Lost and Found (7 page)

"No. I doubt it, sweetie. Whatever…
did that
…well, it'll be long gone by now." I smiled reassuringly but did my own visual inspection
of our surroundings before pushing off the Jeep and walking back to the trailer. I
didn't want her to see my face. To see the doubt that I knew lingered there. The horse
had been mauled to pieces; torn limb from limb and partially devoured. All except
for the head - which sat picked clean on a bench facing the stall door. No sane animal
had placed it there.

***

"What are we going to name them?" Kris asked as she pulled handfuls of hay out of
the back of the open horse trailer I had parked on the lodge lawn, dumping them into
a pile on the grassy ground. Tufts of the dry strands stuck to the ends of her curled
hair and across her shoulders, almost making her look as if the stuff had been dumped
over her head.

"Hmmm. Well, you were the one who found them first, why don't you pick?" I smiled
at her face as it split nearly in half from a grin she didn't display often enough.

"Okay. Lemme think," she murmured against the friendly palomino's neck as she greedily
dove into the hay pile - muzzle first. "Well, this one is super sweet and her gold
coat makes me think of sunshine. Is 'Sunny' too corny?" she asked me.

"I think that's perfect," I leaned across Kris's shoulder and scratched the palomino's
ear, "I think you look like a Sunny. How's that sound to you?" I asked the horse.
She twitched her ear, but didn't stop eating.

"And the bay? What should we name her?"

Kris crinkled up her nose at the larger and much darker-colored horse. "She doesn't
like me."

"She doesn't like anyone…yet," I laughed.

"Okay. She needs a name that goes with her reddish-brown coat. Hmmm…something grown
up and attitudy."

"Attitudy? Is that even a word?" I asked Kris.

"It is now," she laughed.

"What about Foxy?"

Kris squealed, making both horses jump. They glared up at the teen who was bouncing
on her toes, clapping her hands softy, before quickly returning to their hay. "Foxy
is perfect for her!"

"Foxy and Sunny it is!" I laughed at the giggly girl until she danced off to retrieve
one of the shedding tools.

"Have fun brushing them, but be careful, ok? I'm going to check on Connor and see
if he's still pissed off at me." I waved at Kris, who seemed to have found her happy
place amongst the horses while I backed away toward the trail.

We could do this, the horses were already trained, I could tell. They were healthy;
they were strong - why not ride them, instead of noisy and unreliable motorcycles?
I didn't understand Connor's reservations about taking them to Los Angeles. Especially
since he admitted he could actually ride a horse. On the drive back to the lodge in
the truck, I decided to cut back on trying to convince him to take the horses and
focus on making them healthy and happy first. He'd come around. Connor always did.

My thoughts had been so preoccupied with getting the trailer onto the property and
not startling the horses that I had almost forgotten about the mutilated one we found
in the barn. The gruesome scene came flooding back to me as I climbed the porch steps. 
Out of habit, I looked over my shoulder at the quiet woods. I wondered, not for the
first time, what lived inside the gloomy shadows that flanked the tall pine trees.
I just hoped whatever it was that had attacked, eaten and dismembered the stable horse
was long gone and not in our woods, watching us; waiting for its moment to invade
our little community.

I squared my shoulders at the tree line and muttered under my breath, "Not on my watch."

***

Connor punched the closet door so hard three of his knuckle impressions were left
in the painted particleboard. He flinched, staring at the caved-in spots with animosity,
as if it was the doors fault his hand hurt, and not his own.

"Damn!" he cursed at the wood, rubbing over the raw parts of his hand with his other
thumb.

She couldn't go, not on a horse, not all the way to Los Angeles. What if she was thrown
or the horses got spooked and left them stranded in the middle of nowhere? What if
he was thrown, his neck broken and not able to take care of her? With a sigh, he ran
a finger over the amygdaliform of one of the indents, tracing the almond shaped hole
carefully. She did this to him, riled him up inside; tortured his heart and clouded
his mind. It was all her fault that he was falling apart at the seams. But he didn't
mind, of course he didn't, because he loved her. And love was…well, messy.

She'd find a way to leave. Even if she started out on foot - he knew she would. Because
Riley was the most stubborn woman, he had ever met. That damn heart of hers was going
to get them both in trouble - or killed. And now Kris wanted to go.

"Damn it!" he yelled again into the empty bedroom.

