Half Pass

He looks good on a horse, but it’s hard to love a man with a big ego and a small alibi.

Paul King’s inheritance is named Serenity Stables, but for him it’s far from serene. He has one plan for the crumbling facility: unload it as fast as possible. But two months on the market, and he’s still mucking stalls and dreaming of his old life back in San Francisco. It doesn’t help that he seems to have misplaced a horse. Not just any horse—Tux, a million-dollar Warmblood who, despite lacking opposable thumbs, has an Olympic medal to its name. So does its Brazilian trainer, Estevan Souza, a man whose darkly sexual, smoldering glances almost make Paul forget his horse phobia. Intriguing as Paul finds Estevan, distractions are piling up. The boarders are picky. The arena roof is leaking. His drunken cousin is wreaking havoc. Tux’s owners are threatening to sue. On top of that, a bucket of blood points to possible murder. Suddenly, Estevan’s glances are looking more suspicious than sinful. And, if Paul can’t come up with a plan to save Tux, he could lose not only his chance with Estevan, but his life.

Warning: Includes beautiful horses, men in tight breeches, murderers, horse thieves, Olympic champions, cowboy hats, anal sex, broken dreams, and the conquering of traumatic childhood fears.

eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. Samhain Publishing, Ltd. 577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520 Macon GA 31201 Half Pass Copyright © 2011 by Astrid Amara ISBN: 978-1-60928-333-9 Edited by Anne Scott Cover by Kanaxa All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: January 2011 www.samhainpublishing.com

Half Pass Astrid Amara

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my past and present equine friends: Angus, Murphy, Cynder, and Triston. It’s a good thing none of you can read or you’d sue me.

Riding a horse is not a gentle hobby, to be picked up and laid down like a game of solitaire. It is a grand passion. It seizes a person whole and once it has done so, he will have to accept that his life will be radically changed. —Ralph Waldo Emerson

Chapter One

As I mucked out the eleventh stall of the morning, I realized that my life had tumbled down to resemble the very thing I now spent all my time cleaning up—horse shit. After all, two months prior I had been a respectable accounts manager at a successful accounting firm in downtown San Francisco, and I had an income roomy enough to accommodate weekend flights to New York City, frequent tasting menus, and still have cash left over to pay for my ridiculously priced apartment in Cow Hollow. Office work suited me—my face looked better framed by computer screen than by pitchfork. But that’s what happens. Life takes a dump, and you scoop it up and move on. First the company downsized. Me. Me in particular. Seems like I was the sole recipient of the downsizing effort. It could have had something to do with the incredible shrinking number of clients in the financial world. Or my explosive breakup with my coworker after six years of lies. He was my boss, did I mention that? In any case, I was yet another victim of the recession. Job gone, there was no way I could continue paying my astronomical rent, and I was looking toward a bleak future of couch surfing, or worse, the suburbs. Then my Aunt Beth died. The news was a blow. Beth had been my favorite relative, in that she was the first one who figured out I was gay, she was the one who taught me how to ride horses, and she was the only one who agreed with me that my father was a consummate asshole. To compound my grief, subsequent documentation revealed that I, Paul King, had just inherited her run-down, sprawling equestrian boarding facility erroneously titled Serenity Stables. The place came equipped with twenty-eight boarders, a collapsing indoor arena, mud-ravaged paddocks, and a business model that brought in a whopping forty-five dollars per month of profits. And now the responsibility for it was all mine. My best friends Laura and Jim reminded me I didn’t have to move back to my hometown of Lynden, Washington and oversee the stables. They pointed out that I could easily sell the property from San Francisco, and continue to apply for one of the dwindling number of corporate accounting positions in the city, and downsize to a less charming apartment.

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But I felt I owed it to Beth to take over Serenity, at least until a new owner could be found. After all, she practically raised me. While my family was cursing my nature, she silently tucked me under her wing. For her sake, I would see the business she had invested her heart and soul into for over thirty years respectfully sold to the highest bidder. So I said farewell to Laura and Jim, and fine dining and the Bay view, swapped my umbrellas for hoodies and packed an extra pair of hiking boots. Two days later I found myself just shy of the Canadian border in the small town of Lynden, Washington. And two months later, For Sale sign generating zero interest, here I was, mucking out eighteen horse stalls as I had every single morning since I’d arrived, and fervently wishing I had listened to my friends’ advice. “Morning, boss!” My employee, Stacy Lopez, trounced into the barn in sweatpants, cowboy boots, and a cut-off halter top with the word cowgirl bedazzled across her chest. “Good morning.” I wiped the sweat from my forehead. It wasn’t even nine and I was already baking. Every once in a while, the Pacific Northwest decided to defy its reputation and churn out a real scorcher of a summer day. This was made all the worse by the fact that no one owned air conditioners, let alone screen doors. I would be suffering until dark. “You left the main gate open last night when you left,” I told Stacy, pausing from my most recent shovel of waste material to give her a stern look. “Oh, jeez!” Stacy wasn’t stoned yet, so she could appear genuinely chastised. “I’m sorry!” “Just be careful,” I said, though I knew it wasn’t much use. Stacy was a hard worker but forgetful, and in my brief time as barn manager, she’d forgotten to lock stall doors twice and hadn’t shut the main gate every other evening. Still, it was hard to find good farm help these days—especially when you yourself didn’t know anything. “So where are we?” she asked. “We have three more horses to turn out.” “Cool.” I disagreed, but didn’t say so. I left my stall half-finished and went to Chival, who had been slow eating his grain that morning, but was now impatient to be freed. Stacy was able to take two horses out at once, but I considered it too risky to try that trick. Regardless of the fact that these horses walked the same exact route twice a day, every day, year in and year out, they still always found something vaguely horse-consuming-shaped lurking in the corners of the property. It was the ultimate irony of horses; they were big enough to pummel a grown man to death in seconds, and yet a random flying plastic bag was a bottomless pit of horror.

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I turned Chival loose in one of the paddocks, and he swiveled, kicked in the general direction of my head, then ran off in an explosive display of anger and power. Two seconds later, he found the pile of hay I had left him and came to a grinding halt, and that was the end of his display of machismo for the morning. I returned to the barn to take out the last of the morning horses, Romeo, who had been left behind simply because I hated turning him out and always put it off to the last possible moment. As I walked down the central aisle of the stable, which separated the stalls from the indoor arena, I heard the sound of bending metal, and an explosion of water shot out from a middle stall, followed by a panicked whinny. I raced down the aisle. Romeo was actively trying to break through the doorway. He had ripped his automatic waterer from the wall and the entire stall was rapidly flooding. “You son of a bitch!” I grabbed his halter. Romeo reared up as if to strike and I snapped the end of the lead rope. He settled all four hooves back on the ground but still weaved around the stall, agitated. I quickly buckled his halter on and opened the door, stepping out the way as he burst into the main aisle. “Settle down,” I commanded, jerking him back by the lead rope. His eyes were wide and wild and white, and clearly he was freaking out. Stacy kept her distance. “Take it easy,” I told Romeo, lowering my voice. “Come on.” I led him down the aisle. His head was straight up, neck stiff, and he pranced in place with his fear, but my bravado seemed to fool him. He followed me outside without pulling away. I turned him out in his paddock, switched off the water main, and smiled at Stacy as I walked past the entrance to the barn and up the stairs to the attached clubhouse. I beelined for the bathroom, locked the door and spent a good five minutes forcing myself not to throw up. Fear, deep-seated and physical, wracked my body and played havoc with my heart rate. I looked in the mirror and saw a shadow of my true self. I lifted my right arm and stared through the mirror at the scar that ran from armpit to elbow. A surgeon had given me that, along with several metallic enhancements to hold the shattered pieces of my humerus together. But that hadn’t been the worst part of my riding accident. Years of strength training and running had helped me recover from the severity of my fall, but any time I even looked at a horse my body remembered what it had felt like as my pelvis broke into two. This delightful trip down memory lane was a depressing detour, and I needed to change directions before I got lost in my fears completely. I took a quick shower, and by the time I reemerged clean, I felt markedly better.

