A Feather in the Rain (13 page)

“You're a good talker.” He realized its potential as an insult and laughed with her. “I mean it…you tell it good. It was good for you to tell me about it. It was good for me to hear it.” He paused.

“I can't believe I did that.”

She shook her hair out of her eyes and leaned toward him. Her breath perfumed the air. My god, he thought, I could fall into those eyes and never find my way out.

“You use your eyes to search out other people's thoughts rather than reveal your own,” she said looking deep into his eyes.

“I'm not real good with talking about how I feel…I'm trying to
learn. Doesn't come easy.”

She smiled, smoothing the rutted road of his life. Her toes stuck out from the hem of her frock. They were slender, white and pretty. His fingers floated and lit, stroking from the creases to the tips. He did it just once and slowly withdrew his hand.

“Show me your horses.” It was a whisper.

The night was star-bright, quiet, and cool. Blizzard and Dozer walked with them as the horses nickered and snuffled. They stopped at each stall. Holly stroked the velvet muzzles above the half-doors. Jesse named them and told her about each one. She ran her fingertips over a brass plaque on a stall door that read, Bueno Bar Tab. “Is this where Buckshot lived?”

“Yep.”

“And who is that guy?” referring to the brown and white overo gelding standing in the corner of the stall.

“That's Concho. He's kind of wary. Belongs to a lawyer. He got him in a settlement. Instead of money. Pretty nice horse. He likes women.”

It was past midnight when they climbed the steps to the porch. His hand touched the arch in her back as he opened the door for her to enter the house. They stood in the middle of the living room. Looking at each other. Jesse turned to the fireplace to move the embers around as if it were necessary. “Do you have everything you need?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Well…you know where the kitchen is…sleep as late as you want in the morning. I'll be down at the barn or in the arena. Sure is good to have you here.”

“Jesse.” She stood tall across the room. Her hair, shining amber in the candle glow, the pale flowered frock draped along her slender form took his breath away. “Thank you for the sunflowers. They're beautiful. That was very thoughtful. And thanks for listening to me talk your ear off. It felt good.”

He smiled and nodded. “Goodnight, Holly Marie.” It felt good
to say her name.

“Goodnight, Jesse Burrell.”

He watched her go and stood there thinking, I could have…just walked up and…kissed her…Jesus…the thought made him nervous. He blew out the candles.

He was naked on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling, an arm slung under his head. A warm demon of desire curled in his loins now began to stretch and waken with a purpose. He let his mind run and saw himself pulling on his pants, going to her door, knocking softly. “Come in,” she says. He sits on the edge of the bed and looks down at her face, framed with the fan of fine-spun hair and her bare white star-lit shoulders saying she is naked beneath the sheet. In silence, they look into each other's eyes. He leans down and softly kisses her yielding lips as his hand slips under the sheet…

That was as far as he let it run. He turned on his side, pulled his knees to his chest, closed his eyes and wondered what she was thinking.

H
e rolled over and squinted at the red numbers saying 5:00 a.m. He hadn't slept.

He dragged himself out of bed and cat-footed around the place like a burglar. There was enough distance between the kitchen and guestroom to run water for coffee and clink a cup and spoon. He stuck a banana in his shirt pocket and carried the cup through the living room, glancing at her door, shut. He eased open the front door and closed it quietly behind him. It was still dark. Ricardo's rooster yet silent. Suddenly, a sense of a presence sent a shiver along his arms as he turned quickly to the right. There in the darkness on the floor of the porch was a large living thing, undulating slowly like a seal. It said, “I couldn't sleep.”

“Damn.” He laughed. “You scared the hell out of me. I thought you were a mountain lion…”

“Sorry.” She uncoiled and came to a sitting, cross-legged pose. She was wearing a leotard.

“What are you doing?”

“Yoga.”

“Yoga. Never known anybody that did yoga. What's the difference between yoga and yogi?”

“A yogi practices yoga. I used to teach it…but then I got away from it and…since I've been back in Colorado, I've been trying to get back into it.”

“So you are a yogi…practicing yoga.”

She smiled and nodded.

“Mind if I watch?”

“No. I'm almost done.”

Uncoiling her legs, she moved smoothly stretching out on her stomach and reaching with her arms like a waking cat, on a thin rubber mat. She flowed from one graceful pose to another, breathing like the hissing of a giant reptile. He sat with the cup in his hand, his chin slack in silent awe.

She finished as the rooster sounded and a hint of sunrise began to lighten the horizon. From sitting on the mat, in a blink, she was standing tall, straight. She smiled in a tranquil face.

Jesse said, “That's amazing. The strength it takes to do some of those things.”

“I'm pretty strong.” Grinning, she made a fist of her right hand and punched the open palm of her left with a resounding smack. “So don't mess with me, boy.”

“I won't. How about some coffee?”

He was waiting for her in the living room, looking at the shelf where Rabbie sat, Bunny Bunny now at his side, his arm around her shoulder. Holly came from the bathroom looking like she'd spent her life on the ranch. Cowboy hat, Wranglers, a wrinkled cotton work shirt, and roper boots. Her face scrubbed pink, no makeup and blazing blue-gray eyes. She came to his side, looking at the paired rabbits, pushed out her lips and said, “They're happy now.”

Ricardo had groomed the front yard, with special attention to the flowers. Jesse introduced her. He bowed slightly, saying, “Con mucho gusto.”

She responded in perfect Spanish, telling him how beautiful the garden was. He was instantly enslaved. Jesse asked, “How'd you get to be so handy with Spanish like that?”

“I went to a school in Mexico for a while, when I was thirteen. I also worked in Spain.”

“Boy, I need you around here. I barely get by in English.”