He kicked at one of his boots and watched as it flung into the side of the bedframe
and bounced to a stop below the open window. Still cursing under his breath, he strode
over to the sill, brushing the sheer curtains aside in irritation and peered out into
the woods, watching the shadows as they flicked in and out of the safety of the trees
as sun shined down through their canopies. Before he turned away, he thought he saw
a more solid shape take form but when he squinted to see it better, it shifted and
blended in with the rest of the forest shadows.

"Great, now you're seeing things. Right. Just…brilliant," he muttered to himself as
he stomped toward the bathroom, kicking the door open and cursing some more when it
banged into the wall and swung back into him, catching his elbow painfully.

After splashing cool water on his face and staring at his rugged reflection in the
mirror, he wondered what it was that Riley saw in him. His face looked gaunt; the
dark circles under his eyes becoming more and more pronounced each week. He hadn't
bothered to shave in more days than he could count on both hands - and his hair -
what a mess that was.

"Oh my God, you look like shit. Complete and total shit," he hissed at himself.

He rummaged around in the sink cabinet pulling items off the shelves and dumping them
onto the counter until he had everything out that he would need. He figured he had
at least a good hour before Riley and Kris would be back from their horse supply trip.
And he planned on looking less like a deranged serial killer-turned hippy by the time
they returned.

"Bloody hell," he sighed. "I wouldn't listen to me either if I looked like this."

And with that comment lodged securely in his brain, he grabbed a fist-full of his
dark curls and shoved the hair clippers underneath, snipping at least two inches off
in one swipe. He grabbed another clump of hair and repeated the process over and over
until the sink was full. After shaking his head to get the loose hairs off, he ran
his hands through the shorter waves, trimming the back of his neck as carefully as
he could. The clippings nearly filled the wastebasket after he dumped them. Next,
he filled the sink with warm water and lathered his face and neck with shaving cream.
When he was done shaving, his skin was smooth and soft. He even trimmed his eyebrows
just enough to make them look a little less wild and jumped in the shower to wash
all the hairs off.

He felt ten pounds lighter when he dried his body and climbed into clean jeans. Just
as he was wrestling a thin t-shirt over his damp head, he heard Zoey bark from downstairs.
Not bothering to pull on socks or shoes, he glanced at the oval mirror that hung above
the dresser on his way out of the room. It wasn't that long ago where his job demanded
a certain amount of attention aimed at keeping his looks agreeable. He had let himself
go over the last several months.

He briefly smirked at the cleaner, younger-looking reflection. "Much better. Let her
try and argue with
that
face."

The instant I stepped into the cabin, I smelled him. The ocean fragrance of his body
wash filled the entire lower level of the cabin so much so that I glanced around,
thinking he was standing somewhere nearby. Zoey barked for him before padding off
into the kitchen and nosily lapped up a generous amount of water before stretching
out on the cool floor for a nap.

"Connor?" The room stayed empty but I heard the soft footfalls of his feet as he descended
the stairs.

"Hey," he said to my back before I had a chance to turn around.

My mouth dropped open and my eyes glossed over. His shirt stuck to his chest, as if
he had just pulled it onto his damp skin. His expression turned amusing as he strode
up to me, pecked my cheek swiftly and continued on to the kitchen.
Ahh, I see how it is
, I thought, as I stared at his firm backside before it disappeared behind the island
counter top. Zoey greeted him with a snort, and continued on with her nap.

Snapping my mouth shut and swallowing the lump in my throat, I stepped up to the counter
as casually as I could manage and slid onto one of the stools to watch him bustle
about.

"You cut your hair," I stated.

"Yup. It was time. Tea?" he asked as he held one of the colorful mugs out at me.

I shook my head and propped my elbows on the tile top. "No, I'm good."

With a shrug, he continued to move around the kitchen, preparing his drink, and ignoring
me. Eventually the silence ate away at me and I released my lower lip from my teeth.

"You shaved, too."

He turned around and smiled, flashing his perfectly straight, white teeth. "That I
did. You approve?"

"Sure."

I knew what he was doing. He was trying to charm me out of my anger with him. I sucked
my lower lip in again and continued to nibble on it, thinking quietly to myself. My
eyes couldn't stay on one part of his body for long, so I let them roam his figure,
freely. With his back to me, I could stare unabashedly at his shoulders and the rounded
muscles of his back and at the two indents above his ass that were visible beneath
his shirt. The jeans he chose to wear hung low on his hips but hugged tightly to his
legs, leaving not much for the imagination. Not that I didn't already know every inch
of his naked form, but the outfit and his newly fresh look was a giant tease to every
one of my senses.