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I gave myself a quick once-over to make sure none of my anxiety lingered in my expression. As I did, I had to admit that two months of hard labor at the barn had done my body a world of good. At six feet, I tended to look thin. Now muscles moved with definition under my pale skin, and I spent a few minutes admiring my stomach, my bigger thighs and my broadening chest. At least I had my health. And my hair, which got blonder every second I worked outside. This made my eyes look even bluer. I struck another pose. A shame this was wasted in the boonies of Lynden. Maybe Kevin wouldn’t have gone for those other guys if I had looked like this before— No. I wasn’t going down that memory hole. Dark and little oxygen in there, and a lot of self-loathing oozing from jagged walls. I changed back into my work clothes quickly and returned to the main building. Stacy raised her eyebrows at my wet hair, but I didn’t offer any explanations and set to work fixing Romeo’s waterer. It seemed important to hide my absolute terror of horses from the boarders and staff, because nothing dropped a person’s confidence in a stable than a manager frightened by his business. The place had to stay busy and successful if it was ever going to sell, so as I worked in Romeo’s stall, I smiled and chatted with the boarders, offering no hint of the fact that I wanted to be anywhere else at that moment. After all, this whole running-a-huge-stable business was a real pain in the ass. It meant dealing with two-dozen clients who believed my entire existence was to serve the needs of their beloved animals. And these weren’t people to mess with. These were the kind of people who rode around on thousand-pound beasts as a pastime. These were crazy people. I had picked up on that a little when I had lived here as a teenager, but as an adult, I now saw that horse people were quantifiably insane. They spent hours grooming their horses, then drove off with hay sticking out of their bras. They thought navigating the interstate was scary business but proceeded to jump five-foot fences on a green horse without a helmet. And they spent money. Bottomless piles of money. But not on me. The stable barely covered its expenses, let alone turned any form of profit. It seemed that the trainer Beth had on retainer, some hotshot Brazilian dressage champion, got most of the money. So did the breeders and the horse acupuncturists and the equine chiropractors and the custom saddle fitters. This endless stream of cash flowed every direction except mine. I got four hundred dollars a month for each horse. And the amount of work that was expected of me for this sum would have been hilarious if it wasn’t backbreaking. After all, I used to make four hundred dollars in four hours sitting in front of a computer in an airconditioned office building, staring at numbers and clicking my mouse a few times.

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Now, in order to earn that same four hundred dollars, I spent thirty days, rain or shine, mucking stalls, mixing grains, throwing hay, turning the horses out into gale-force winds, blowing the aisle, marking out food requirements, fixing fences, scooping paddock manure, bringing the horses back in when it rained, feeding dinner—and returning the next morning to do it all again. And all of that was done to the tune of constant complaining. Someone’s horse wasn’t getting enough sunlight in his paddock. Someone else’s needed a different food supplement. This stall mat was uneven. On and on. How the hell had Beth stood these people? To Beth’s credit, by establishing Serenity Stables as a professional sport-horse-training barn, she had attracted some of the finest equestrian athletes in the state. The list of accomplishments of these horses was phenomenal. One of them, After Eight, had won a Silver Medal at the Sydney Olympic Games and was overall champion at the 2008 FEI World Cup Dressage. Two other horses in the stable had qualified for the World Equestrian Games and another was in training to be ridden by last year’s second-place rider at the Pan American Games. It was just too bad that the finest horses seemed to come packaged with the crappiest people. “The wash rack is only producing hot water,” one of the boarders told me, standing over me with her arms crossed, riding crop in her hands. I looked up from where I was kneeling in two inches of wet water, shavings and manure. “I turned off the water main,” I told her. “Well, I need to wash Evita.” “It’ll be a minute. As you can see, I’m in the middle of fixing a problem here.” The young woman beat the crop against her thigh in agitation and walked away. How did an eighteenyear-old girl who weighed as much as my left leg manage to look so intimidating? Christ. Clearly the fact I had my real estate agent stick a For Sale sign in the driveway was not enough of a hint to these boarders that this wasn’t a labor of love for me. This was just labor. Luckily, my only other employee, Leah Fredrickson, came in at that moment and decided to help. I liked Leah, she seemed grounded. She was a boarder but did Stacy’s job cleaning stalls on weekends as a way to pay off part of her board. At first I thought she was a “normal” like me, with logical financial priorities, but early on she admitted she worked every weekend of her entire adult life so that she could afford more lessons with our esteemed trainer. “Estevan is amazing,” Leah had told me when we first met. “Watching him on horseback is like watching water dance.” I had simply smiled and made a mental note not to enlist any of my boarders in poetry contests. I’d heard a lot about this amazing Estevan Souza the first two months I was there. He was from Rio de Janeiro but had settled here to compete on the international circuit. It seemed like half the women at the

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barn were in love with him, and the other half hated his guts. He sounded like a prima donna. He sounded rich and assholish. The fact that he was South American conjured images of extreme machismo, testosterone oozing out of his pores, but I never got to confirm my vision because the bastard was gone, giving a series of riding clinics along the west coast for a whopping grand per appearance. I would have liked to meet the man who was making five times the amount of money I was by using my barn and my clients, but oh no. I was stuck in Lynden, mucking out stalls. Leah and I quickly stripped Romeo’s stall and got the mats outside to dry in the sun. As I got to work repairing the broken waterer, I noticed the strut of a man walking down the aisle. Normally a man’s stride wouldn’t have stuck out, but on this all-female planet that was the barn, it caught my attention. I saw it was my cousin Collin, no doubt fresh from stumbling over the fence which separated our properties. Collin was a drunk at the best of times, and a threat at the worst. We hadn’t been close as kids, and since his mother’s death, our relationship had soured. He had been openly hostile toward me at Beth’s funeral, and when he learned he had only inherited the house and I had inherited the stable, he no longer hid his insults behind innuendo. The fact that his house was worth more than the stable, and involved a lot less work, was lost on him, as well as the fact that I now had to live in the loft of the barn clubhouse, stuffing my meager belongings in a six-by-eight crawlspace. Yet somehow he was the one who’d been shafted. Collin walked toward me like a man who either lacked bendable joints or still had his drink on. He wore an unappealing eighties blue tunic with three buttons at the neck, a pair of khaki Dockers, and loafers with tassels without socks. His curly brown hair was quickly going gray at the temples. Even though he was only six years older than me, he looked much worse, years of smoking and drinking and partying while I had spent the same time staying at home, only dreaming of someone taking me out smoking and drinking and partying. “Morning, fucker,” he said. “Nice.” I turned away from him and pounded nails into a scrap piece of wood to hold the water basin up. “Just wanted to let you know…” Collin smirked and put his hands on his hips. “Yeah. Contacted my lawyer.” “Ooh.” “Be ready for a fight, fag.” “Nice alliteration,” I told him. I pounded nails angrily. The noise was loud enough to cause one of the horses in the arena to whinny. “I can’t wait. Thanks for stopping by.” Collin walked away, kicking over the garbage can on his way out the door. “Mature,” I muttered.

