so long the past had been more real than either the present or future.
When she returned to camp, he had two of the fillets crisp and an apple sliced. They ate in companionable silence until he spoke.
“Do you want to keep going? It’s another two days to do the whole loop,” he said.
Her whole body wanted to answer for her, yes!! It screamed. She had wanted this adventure since she was a child, since she read the Black Stallion, since she could first ride her horse down a quiet trail. And now to do it with this hunk of a man? Yes, of course, she thought.
“Sure,” she said.
She looked up at him. She imagined her yes!! with the double exclamation marks was plain to read. He smiled, and she felt a little light headed.
“You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen in the morning,” Clay said. He spoke without the hint of a smile, but his eyes were dancing. He bent and kissed her on the cheek.
They packed their dwindling supplies and then saddled the horses. The sun had barely brushed the tops of the hills to the east as they headed out from their makeshift camp.
As they rode, she imagined ways to ask about his ex-wife and how he had ended up working at the ranch. Why was he so good with horses? How old was he. Thirty-five? She really did not know. She thought he would tell but she was not sure she was brave enough to ask. Major seemed more than happy to keep going, he was prancing a little under her seat and she steadied him with a pat to his neck. He just tossed his head and then flicked his long, white tail up over his back. The flamboyant, Arabian style that was his heritage was really coming through this morning.
“Want to canter?” She was grinning uncontrollably as she asked.
He shot a red, hot smile right back at her. “You’re on!”
Before she knew it they were off. Major felt strong and sure under her, and oh-so-fast. She stood up just a little in the stirrups and bent down to his neck and let the wind wash over her face as the sheer joy of a gallop on a fine morning became her whole life. The world was waking up to the glorious, spring day and all around them trees began to sprout and tiny streams of melting snow made way for fresh, green grass. The trail wound up and away to the mountain pass and both horses felt the joy of the moment, ears back against their heads and necks thrown out as their shoulders rolled with power. A herd of elk, startled by the galloping horses and riders, lifted their heads and watched, thick mouthfuls of grass trapped in their heavy jaws.
The horses finally slowed and when she looked at Clay, he smiled that grin she was growing to love so much. His eyes were bright with the wind and the joy of the morning. She felt a deep sigh escape her body, and she knew that the past was being healed on this journey. As the horses relaxed into a leisurely walk, she felt a deep well of words come to the surface and she began to tell him about the bad time.
Lenora and her mother had been more like sisters than parent and child. Maura was young when she had Lenora. Only eighteen and with her blond curls, tiny wrists and round eyes she seemed much younger than her age. Maura had been a dancer and actor and her life revolved around the stage and the dramas on and off it. Lenora spent the first years of her life backstage watching flustered ballerinas rush about in various stages of undress. When Lenora turned ten her mother made the difficult decision and moved the two of them from New York City to Chicago for a steady, theater management position. Maura gave up her own onstage dreams, but found her power as a calm force for achieving all the necessary action done behind the scenes. Lenora stayed in the same school and began as a working student at a local horse barn. They had built a life together. Lenora had not realized how much her mother treated her as an equal until she was older and saw the horrible fights her teenage friends had with their stressed parents. Somehow, she had assumed that all parents and children operated as an efficient team. Perhaps, this was one of the many reasons that it had hurt so bad when her mother kept the diagnosis from her for so long. Six months was a long time to keep a secret of such magnitude from the only other person on one’s team, Lenora reasoned.
Holding and nursing the illness, Maura had gone from slim and muscular to a skeleton. Lenora confronted her mother as they sat eating a long overdue dinner together.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Lenora said.
“Darling, I couldn’t bring it up before now, there was too much going on with…. With your marriage,” Maura said.
Maura met Lenora’s eyes as the truth of the future ahead began to become clear.
Lenora swallowed down the bitter taste left behind from her failed marriage; her mother had never thought Mick was quite right for her, though Maura had kept quiet about this for the most part. Somehow her laughable, relationship was to blame for the loss of six, precious months with her mother.
Lenora set down her napkin and started to cry; her mother stood and hugged her, letting Lenora’s face hide in the thick folds of her purple cardigan. They left the restaurant and Lenora knew that her world had shifted in a new and sudden way; there was before the evening of May 15th and there was after.
The days drug on; then randomly, suddenly, picked up speed. Weeks slipped past as a single afternoon spent reading to her mother in the downstairs bedroom, the afternoon sun slanting through the half-closed blinds. Lenora found herself pulling away from her outside life; before she knew it, she had somehow been fired from her job and was two months behind on rent. The only thing she kept up with was her morning routine at the barn where Major was boarded. She moved into her mother’s house so that she could care for her. The days began to flow into a long goodbye. During the last weeks, Maura was in hospice care. Lenora knew the long goodbye was over. For the first time, she began to realize she would be alone. She was scared suddenly on a purely personal level. As she spent the last hours with her mother, she found herself filled with a deep fear for her own future. How could she worry about herself when her mother was in horrible pain beside her? She felt so human and so flawed, the world closed in as her courage fled. Consciousness slipped from her mother, and Lenora found herself losing all control and pleading with Maura not to leave her. Lenora held her mother’s wing-boned hand and sobbed with no hope of comfort in the future to come.