Chauncy, the goat, showed up in the barn. “My mom's got one just like him, Bingo. Only he's white. He thinks he's a dog.”

“Chauncy thinks he owns the place.”

“So does Bingo. Must be a goat thing.”

She watched Jesse work. He moved with practiced purpose to the light musical clink of spurs as he walked. All smooth and flowing, the lifting of horses' feet to clean their hooves, the pull of his jeans against the tightened muscles of his thighs, the supple power in his shoulders as he swung the saddles lightly to their backs, the easy, soothing murmur as he walked behind them, constantly touching and stroking them, letting a tail slide through his hand and at the same time telling Holly what was going on. He showed her a point above the hoof that, when massaged for just a minute, could calm a nervous horse. As he put the bridles on, he told her the easy way to slip the bit into the horse's mouth and how a bit should fit. She stood beside him as he handed her the reins. A humid scent blended with her light perfume and enveloped him like a warm breath and let loose inside of him a yearning. He tried to think of something else as he led his horse out of the barn.

They trotted under white clouds across green pastures, Blizzard at their feet, snapping at grasshoppers spurting from the weeds. He watched her posting easily at the long trot. “I still think you're suckering me, you look like you've been doing this all your life.” They found the herd and gathered them up, Blizzard loving his job. Darting here and there, nipping heels, flattening like a rug but ready to spring at errant feet.

She was riding the lawyer's paint, Concho, a cow-savvy little bugger who knew his way around a herd. A high-headed heifer tried
to break away in front of Holly. The paint instinctively leaped to cut her off and damn near put Holly on the ground. “Whoa!” she hollered as she grabbed the horn with a white-knuckled grip and managed to stay aboard.

Jesse laughed. “Good job of keeping the forked end down. That's the main secret of being a good rider, keeping the horse between you and the ground.”

Pale and wide-eyed, she smiled, saying, “Yeah, I can see how that would be important. And just when I had you believing I could ride.”

At one-thirty, Abbie's bug chugged up in a flurry of dust. She hopped out and hustled to the arena. Holly was coming down along the rail at a dead gallop. Jesse stood with his arms along the top rail watching the horse gather speed. She sat up and sunk down slowly saying whoa as she lifted lightly on the reins. The horse melted into the ground and slid to a beautifully balanced stop.

Concentration furrowed her brow as she walked the horse along the fence. Suddenly the smile broke through the shining face and beamed at Jesse.

Jesse was grinning. “Good job,” he chuckled. “That was a good job.”

Abbie was standing there smiling. She came forward as Holly stepped down. “Looked cool to me.” She squared off in front of her, almost a foot shorter, and thrust out her hand. “Does this mean I'm out of a job? Hi. I'm Abbie.”

Holly beamed her klieg-light radiance as she bowed and took Abbie's hand. “Abbie, I'm so happy to meet you. I've heard a lot about you. I'm Holly.”

Jesse watched Abbie melt under Holly's sincerity. “I don't know how much you can rely on what he says. He told me you were ugly and spastic. Nice guy.” He smiled at them yakking away in the tack room while he hosed a horse's legs with cool water.

As Abbie was getting ready to leave for the day, she said goodbye to Holly and told her it was really nice to meet her. She
reddened with surprise when Holly spontaneously embraced her and said, “Thanks for all the help, Abbie. Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Yep, I'll be here.” As she turned and walked by Jesse, she muttered out of the side of her mouth, “Looks like you lucked out. She's really neat.” She stuffed a five dollar bill into his hand and headed toward her car.

H
e wore soft, baggy slacks and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He was standing in the kitchen, slicing peppers and mushrooms. He'd poured a shot of Lagavulin and was sipping as he worked.

She'd been in the bathroom a long time. John Coltrane's mournful, lonesome sax saturated the house.

He felt her presence and turned as she came into the room. He was sure that if he blinked she would vanish, that some act of God would remove this golden moment, the reason for his continued existence. She was as perfect as a snowflake. The tawny hair hung in shimmering coils around her face. The curving, provocative mouth was painted red. The long, fragile, innocent dress, lavender with delicate pink blossoms clung to the slow curving of her flesh underneath. A lacey border of slip hung just above her slender feet thinly strapped in bare sandals. She smiled a radiant tenderness that made him believe that all was well. “My God,” he said softly. He knew in
that moment he had fallen hopelessly in love with Holly Marie Bassett. And he knew that he had never before in his entire life felt anything even remotely close.

His voice was a hoarse whisper, “You are the most beautiful…elegant…graceful woman I've ever seen.” He was entranced.

She realized the sincerity in it. This cowboy, this half-horse creature of the earth who listened to Mozart and Coltrane and had books of poetry next to a catalog of tractors, was coming to her. His brown hands were reaching for her face. As gently as he'd held an angel's feather, his fingers touched her cheeks. He looked into the silver-blue depths of her soul, tilted his head and brought his lips to her mouth.

The kiss was wet, long, and hot, down to his soul. She brought her hand up his back, along his neck, sliding her fingers into his hair, feeling the hardness and the heat of him through the flimsy fabric and knew that she loved him.

It might have been easy to go on, to let his hands roam and clutch and claw and take her to his bed, but this was not a moment to let easily pass and become something else. They separated slowly and took the time to breathe. A warm tide of blood had rushed into her cheeks, her neck was flushed, and the pupils of her eyes were as big and black as a cougar's.

“Is garlic all right with you?” he said, lost in the cougar's eyes.

“I love garlic. It purifies the blood.”

“Would you like some wine? Or whiskey or beer? Or Coke or water or…”

“Wine…thank you.”

When he handed her the glass, he reached out and let his fingertips trail lightly down her cheek and across her lips.