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“That man’s chakra is so not aligned,” Stacy said. “Crooked chakra, the silent killer.” I followed her out of the barn, clenching my jaw. His presence on the property always left me on edge. My grain supply disappeared at an unusual rate, which made me suspicious he was sabotaging the barn in the hopes I would leave. Or else I had a serious rat problem. I caught sight of Collin rolling himself clumsily back over the white fence which separated our properties. His expansive lawn had been mowed crookedly with the riding lawn mower Beth bequeathed him. Tall individual blades of grass popped between the rows like hangnails. “I caught him here yesterday, you know,” Stacy said. I frowned. “What time did you see him?” “Around five, just as I was leaving for the night.” “Did he say anything to you?” Stacy rolled her eyes. “He said hello. I mean, I’ve known the guy like forever. But that doesn’t mean I think it’s cool he’s messing with your shit.” “He’s just bitter,” I assured her. “He thinks he should get all the money from this place when I sell it.” “But your aunt gave the stable to you.” “I know. But he doesn’t get why.” For that matter, neither did I. I knew that Beth was a better horsewoman than mother, and that she was putting the welfare of her boarders and horses first, but it probably would have made everyone’s lives easier if she had just given everything to her son. “Well, just so you know, I saw Collin put a load of manure in the back of your pickup,” Stacy told me. I grimaced. Not only at the manure, but at the fact that she referred to Beth’s rusted white truck as mine. White truck was about as far from my dream car as manufactorily possible. “I hope he used his hands to get it in there,” I said, and Stacy giggled. We worked on the stalls together, me doing one side of the aisle, Stacy doing the other. At least I was getting faster the longer I worked at the barn. Now it took me fifteen minutes to clean a stall instead of half an hour. And I had learned many lessons, like don’t build hay walls and never, ever, try to pick a horse’s hoof when they are lifting their tail. Life lessons. Stacy and I finished stalls around noon and I used a blower to clean out the aisle. Then I hopped on the four-wheeler and drove between the paddocks, feeding the horses lunch. Afterwards I headed out to the retirement field to feed the inhabitants their meal. The retirement field was more hospice than herd, but it was a nice way to go for a horse. It was a tenacre field with several run-in sheds, filled with old, lame, and otherwise unridable horses that, for a mere

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three hundred dollars a month, got to spend the rest of their days frolicking, eating vast quantities of my hay, and generally offering no service to the world. Care was minimal. They were left out in the field twenty-four hours a day, and I threw piles of hay everywhere to cut down on hogging. I was supposed to check in and make sure everyone was healthy, present and accounted for. But this was difficult. In some cosmic effort to mock my minimal equestrian know-how, all the horses were chestnut. Every last one of them. All chestnut. Some a slightly redder tone, but for the most part, identical, regardless of age or breed or ownership. Even the white blazes on their faces and stockings looked indistinguishable. And of course they never stood in a nice row for me to inspect. They milled about, freaked out and took off full speed, then screeched at each other and ran back. It was a constant spectacle and so I gave up on observations and simply hurled hay balls at them like an agrarian Zeus. I stopped in the office for aspirin to control one of the seemingly chronic headaches that I’d been getting since inheriting the farm, when the phone rang. I was thrilled to hear my real estate agent Dan Cadwell’s voice on the other end. Nothing would have pleased me more than an offer on the damn property. But he didn’t have good news. “I’m sorry,” Dan said, “I can’t generate any interest as long as you keep the boarding business functioning.” He cleared his throat. “Now, if you would be willing to dismantle Serenity Stables and sell it for the acreage, I’m sure—” “No.” I couldn’t believe I was saying it, but the words dismantle Serenity Stables filled me with fury. “The place is sold as an equestrian facility. That’s final.” There was a long pause on the other end, then Dan sighed loudly. “Okay, buddy, whatever you want. But the horse property market is dead right now. Dead.” “Let’s lower the price,” I said. “Shave 20K off of it.” “At that price, I may have an interested buyer,” Dan said carefully. “But I have to kick out the horses,” I finished for him. “Yeah.” The throb in my temple seemed to be telling me something. It was saying Sell! Sell! with each pulse. But as I glanced at the office wall, at all the framed photographs of Beth and her horses, at schooling events, in the outdoor arena, playing with foals and laughing with her girlfriends, and even a few of sixteen-year-old me holding the reins to some old thoroughbred, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t crush what she had so purposefully left in my care. “The business stays,” I repeated.

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“I’ll drop the list price and be back in touch,” Dan said curtly. He hung up. The phone call worsened my headache. With a throbbing head and crushed real estate dreams, I was in no mood to coddle the wealthiest of our boarders, Mr. Jackson, who complained about the care of his three prized animals as if I spent my free time beating them for pleasure. I finally told him I was too busy to deal with his concerns at the moment and he huffed off. Not a good long-term strategy, I realized. George and Ruth Jackson, and their daughter Chelsea, brought in over three thousand dollars a month. Their champion-level horses received extensive, personal and expensive special care, and without them Serenity Stables would be bankrupt. I started the long process of doling out individual portions of dinner, reading scrawled change orders and misplaced notes of which horse was to get more beet pulp, which got oil, who got supplements and who was off grain entirely. Stacy came in, smacking her gum. “Mr. Amor called this afternoon. He wants After Eight’s hoof supplement increased.” It took me a moment to remember that After Eight was the show name of the horse we just called Tux. Every horse came with three sets of names, which only made managing the barn that much more absurd. It took another moment to realize that Mr. Amor had to be none other that Estevan Souza, the trainer who had won the World Cup finals and the Silver Olympic medal on Tux. Since Tux had retired due to arthritis, Stacy told me Estevan now spent all his time with other horses in training. But apparently he still had enough interest in the old gelding to relay feeding orders from across the country and tell me how to do my job. “Mr. Amor?” I asked, eyebrow rising. Stacy shrugged and blew a bubble. “He thinks he’s the world’s greatest gift to horses or something. He’s kind of stuck up for my tastes.” I nodded, having assumed as much. I looked back at the unassuming giant in the stall closest to the main door. Tux was stunning, at least what I could see under his fly sheet, a dappled gray with smoky markings, and the longest mane in the barn. I had to respect the fact that this animal, who lacked basic reasoning skills, had an Olympic medal and I didn’t. Medal or not, I saw Tux had somehow squirmed halfway out of his covering. This seemed like a perfect excuse for someone like him to trip himself up, freak out and break his neck. It wasn’t the first time Tux had undressed himself. Every time I collected him from his field, he was trailing a blanket strap or two behind him. I slipped into his stall, past the blue ribbons, the framed articles of his championships. In all the photos, a dark-skinned, ruggedly handsome man in top hat and tails offered a blazing white smile. It was