Feeling uncomfortable on the wooden stool, I wiggled around, crossing and uncrossing
my legs. Unable to find a position that worked, I gave up and walked over to the couch.
My body was still sore from the bike crash and the scabs along my jaw seemed destined
to stay awhile. But even with the wipeout a recent memory, my mind felt as if it had
taken a beating.

"So," Connor said, blowing at the steam that rose from the top of his cup, "I take
it you got what you needed for the horses?"

I nodded and leaned deeper into the plush cushions. "We got what we needed. But we
won't be returning back to the same farm." I shivered at the mental picture of the
severed horse head and tried to replace it with something less gruesome. It didn't
work.

"Why? Was the place wiped out?"

"No. Something bad happened there. We'll find another place to rummage through next
time," I answered, keeping my tone level and my gaze on the fireplace across from
the table my feet rested on.

"Hasn't something
bad
happened everywhere?" he asked, clearly knowing I didn't want to talk, but pushing
anyway.

"It was a different kind of bad. I'll talk to you about it later," I looked up at
him, meeting his charmed appearance with a smile. Inside my mind, I chanted over and
over:
Do not jump him, do not jump him
. But after he moved from the kitchen to the neighboring chair, sitting with one leg
hooked casually over the other, sipping that damn cup and looking sexy as hell, all
I could think about was ripping his clothes off.

Since I knew that was exactly what he wanted to happen, I rose instead and walked
away from the sitting room, not speaking again until my hand was on the wooden staircase
banister, "I need a shower, keep your eyes out for Kris, okay?"

***

The cold water gave me goose bumps, but I still felt flushed. As I stood beneath the
streaming water, my mind was full of thoughts ranging from borderline indecent as
far as Connor was concerned, to graphic and gory horse parts and on to fear and frustration
that too much time had already passed since I decided to look for Mariah. She was
out there, lost somewhere in a dead city. Finding her had become an obsession and
I knew why.
I
had sent them away.
I
had killed her brother. Sure, it was self-defense, but that didn't keep the guilt
at bay.

Someone had to care about her and for whatever reason I didn't understand, that someone
was
me
. It was illogical. It was border lining on stupidity. The thought that I would locate
any trace of her in a city as large as Los Angeles was absurd, but - and I knew this
to be true - if it was me out there, I would want someone to come and find me, or
to at least try. Connor had to understand that, or I'd end up going alone.

Not that I couldn't go alone. It's not as if I didn't think about it, but that would
create an unnecessary problem and probably a small war between Connor and me. A war
I wasn't sure I'd win. If I stayed in San Diego, I would be unhappy. If I left for
Los Angeles, Connor would be unhappy. It wasn't a matter of right vs. wrong, it was
a matter of who won this round. As I scrubbed the smell of horse and dry hay off my
skin with my lathered loofa, I repeated one sentence over and over again in my head
until I truly began to believe it:
I will win this fight
.

***

"Feeling better?" Connor placed a glass of an antique bronze-colored liquid in front
of me as I slid onto the barstool. I intentionally came downstairs after my cold shower
in just a loose top - no bra and a short pair of running shorts. It seemed that neither
of us was above using our sex appeal on each other.

I let the water drip off the ends of my hair onto the floor underneath the stool.
"What is this?" I sniffed at the glass and winced. "It's strong, whatever it is."

"Try it," he said, taking a sip from a matching glass. The muscles in his arms rippled
as he effortlessly hoisted himself up onto the counter by the sink so he could sit
and face me.

"Is it whiskey?" I sniffed again, leery of anything that didn't come from a longneck
bottle. Connor could drink me under the table any day. I had learned that fact months
ago. The drink was fragrant and confusing on my senses; oak, pears, chocolate, cloves
and coffee flooded through my nasal membranes. "I've never smelled anything like it."

Connor chuckled and dragged a hand across his open mouth. "Oh, I'm sure you haven't.
This is a very rare drink, my dear."

I leaned forward over the glass, inhaling its complex aroma once more. "But, it
is
a whiskey, right?"

He laughed again, leisurely sipping from his glass. "Taste it, and then I'll tell
you what it is," he said with a wink.

Raising the tumbler to my lips, I let only a dribble of the liquid onto my tongue;
almost sure I would hate it. The smoothness of it surprised me so I opened my mouth
to let in more. With a slow swallow, the sweetness of it warmed my tongue before the
bitter oak and chocolate hit the back of my mouth. Heat erupted inside my throat as
the drink went down.

Peering up at Connor with one of my eyes squeezed shut I managed to squeak out a few
words before coughing, "Yeah, that's good stuff."