Major snorted and swished his tail. Lenora looked down at his mane and let the stiff breeze dry the tears trapped in her eyelashes. She could feel Clay was listening even though he had been completely silent during her whole telling. Glancing at him, she saw that his eyes were on her and his face held the same softness she had glimpsed last night. She took a deep breath and continued; there really was nothing else to do.
The funeral, in Lenora’s memory, was a horrid whirl of friends and family, all trying to say uplifting things. How shallow their attempts at comfort sounded from the mud of her despair.
Her aunt and uncle came, her mother’s sister Annie with her husband Byron, whom Lenora and her mother had visited once in Montana. They stood close to Lenora throughout all the greetings and condolences. Annie was her mother’s older sister and her husband Byron was a man that waves could break upon, even the sad ones. It was Byron who first asked her to move west with them to the mountains. Byron, she realized, must have seen the true depth of her growing depression. Annie’s face had come alive with her husband’s suggestion and she had held Lenora’s hand so hard that it began to go numb.
Still, it had taken Lenora eleven months to load her horse on the trailer and head west. Sometimes, deep mud is a hard thing to escape.
Lenora fell silent as she fully descended back into the moment, and was once again astride her horse riding into the mountain wilds. As she spoke of her dark time aloud, with Clay and the horses as her witnesses, she released that time of its power over her and sent it on its way, carried by the west wind. Clay reached out his hand across the empty space separating their horses and touched her arm. When she looked up and met his eyes, she was shocked to see such deep sadness. She wondered for a moment if the pain in her heart was somehow reflected into his. There were lines in his open face which she had never seen before. Not for the first time, she realized that her own pain was only a drop in the whole ocean of world hurts. What heaviness did Clay carry over his own heart, she wondered.
They rode on in silence as the clouds overhead thickened and spun from white to gray to lavender. A skittish wind kicked up its heels.
“I think we might get some kind of storm.” Clay glanced again over his shoulder at the darkening sky.
“Where can we go?” Lenora felt very much from the city and wanted the comfort of buildings and other people. After her emotional unburdening, she felt tired and in need of warmth and care.
“Don’t worry.” He smiled. “Up ahead. You see that line of cliffs?”
Yes, she could see them and they did not seem too far ahead. Just through the bowl of the valley and then up.
“We’ll head there. And make camp in one of the old caves.” Clay said. He sounded confident and like perhaps he had done it before.
“Ok.” Lenora tried to make her voice sound brave.
Would there be rattlesnakes in caves like that, she wondered. She did not know, and really did not want to let her imagination get the best of her.
He glanced again at the darkening sky and said, “We better trot a little.”
The horses seemed happy to pick up the pace, as the wind blew their tails sideways and flattened the grass around them. After twenty-five minutes and a little galloping, they reached the cliffs and dismounted. Clay searched for the opening to the cave, as the wind began to toss small sticks and icy pellets. Lenora felt her heart begin to race as the wind made the horses hard to hold, and the frozen bits began to mix with hard-driven rain.
“Here it is,” Clay said.
A large boulder partially covered the entrance to a cave, which was tall enough for even the horses to enter. A lightning bolt crashed through the sky, and the heavens opened drenching horses and humans alike. Quickly, they stepped into the eerie darkness of the cave.
It was huge, maybe thirty or forty feet high. Once they hurried through the opening, Lenora realized it was very deep. She rested her wet face against Major’s damp, but warm shoulder, relieved to be out of the storm.
“This way,” Clay said.
He moved into the darkness, and Lenora had no choice but to follow him. The cave opened up before them and the darkness overhead indicated huge expanse. She could still hear the storm, and when she looked back to the mouth of the cave, spider lightning shot across the dark sky. She turned back and Clay was standing next to her. He touched her shoulder and she realized she was starting to shiver in her wet clothes.
“Are you okay?” Clay said. “We need to get you out of those clothes and by a warm fire.”
He took over, unpacking the horses and securing them in the back of the cave. He laid out some dried sticks and struck a match and had a small fire going all by the time Lenora struggled with her cold hands to undo the swollen straps on her saddle bags.
“Come here, are you okay?” Clay asked again.
She realized she must look bad to have him so worried.
“Yes, just really cold,” Lenora said.
“Come here. I’ll help you,” Clay said.