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hard to make out a face from the grainy, sun-faded newspaper photos, but I assumed it was none other than the amazing Estevan himself. I snorted. Tux snorted back. “Funny,” I told him, reaching beneath him to find the buckle that had come loose. Tux was a gentleman. He watched me with soft, interested eyes and gave my neck a small nuzzle before returning to his hay. I got his fly sheet attached and scratched his neck. He blew air at me with a lazy expression. A spark triggered in my heart. A part of me warmed. The part of me that used to love horses, used to love the smell of them, the feel of riding them, the play of kindness and strength and drama. But then my back ached with the memory of months of immobility, and I remembered the cost, the effort, and most of all, the heartache, and so I dumped his grain and his new allotment of supplements in his bucket, closed his stall and walked away. There was no sense getting attached to horses if I was going to sell the barn anyway. As I finished my chores, the barn emptied out and a cool evening air settled over the property. I was bone-weary and my hands were shaking from exertion. Regardless of how many pushups I did or how many hills I ran back in San Francisco, I had never been as tired as I was working here, a full-bodied ache that sank through the muscles and settled on my bones. But the contented silence eased some of my lingering frustrations with my situation. A few of the horses looked up at me as I walked by and some nickered a greeting; others munched on their hay. Bonsai, the youngest of the horses, was lying down on his side and snoring loudly. As I passed Tux’s stall, I noticed he’d once again managed to get half-undressed. He was like Houdini with his fly sheet. Tux looked at me and I looked back, shaking my head. The sheet was half-off his body, held on only by the leg straps. I moved to fix it when I heard something smash to the ground outside. I ran down the aisle and turned just in time to catch Collin with a pry bar, trying to break open my office window. The screen lay broken on the porch where he’d dropped it. “You son of a bitch!” I shouted. The horses in the retirement field nickered. Collin backed down the porch stairs, away from the window, dropping his pry bar on the way. He stopped in the gravel driveway with heavy eyelids and a noticeable tilt. He was drunk, very drunk. His coordination had to be off—advantage Paul—and he was shorter than me—another plus—but he had a violent streak on his side, and I’d never hit anything, let alone another person. “You’re fucking…everything…up,” he slurred, glaring hostilely. “Go home to fucking…” There was a pause as Collin tried to conjure the place I came from. Which was, of course, right here.

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I stood between him and the clubhouse. “I tried being nice for Beth’s sake, but now you’re just a petty fucking thief. I’m calling the police, and I’m getting a restraining order. The second you step foot on my property again you’re going to jail.” Collin punched me in the face. Shock and pain exploded through me as I fell backward onto the gravel. Being punched isn’t like it is in the movies. It’s not something you grunt through and get over. It floored me, literally. There was the dull smash of bone and flesh and a vibration which shook my entire head. I hadn’t expected the punch, but I was prepared for the aftermath. Collin kicked at my kidney. I curled into a protective ball. As he pulled back his foot to try again, I grabbed his ankle and yanked him down. He hit the ground hard. Adrenaline flooded me as I scrambled to my feet. My head was dizzy with the blow and blood filled my nose. Collin rose to his feet faster than I expected. I charged him, leading with my shoulder, and slammed him into the side of the barn. His head snapped back and banged against the corrugated metal. “Cocksucker,” he slurred. I swung back my fist and hit his jaw. The shock of impact bolted down my arm, but seemed to do little to Collin other than piss him off further. He yelled out, grabbed my shirt and tried to throw me into the wall instead. Instinct took over. I struck at Collin, barely dodging another blow. Both of us shouted insults as we crashed together. Collin managed to slam the side of my head against the wall with astounding force. My vision blanked for a moment, and when I looked up, I saw a shadow had stepped between us. The shadow resolved into the form of a giant man, arms out, separating us. He glared at me, looking ready to kill. “This stops now.”

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Chapter Two

From behind the intruder, I saw Collin right himself and wipe his lip. I was glad to see I had drawn blood. But the man who had interrupted our fight looked less than pleased. He glared at me with an expression and body stance that told me he would have absolutely no problem crushing me to a pulp if I so much as lifted a finger toward Collin. The man’s size was intimidating. We were the same height but it would take two of me to fill out that chest, and his arms shared the circumference of my head. But for all the strength of his arms and chest, his face was graceful and soft, with large, light-brown eyes and long lashes. He had high cheekbones and dark, arching eyebrows. His skin was a warm brown, and his jet black hair was rustled, wild and sweaty as if he’d just been working out. He had the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow across his cheeks. Collin’s face contorted in rage. “Get out of the way! I’m going to kill that fag.” The insult slid icily through my mind, and the other man’s expression darkened instantly. “Fuck off,” he said. He had a very slight accent—slight enough that I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been fascinated by the gravelly lowness of his voice. Collin spat at us. “Fuck you both!” He wavered on the spot, eyes blurry with inebriation. I lunged toward him but was stopped by the intruder. Collin ran from the barn. I jerked away from the other man, breathing heavily, ignoring the pulsing in my face to watch Collin stumble over the fence that separated our properties and melt into the darkness. Finally, when Collin had fully disappeared out of sight, the man turned to face me. He gave me a searching glance, studying me as if I were a new species of night creature, fascinating and grotesque. I wiped at the blood running from my nose and instantly regretted it. A bolt of pain shot through my head at the contact. “Tilt your head back,” the man ordered. He immediately pushed his fingers through my hair and guided my head back, cradling my neck. “It doesn’t look broken,” he told me. I could feel his breath on my face. His low, gravelly voice sunk into the pit of my stomach. “Who the fuck are you?” I mumbled, adrenaline still coursing through me. I pulled away, still pissed the man had broken up our fight.

Half Pass

The man let go of me and took a step back. I’d managed to get blood all over his white shirt, but that was his fault—who wears white to a horse barn? The corner of his mouth rose slightly. “Estevan.” He didn’t bother to use his last name or explain he was the trainer. He just assumed I would know him. Which of course, I did. To say “I’ve heard of you” would have been an understatement. This was the man the riders at the barn were gaga over. Their Olympic champion. The star of every horse-training video in Brazil, the man who graced the cover of February’s Dressage Today. But I had just been punched in the nose and was feeling like a bit of an asshole. “Who?” He frowned. I could see why the women admired him. He was gorgeous. I never imagined myself falling for the dark-skinned, exotic type, but his tousled black hair and powerful thighs tucked in tight breeches were making me feel nonconsensually attracted. He had beautiful, golden brown eyes, but the beauty was hardened with sharp cheekbones and a small white scar across his eyebrow. “I was Beth Clark’s trainer,” he said. “She was a remarkable woman.” He looked like he meant it, so I relented. “Paul King.” “Beth’s nephew, yes? I’ve heard about you.” What had he heard? There was a sarcastic smirk on his mouth, which suggested what he’d been told was unflattering. “What happened?” He fell in step with me. His strides were graceful, athletic, and he made me feel clumsy, clutching a busted nose and with a back that felt like someone had just kicked it. Which, come to think of it, someone had. “Collin tried to break into my office.” I walked up the steps to the clubhouse. “What are you doing here so late? It’s nine o’clock.” Estevan cocked his head toward the barn. “Cosmo’s left hock was swollen before I left for my tour, and I wanted to check on him as soon as I had a free moment.” “I didn’t see another car in the driveway.” “I rode my Ducati.” It took me a second to translate “Ducati” into “extremely expensive motorcycle”. I was tempted to go look at his bike, but the blood drying on my face reminded me of the pressing task at hand. I stumbled on the porch step and Estevan reached out to steady me. “Why would he be breaking and entering?” “I had the locks on the office changed when I took over,” I told him. “Maybe he wanted to steal something, or break my computer. Who knows? The guy is trying to sabotage the barn.” I leaned the broken screen window against the side of the building.