He reached behind him and carefully grabbed a tall bottle with a faded red label and
jumped off the counter before setting it down between us. I leaned forward to read
the dusty label out loud. "
Glenfiddich, Rare Collection, 1937
…is that the year?"

"Yep." He laughed when my eyes widened and my mouth dropped open.

"Where'd you find it?"

"In one of the big houses on our last Julian trip. Jacks and I hit the jackpot in
this dude's wine cellar. I brought back a few things. This bottle I planned to save
for a special occasion but then I realized the man that owned it probably thought
the same thing and yet, there it stayed, locked behind a glass cabinet door with a
bunch of other rare shit. You know, I think only sixty-something bottles of this are
out there. You can only find them in Auctions now." His eyes glazed over as he realized
what he said. "I mean, before. Whatever, it's a rare whiskey, this is." He sipped
from his glass again and pushed mine closer to my hand.

"It's not bad. But may I ask - why'd you pull it out now?"

"What? You’re thinking I planned on getting you drunk enough to promise to stay here
in the mountains with the rest of us. And not go riding into the sunset on the back
of a horse you don't know, spending a week traveling to one of the most dangerous
cities in the country?" The sharp edge to his voice betrayed the smile on his face.

"That's exactly what I was thinking," I said, sipping from my glass. I couldn't help
but wince from the heat.

"And, I take it you came down here dressed like that in order to convince
me
to let you go?"

"Well, two for two. A smart one you are." I rose my tumbler up. His eyes roamed freely
over my shirt, pausing over the material that was stretched across my breasts. "Is
it working?" I asked with my most seductive smile.

"Maybe, I'll tell you later. We're about to have company." With a nod, he gestured
outside and I turned to see the rest of the group walking up the trail to our cabin
steps.

"I hope you plan on sharing your whiskey find with the others." I said with a laugh
while Zoey met Winchester at the door, all tail wags and jumpy paws.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" Connor waved the group in and smirked as I crossed an
arm casually over my breasts.

"I'll be right back," I said as I waved at the others. I took the stairs up two at
a time, hoping the other men weren't staring at my backside as I ran from the room.
My plan had backfired.
That's okay,
I thought,
there's always a Plan B. And Connor will eventually have to come upstairs and climb
into bed with me.

***

Connor was still drinking with the other men well past one in the morning. The rare
bottle of
Glenfiddich
had been a treat for them, especially Skip, who wasn't much of a drinker but did
enjoy the occasional snifter of whiskey. The bottle was gone in less than an hour
and the men had moved on to another amber-colored liquid that I stayed clear of. By
the time I dragged myself upstairs, I was more than ready for sleep.

When my head hit the pillow, the weight of my eyelids multiplied exponentially and
rather than struggle to keep them open, I submitted to my body's call for sleep. My
last conscious thought was about Connor and how I was going to convince him to get
on one of the horses as soon as they were ready to ride.

It was the change in the air around the bed that roused me from a dreamless sleep.
I heard the curtain from one of the windows drag across the windowsill and sensed
its movement as it fluttered up against the glass. I lifted my head, my vision still
blurry and smiled up at the face peering down at me.

"Connor…did you get enough to drink tonight?" I mumbled.

The face leaned forward slightly and I felt the mattress give a little as his elbows
pressed into the bed. A chill ran along my cheek, travelling down the side of my face
and crawled around to the back of my neck, lifting the small hairs that ran along
my spine. The sensation made me shudder and I bolted upright and away from the man
kneeling on the worn, wooden floor next to where I had been sleeping.

It wasn't Connor.

***

Connor stumbled up the stairs, half-laughing and half-grimacing as the drink he'd
poured eagerly down his throat threatened to resurface with each step he took up to
the second landing. For the first time since Fin, he was happily drunk, without a
care in the world. And so was Winchester, who was sprawled out on the living room
sofa, and Jacks, who was helped back to the cabin next door by Skip, where a pregnant
Ana waited.

He giggled, not bothering to cover his mouth while he passed Kris's dark bedroom as
the image of Ana came mind. She would be pissed to see Jacks indisposed and unable
to wait on her. The tongue-lashing she would give the man would be epic and Connor
was more than bummed that he would not be there to hear it.

After precariously weaving down the hallway, he finally made it to the room he shared
with Riley. He was surprised to see a crack of light coming from the underside of
the closed door and he pushed on it until the heavy wood creaked inward. Riley sat
on the mattress, pillows clutched to her chest with her back pressed into the bedframe.
She didn't look at him as he nosily entered their bedchambers, tugging at his shirt
with one hand and the buttons of his jeans with the other.