He laid down a bedroll, pulled Lenora’s boots off. Then stood her on the blankets before stripping her out of her wet jeans and layered sweaters. Quickly, he threw a blanket around her shoulders and then stood, stripping out of his own wet clothes. Her breathing quickened as he pulled free of his damp shirt, and the firelight lit his skin to a dark, rich copper in the ever-shifting light. She reached out her cold, stiff hand and touched his chest. He caught her hand and looked down at her and his eyes were dark but the flames from the fire reflected a deep, deep desire.
“Careful, Nora,” he said.
She reached her other hand up and touched his dark hair, still dripping from the rain. She did not want to be careful. He caught this hand too and pulled both behind her back so that she was his captive, her wet body pressed against his. He bent his head and kissed her. This kiss was different; this was not the same man who had chastely warmed her last night with his extra blankets and his lean body. This man was alive and hot with desire and she could feel he wanted her in a primal way which made her pulse race. He was rough as he kissed her, his lips hot and raw from the wind and their earlier gallop to safety. She was emboldened and bit his lower lip; she heard his growl, deep in his throat. He released one of her hands to run his thumb under her chin, holding her head more firmly in position as he deepened the kiss further. She bent back away from him, even as their bodies became closer, her skin had gone from icy cold to burning hot and she wanted to feel all of him. With her one free hand she struggled with the sodden belt buckle on his pants and tried to free him. He was kissing along her jawline, down her throat, his hand moving from her neck to her hair, he knotted his fists in her wet curls.
“Do you want this? Nora, tell me?” Clay said. “Tell me now, or I won’t be able to stop.”
“Yes,” she struggled to speak.
“Yes what?” Clay said.
“I want you.” Her voice sounded strange even to her own ears: raspy, full of lust.
With that, he pulled her down to the blankets, rough, eager, peeling her out of her wet sports bra. He bent his head and took her left nipple into his mouth and twirled his tongue in slow circles making her knot both her fists in his hair and gasp. He lifted his head and kissed her, hard, his tongue making the same circles inside her mouth. When he drew away her eyes were glazed, and he smiled with pleasure.
His skin was soft with a small, crescent-moon shaped scar on his chest, which was so sexy she had to lift her head and taste it, taking in his scent of mountains, horses and wood smoke. A trail of darker hair led down his belly into the waistband of his well-worn jeans, and, when her hands eagerly reached to unbutton them, he stopped her there.
“Baby, don’t go too fast.” He was almost pleading. His mouth was just as ravenous as he kissed her, pushing her back down. The firelight flickered across his tanned chest as he stroked her smooth sides and up to her breasts. He ran his finger inside the band of her pale, blue panties. Only once he had slipped his hand back out and was kissing her neck, could she struggle again with the buckle on his jeans. The backs of her hands savored the feel of hair from his stomach and the taunt muscle underneath. This was a man who used his body each day riding colts; he was a dance partner with wild horses. The feel of him turned her insides into pure desire. She peeled his jeans back and ran her hands under the soft fabric of his briefs. His skin was silk. He moaned as her hands touched him.
“Darling.” He whispered against her hair as her hands shyly touched the first soft skin of his erection. She could feel all of him pressed against her hip and wanted nothing more than to hold the fullness of him in her hands. He was kissing her again and stroking with his own hand, making her wet and crazy and leaving her gasping with the delve of his fingers. His kisses grew longer, traveling sometimes to her throat and others times to her shoulders and stomach, until she could not think of anything except the heavy feel of his largeness on her and the throbbing of her lotus. He cupped her face in both his hands, kissing her fully, deeply. And then rolled away, searching, she realized, in the pocket of his jeans. He came back with a packet and she smiled, feeling safe and warm, her body tingling with joy at both his thoughtfulness and his huge erection eager for her. She sat up resting on one elbow and watched unabashedly as he slid the condom on. She felt a little chill run up her back, as thoughts of what she was going to let this cowboy do to her ran through her mind.
He was so gentle now, kissing her as he slid into her soft folds. He stopped to let her adjust to all of him and waited until she had wrapped both her legs around his body, deepening the position before he thrust, feeling her, not rushing. She was wet and open. She whimpered, burning, her face in his neck.
He whispered into her ear, his breath warm, “I’d love to have you sit astride me. But it’s been a long while for me and I’m barely holding on as it is.”
His honesty moved her and she laid still, letting him work her body slowly, stopping when he came close. He even withdrew, leaving her cold and empty to run his fingers over her clit, stroking her in circular motions until she was wild and about to fall off the cliff of desire, then he entered her again. The thrusts more vigorous now, she slid her hand down to touch herself and let his body forcing against her hand bringher to the brink of climax. She slid her hand away and felt him hard and thick against her as she came with a gasping cry loud enough to reach the roof of the cave. He said something sweet and nonsensical in her ear and then they were both still.