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Estevan opened the door to the clubhouse for me. “If he starts stealing from boarders, they’re going to leave.” “I know.” I beelined for the bathroom. “I’ll get a restraining order to keep him off the property.” Estevan followed me inside. As I rinsed my face, I wished he wasn’t there, because I nearly whimpered from the pain and couldn’t since he loomed in the doorway. “Are you back in town for the season?” I blotted my face with a towel and bit back a curse at the pain. When I looked up, Estevan was studying me again, in that way that suggested either he was checking me out or sizing me up for a punch. I’d had enough punches for one evening, so I let myself momentarily fantasize that it was the former. “Yes,” he said, his eyes settling on mine. He didn’t smile, but he looked at me intently. “I’ve got a lot of training to catch up with.” “Well, it’ll be good to have another man around the place.” The corner of his mouth quirked up slightly. “I like being surrounded by so many women.” “I’m sure you do,” I mumbled, heading to the office. The window was scratched from where Collin had pried loose the screen, but nothing else had been disturbed. The office was small, only a desk, several file cabinets, and a large bulletin board. But in the corner I had stuffed all my clothes, since the loft up the narrow stairs was too small to fit anything other than a bed. I found my last clean T-shirt, and realized I needed to stop at a Laundromat. And apparently buy surveillance equipment. Not to mention go grocery shopping, which I hadn’t done in a week. I’d never lived a lifestyle where food purchase, preparation and consumption wasn’t something integral and enjoyable, but here I found I had no time to eat, let alone cook. As I changed Estevan watched me carefully from the doorway, as if any moment I might burst into flame. “I think you should have your nose checked out,” he advised. I shook my head. “The last thing I need is a medical bill a week before we run out of shavings.” He didn’t dispute my logic. Like my weekend helper, Leah, even I was now pricing priorities in horseconomics. “Then how about a beer?” Estevan asked, eyebrow rising. “I’ll buy.” I nearly made a snide remark saying he’d better, considering he made three times off the boarders what I did. But he gave me another confusing look, and I began to suspect this was a pickup. If so, I didn’t want to ruin it. It had been months since I’d done anything with anybody, and the idea of getting laid by this strong, handsome stranger sounded like the perfect ending to what had otherwise been a shitty day. I smiled. “All right.” “Good. You drive, I’ll change.” He turned away and walked out of the clubhouse.

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Chapter Three

Estevan and I shared a dark booth in the corner of O’Shaughnessy’s, a bar on the outskirts of Lynden. The way Estevan sat at the bar suggested he’d spent a lot of time in that seat, molding that perfect ass into those old vinyl cushions. He smelled like horses, but at the moment he looked more like a cowboy than a dressage trainer. And although his tight breeches had done a remarkable job of showing his strong thighs, and the tall leather boots had given him an air of authority, I think I preferred this, rugged jeans and an old brown belt, dusty work boots, and a plain blue button-down shirt, showing a hint of chest hair which probably wouldn’t have been on display if I hadn’t bled all over his white T-shirt. He even wore a cowboy hat, which seemed a little superfluous, even for Lynden. But it helped him blend in, which was more than could be said for my own appearance. Despite Estevan’s dark skin and accent, he looked at home, thousands of miles from his own native land, and I looked and felt like a stranger. After all, Lynden was the same place it had been when I was a kid, the city that proudly claimed to be the inspiration for the movie Footloose. My unsupportive parents had moved to the Midwest years ago, but that didn’t change the fact that Lynden was still politically far from the community I had chosen to live in. After all, I had just moved from a neighborhood flapping with rainbow flags to a landscape marred with an Adam and Eve NOT Adam and Steve billboard. When I had been growing up there, Lynden held the record for the highest ratio of churches-per-capita in the United States. It was home to Christian Reformed, Dutch Reformed, Mennonites, Methodists, Baptists, Lutherans, and more Christian Reformed. Mega-churches lined the state highways like Costcos for heaven. If Catholics shied from this place, what on earth were the prospects for a homosexual like me? It was odd, feeling alien in one’s hometown, but that was what Lynden was like for me—a familiar yet foreign world that was doing quite fine without me, thank you very much. And I wasn’t going to fly under anyone’s radar either. After all, they all watched American Idol. What chance did I have, with my fancy San Francisco haircut, mucking out stalls in my Prada boots? And yet here was the real irony. Estevan Souza, as far removed from being a Lynden native as possible, sat at a local bar and looked not only like he belonged, but completely comfortable with the idea of belonging. It just went to prove what Beth once told me: home isn’t a place as much as an idea. You find the location where your ideas fit, and you call that home.

Astrid Amara

Estevan held his beer and studied me owlishly. He didn’t smile a lot, I noticed. “I saw the for-sale sign,” he said. I found myself staring at those large hands of his and had to pull myself out of my daydreaming to nod. “I’m not a stable manager. I can get by for the next few months, but it isn’t what I’m trained to do.” “What are you trained to do?” He said it mockingly, like I was a performing monkey. “I’ve got an MBA from Stanford,” I told him. He didn’t move a muscle. “Master of Business Administration?” I explained, but he still seemed unimpressed. “It’s a degree that—” “I know what it is, I just don’t see what it’s worth.” “Well, I’ve worked the last six years for a very reputable accounting firm and I have a strong skill set managing venture-capitalist portfolios that—” “Do you always style your hair like that?” Estevan interrupted. “No.” I quickly swallowed a gulp of my beer to hide my embarrassment. “I…sometimes I forget I’m not in the city.” “It looks good on you,” he added. I stared into my beer, trying to get my shit under control. When I looked up he was eyeing me with a smirk. He was clearly playing with me. I wasn’t taking the bait. “I’m just not a stable manager,” I said, ignoring the tangent. “I’m an accounts manager.” “Do you enjoy that?” I shrugged. “It has its moments.” “Maybe you’ll enjoy stable management.” I snorted into my beer. “Not likely. I like using my mind.” As soon as I said it, I realized my comment insulted anyone in the horse business and glanced up apologetically. But Estevan narrowed his eyes. “So you’re not going to respect your aunt’s wishes.” “I…what?” I asked, startled. Estevan shrugged but didn’t respond. “What I choose to do is none of your business,” I told him, angered by his reaction. Although I was also surprised he knew enough about Beth’s motives to say such a thing. Beth had been an intensely private person, with only a select few privy to her feelings and fears. The fact that she had shared with Estevan her decision to give Serenity Stables to me, and that her wishes involved my participation in its future, meant she had trusted Estevan. Like vertigo, my grief at the loss of Beth swept over me. It must have shown. Estevan’s glare softened. “I was very fond of your aunt. She was an amazing woman.” “Yeah.” I quickly drank my beer. Amazing wasn’t the half of it.

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Half Pass

When I was sixteen, I had been publicly outed, and my father’s subsequent statement that I was “dead to him” meant that my most personal secret got out in the worst way. Going to school had been torture. That was when Beth, my mother’s estranged, eccentric, divorced sister took me in. The city of Lynden buzzed about the scandal, but she turned a deaf ear to it all, creating a shelter for me at Serenity Stables. After one particularly shitty day at school she didn’t say a word, she just grabbed my arm, dragged me out to the barn and put me on top of her old quarter horse, Ramses. I stayed there for the next two years. I competed in regional shows, and I helped longe her horses and bring them in from the fields. I was entrenched in the horse universe, and it became a way to escape the painful reality of the world outside the farm gates. Serenity Stables was a safety zone, a place full of people and animals who didn’t judge me on my orientation, only on my riding ability. Of course, the accident shattered that illusion as magnificently as it had shattered my arm and hip. I didn’t say any of this to Estevan, who stared at me with a look of concentration. “I’m not going to let Serenity Stables go to just anyone.” I felt the need to justify my decision to sell. “I won’t sell it for the land. I’m keeping it as a boarding facility. But it deserves someone who knows how to run an equestrian center, and I’m not qualified.” “You have kept it afloat for two months,” he pointed out. “Afloat isn’t the best word to use. More like drowning with one nostril above the water.” “It’s good to have someone with more financial know-how running the place. Beth wasn’t good with numbers.” As he said it, a small smile lit Estevan’s face. He really was ruggedly handsome. I smiled back, enjoying the view. “True. When I was a kid I could get any allowance out of her by wowing her with fractions.” I shook my head. “But it isn’t mismanagement that is making Serenity suffer. It’s the realities of operating a horse stable during a recession.” “So, it’s hard.” His smile was gone. “That doesn’t seem like a good reason to quit.” “I don’t like horses.” He must have seen through that. “Bullshit.” “It’s true. The barn has a lot of bad memories. I don’t want to own it. End of story. You want to call me a coward? Fine, call me a coward. I don’t give a shit.” “The man I saw beating up Collin wasn’t a coward.” “I wasn’t beating him up, I was defending myself.” I was riled again. “The guy broke into my house, punched me in the face and called me a cocksucker.” Estevan went very still. “I have the right to fucking defend myself, and I’m not going to let anyone push me around just because I’m different.”

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Astrid Amara

Estevan didn’t say anything. “Until the place sells, it’s my responsibility and my home, and I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks, including cousins, boarders, or anyone else in this fucking backwater of a town.” “Good to know.” He downed the last of his beer and held up his empty glass for another. “That goes for you too. Until it sells, we’ve got to get along. If we can pretend to be civil, then—” “I wasn’t joking, your hair really does look good.” I opened my mouth but he just went on, oblivious to my surprise. “But the best way to avoid confrontations in a community like this is to blend in, and you aren’t going to if you keep fashioning yourself like you are headed for the runway,” he considerately informed me. “Thanks. I’ll try for a rodeo style next. Or maybe something more Dutch Reform.” Estevan nodded to the waitress when she came with his beer. “I have no intention of blending in,” I informed him as soon as she left. “I don’t plan on sticking around long enough for that to matter.” “I think Lynden is beautiful.” “Yeah. It’s fucking gorgeous. I don’t have a problem with the way it looks. I’m more concerned about the fact that it’s on the top-ten list of worst places for a guy to meet a guy.” The corner of Estevan’s mouth quirked up at that, the only acknowledgement of my orientation that I apparently was going to get. “Still, there’s a lot going for this town,” he said. “Yeah? Is that why you moved here from Rio de Janeiro? Was it for the diverse culture? The nightlife?” “I moved here because several wealthy Americans are willing to finance the training of their champion-level horses and give me a shot for a gold medal.” He looked around the bar. “But I’ve grown accustomed to Lynden.” “Many of the locals probably don’t even know where Brazil is, you realize.” “Most think I’m Mexican.” “Must be the Portuguese.” “Yeah. That and the black hair.” He was smiling now, and looking at me warmly again. “Have you eaten at Dutch Mothers?” I nodded. “You know, something about the combination of pannekoeken and Christ quotes in the bathroom makes me feel out of my depths.” He laughed again, and I liked his laugh—low and dark, like his voice, but with a genuine ring of contentment to it. “So you are renting a place in town, then?” he asked. “I’m living at the stables.”

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Half Pass

He scowled at that. “Where?” “In the loft above the office. You saw me change,” I reminded him. “I thought you left a set of clothes there, that’s all.” He shook his head. “There’s not much space in the loft.” “Enough for a bed. The problem is that I now drink my coffee out of equestrian-themed mugs, and share a bathroom with over a dozen women.” Estevan laughed. I continued. “I’ve learned to shave very quickly. And after being politely, passive-aggressively reamed for leaving the seat up one time, I’m becoming housetrained.” “I wonder why Beth didn’t give you the house as well.” I shrugged. “She had to give Collin something. He is her son, after all.” “He is a worthless drunk who has done nothing but burden Beth’s life.” “So why did you stop me from hitting him in the face?” I said, laughing. Estevan shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe you should have. But I didn’t know who you were, what he was doing, or what was going on. I just got back, remember? And I was in a foul mood myself.” “Why, what’s wrong with Cosmo?” “What?” He frowned. “Cosmo,” I repeated. “You said you came out to check his hock. Is he all right?” I liked Cosmo. He was like a lot of Warmbloods, massive and showy and a bit of a dumb jock, but he was easy to turn out and very tidy in his stall, which was more than could be said for Romeo, or some of the other fancy bastards at the barn. “Cosmo is exceptional,” Estevan said, a weird, dreamy look overtaking his expression that reminded me a little of the teenage girls at the barn when talking about their ponies. We ordered a plate of fries and he told me about Brazil, and moving out here. Lynden wasn’t where most major equestrian dreams came true, but he used it as a training base while he travelled the world and showed. “It’s expensive, entering international competitions,” Estevan told me, “and so I need sponsors. I have several here in Washington State and in California, which gives me an advantage.” “So why not move to California?” I asked. “Why, you want me to leave?” He smirked. “No. I just can’t imagine why anyone would choose to live in Lynden.” Estevan shrugged. “I can spend less money on a house and more money on my career. I like riding my bike, and the views here are beautiful and the roads empty. Besides, the students in California drive me crazy.” He smiled. “Pacific Northwest riders are slightly more humble.” I laughed at that. Humble was not a word I’d use to describe anyone at the barn.

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Astrid Amara

As we talked I began to sink back into the seat and enjoy myself, just admiring his sheer good looks. It had been a long time since I’d sat and enjoyed another man’s company, not worried if I was going to score. Because nothing about his attitude as he sat across from me was in the least like a pickup, and I realized my punch-addled brain, bleeding nose and swollen pride had conspired to make me see interest where there was none. Besides, I was certain someone at the barn would have mentioned if Estevan was gay. A fellow boarder paying a late phone bill was worthy of hours of speculation. If Estevan was queer, that piece of gossip would have been just too juicy not to spill. His eyes followed the women when they walked in the bar, and although his glance occasionally dropped to my crotch, he didn’t look excited or even interested. If anything, he checked me out and looked bored. Ouch. “What do you want to do about Solo?” he asked suddenly. I frowned. “Solo?” “Your aunt’s horse. I assume she gave him to you along with the stable.” I knew about Solo from the invoices. But I hadn’t thought specifically about the fact that one of the horses in the barn was technically mine. At the moment, Solo was just another farting, eating, shitting, sleeping consumption machine under my roof along with twenty-seven others. The idea of actually riding a horse that was so cocky I could barely turn him out never even crossed my mind. “Well?” Estevan asked. I shrugged. “Honestly I’ve had too much to think about to worry about him. Why, do you know someone who wants to buy him?” “No, but I can help you put him on the market.” “Thanks.” “If that’s really what you want.” “I’m pretty sure it is.” He clenched his jaw and studied his glass. I sighed. “What?” “I think you should try him out. He has a lot of potential.” “How trained is he?” I asked. “Schooling at second level. He’d be a great horse for you.” “I doubt that. Solo is Beth’s horse. That means he’s partially insane and prone to bucking.” Estevan chuckled. “True.” I blanched. “See? Not for me. If you want to ride him, have at ’em. I’m staying on the ground, where I belong.”

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Half Pass

“You don’t miss it?” he asked, leaning closer. “Beth told me you rode all the time with her. She said you had talent.” “That was a long time ago. I don’t ride anymore.” “Why not?” He didn’t sound accusing, just curious. It was an innocent question, asked as if the answer was simple. Which of course it wasn’t. “I’ve seen a lot of bad things happen to people on horseback.” “Bad things happen to people in cars every day, and you still drive one.” “It’s different when you see it firsthand though, isn’t it?” I turned the beer glass in my hands. Estevan shook his head. “Anyone who has anything to do with horses has accidents. It’s just part of the lifestyle.” “Did Beth ever tell you about Mary Ann?” Estevan nodded slowly. “She told me there was a death at Serenity.” “Well, Mary Ann was a friend of mine.” I looked at my beer. The bubbles drifted to the frothy head lazily, as if they had their whole lives ahead of them. “We rode together all the time. She was older than me but didn’t mind hanging out with a confused teenaged boy.” The bubbles reached the frothy layer, and I drank them down. “Her horse panicked, reared, flipped over, landed right on top of her. Crushed her neck. I saw it happen.” Estevan didn’t offer the usual sympathies people tossed at me when I told them this story, and I appreciated that. His eyes locked with mine. “How old was she?” “Twenty-one.” It had been a while since I’d talked about Mary Ann, although now that I was at the stable I thought about her daily. “Whole life ahead of her.” “That is terrible, but it doesn’t mean it will happen to you. Accidents aren’t a guarantee.” I kept my eyes on my beer. I had only told half the story. The fact that my own carelessness, and my own injuries, had been what had spooked Mary Ann’s horse into rearing was something I wanted to cut completely from my memory. Her death was my fault, and there was no sympathy card for killing your best friend while trying to show off. “You need to get back on a horse,” Estevan declared. “I need another drink,” I clarified, holding up my glass. I steered the conversation away from me and horses and the idea of the two of them getting on top of each other, and instead peppered Estevan with more questions. We talked a little bit about the boarders at the stable and his students. I asked for opinions on their riding ability, which, like all trainers, Estevan was full of. I was surprised at his assessment of my friend Leah, who he thought could be a real competitor, and his instant look of disgust when I brought up the Jacksons, who owned several of the horses Estevan competed internationally with. “You don’t think they can ride?” I asked.

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Astrid Amara

“They don’t ride,” Estevan clarified for me. “They just buy. The horses are investments, or else they’re for their eighteen-year-old daughter, Chelsea, but she hates riding.” “So why do it?” I asked. Estevan shrugged. “It’s her mother’s dream. They want the cash. Who knows what motivates those people?” “Beth must have liked them. She gave their horses the best paddocks.” Estevan’s expression darkened. “George Jackson once called your aunt a washed-up bitch to her face.” The beer soured in my mouth. “Don’t ever forget what kind of people they are,” Estevan warned me. “Beth let them stay at the barn because I was winning FEI championships on Tux and because the additional services they paid for kept Serenity Stables in business. She tolerated them to keep Serenity alive, that is all.” I hadn’t particularly enjoyed any of my interactions with George Jackson, his bossy wife, or their glum lump of a daughter either, but knowing they had insulted Beth made me despise them. Estevan informed me of the riding abilities at the barn, and I let my anger toward the Jacksons slip away as I caught up on the social intrigue of the place. He politely responded to my questions, but he wore an odd look all night, the same look he had when he first made eye contact, as if he were fascinated and repulsed. It was very difficult to read him. And I decided this was a good thing. I needed distance between myself and my coworkers. I had learned the hard way how badly interoffice relationships could end. Part of the reason I had stayed with Kevin for six years had been because we worked so closely together. I couldn’t imagine seeing him in the office every day after breaking up with him. Of course, he resolved that by promptly firing me. It wasn’t a surprise—Kevin had been a real asshole at the end—but if I had known how it would have gone down, I could have skipped at least a few years of heartbreak and yelling matches. That odyssey of suspicion, betrayal and at-work aggression should have been lesson enough to turn me off the idea of anything other than casual sex. Estevan and I split the tab, and I drove us back to the stables, Beth’s old truck sputtering and choking on its own exhaust the entire way. I was self-conscious driving a piece of shit when I knew Mr. Perfect sitting on the bench seat with me rode a seventy-five-thousand-dollar crotch rocket, but he didn’t mock me. He was quiet on the way home, although every time I glanced in his direction he was looking at me. “Is my nose bleeding?” I asked finally. “No. It’s a little swollen.” “Great.” “You have a bruise on your temple too.”

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Half Pass

“Wonderful.” I sighed. “Can’t wait to feel that once the booze wears off.” He chuckled. I drove down dark county streets, eyes attuned for deer, and the silence thickened between us. I pulled up to the property and put on the parking brake. I planned to get out myself but Estevan was already moving, leaping from the truck to open the gate. I rolled by and he shut it behind me, hopping back into the truck a few seconds later. “Thanks,” I mumbled. Estevan didn’t say anything more until I pulled to a stop in front of his motorcycle. Even in the dim lights from the clubhouse porch, I could see his bike was bright red and bloody beautiful. I whistled. “Nice bike.” Estevan raised an eyebrow. “You want to go for a ride sometime?” The idea of sitting with him on that small seat sent a thrill of desire through my body. How could that not be a come-on? I moved closer to him on the bench seat. “Yeah,” I said, lowering my voice. Estevan swallowed. And then got out of the truck. “See you tomorrow.” He threw up a hand in a halfhearted wave as he sauntered over to his bike. I was still in the truck when he pulled his helmet on and roared down the gravel driveway. “Guess not a come-on after all,” I told my truck. I shut the heavy, rusted door and paused to make sure Estevan closed the gate up at the top of the driveway before roaring off into the night. I went to bed feeling frustrated, but fell asleep quickly, thanks to the alcohol. However I woke a few hours later after having strange dreams about running water and the sound of a banging gate outside. I bolted upright in bed, aware that a person breaking and entering wasn’t implausible. Collin could be at it again. The clock informed me it was only three in the morning, but I was sure I had heard something. I dressed quickly, and grabbed a knife from a drawer, before heading into the darkness of night to find my assailant. Outside I found no trace of Collin, or anyone at all. I opened the barn doors and turned on the aisle lights but saw no one there. The smell of fresh cut hay wafted through the aisle, one of the best smells in the world. Everyone was sleeping or eating or drinking, content, and only a few bothered to snort a quiet little hello to me as I walked past. It wasn’t until I was about to leave that I remembered Tux’s fly sheet. Best-case scenario he’d gotten himself out of it and kicked it into the shavings. Worst-case scenario, he’d tangled the leg straps around himself, freaked himself out, flipped over and died. With that thought, I rushed back down the aisle. In front of Tux’s stall, my heart stopped completely.

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Tux wasn’t dead in his stall. He wasn’t in his stall at all. Serenity Stables’ most valuable horse was gone.

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Chapter Four

I spent the rest of the night frantically searching the dark expanses of my property for a thousandpound animal armed with a halter, a lead rope, and a small flashlight with low batteries. If Tux had broken free of his stall, he should have stayed on the property. It was entirely fenced in. I had shut the gate myself before leaving for drinks with Estevan a little after nine and watched Estevan shut it again at eleven. So either Tux was loose on the grounds in the dark somewhere, someone came between nine and three in the morning, opened the gate and closed it again, or someone came between nine and three and stole him. I must have covered the entire fifteen acres of the property a dozen times. I searched the long driveway which separated Collin’s property line from the ten acres of individual paddocks. I searched the main barn’s indoor arena and stalls, the wash rack, the feed room, and all around the clubhouse. I checked the outdoor arena, the hay barn, and went out to the retirement field at the edge of the property. No hint as to what had rattled to wake me up. No signs of a break-in or a break-out. No sign of Tux. The horses in the retirement field watched me with bored curiosity. My light-wielding, loud-cursing antics were only slightly more fascinating than the uneaten nubs of grass at their feet. By dawn I admitted failure. I had managed the barn for less than ten weeks and already lost a horse. Losing a horse wasn’t like losing a hoof pick. There was no good excuse for it. Either the horse was not put away properly, my fault, or else the horse was stolen thanks to poor security, also my fault. The road outside Serenity Stables was relatively quiet, but the speed limit was over fifty miles per hour, and it met the highway less than a mile away. Just thinking of Tux near the interstate broke me into a cold sweat. Exhausted from my night of searching, I stumbled into the clubhouse and through to the office, where I made the most pitiful call of my life to the sheriff’s department. They very politely took down Tux’s description and my information, although I could hear snickering in the background, and something that sounded like, “Yeah, we’ll put out an APB on this motherfucker and send the whole squad out to find Sugarfoot.” I also took the opportunity to report my recent run-in with Collin, breaking and entering, and this seemed to pique their interest. They promised to stop by his house to ask a few questions and drop off civil anti-harassment forms for me.

Astrid Amara

With the police notified, I then had the much more daunting task of calling the Jacksons to inform them their prized possession had gone AWOL. Even as the phone rang, I closed my eyes, hoping this was all a misunderstanding, that they hadn’t told me they would be taking him to a horse show, or to the vet, or for a very complicated walk. But when Ruth Jackson’s needly voice said hello on the other end of the line, I just knew I was out of that kind of luck. “Mrs. Jackson?” I asked. “Who is this?” she snapped. “Do you know what time it is?” Oh, did I. “Sorry for the early call. This is Paul King, over at Serenity Stables.” There was a pause. “What happened?” “Tux is missing.” Another long pause. “What do you mean missing?” “I mean, I can’t find him. He was in his stall at nine last night, I checked on him then. But when I checked early this morning, he was gone. His stall door was shut, I didn’t see any blood or evidence of foul play. I don’t suppose you took him somewhere, did you?” Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Mrs. Jackson launched into a verbal tirade the likes of which changed my impression of the sensibilities of old wealthy white women entirely. I thought I knew some dirty terms from old lovers and dark haunts, but she put my vocabulary to shame. “I am doing everything I can, Mrs. Jackson,” I said in between something to do with my ass and something to do with my ancestors. “I’ve alerted the police and will be speaking with all the boarders.” “Why don’t you start with that son-of-a-bitch cousin of yours and see what the fuck he did with my daughter’s goddamn horse!” “The sheriff’s department is on their way over there as we speak.” Her suspicions made sense. Everyone at the barn knew Collin was bitter about not inheriting. He had left pissed after our fight and no doubt harbored drunken wrath toward me at this very moment. He could easily have walked over here without opening the gate. He knew this barn inside and out—it was his mother’s, after all. All he would have had to do was lead Tux out, turn him loose on the road, and call it well-sweetened revenge. Mrs. Jackson’s tirade against me, my family, my gender, my soul, the atoms in my body, continued for at least another five minutes until I lied and told her I had a call waiting and hung up. I sat there in the office chair for a moment, rubbing my hand over the stubble on my face. I’d gotten hardly any sleep, but it was already six thirty, time to start feeding the horses their morning grain. I didn’t even bother to change clothes, since I still hadn’t had a chance to do laundry and my nice jeans were ruined from last night’s odyssey in the paddocks. I tied up my work boots, ignored the fact that I needed a comb and a shave, and went to work.

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Half Pass

I fed the horses, sick with worry. I couldn’t get the image of Tux injured on the side of the road out of my mind. I checked Tux’s stall again in the daylight for any clues I might have missed at the midnight hour. But there was no information to be had. There was manure, there were slightly mussed shavings, an empty bucket of grain, a little bit of his alfalfa. That was it. A sheriff’s department patrol car stopped by around eight and dropped off a bundle of papers to officially restrain Collin from the stables. They took several unflattering photos of my bruised face and opined that I might need better security if I was going to remain in Lynden. As they left, I thought a lot about that statement. I was no stranger here. Clearly they knew who I was from my past. And had just made it very clear they weren’t going to help the likes of me. Thanks. I found a picture of Tux on Beth’s computer and proceeded to write an email with his picture attached, which I sent to everyone on Beth’s distribution list and to all the boarders, begging them to get the word out. The horse world was small, and if someone had actually stolen Tux, perhaps he would be recognized and reported back to me. I paced and cursed as I waited for the printer to regurgitate ten copies of the flyer I’d made. I placed them in the mailboxes of all the neighboring properties. Stacy usually came in around eight, but by eight thirty she hadn’t shown up so I had to turn all the horses out on my own. As I entered Romeo’s stall that morning and put his halter on, the giant gelding stepped on my foot. The pain was impressively blossoming. I tried to ignore it as I finished getting his halter on, and limped outside. I didn’t have health insurance, so I wasn’t going to go to the hospital, even though my right foot immediately began to swell. Each step felt like broken bones jiggling around in a pocket lined with raw nerves. By nine o’clock Stacy’s disappearance made me suspicious, so I called and left a message on her mobile phone asking her to respectfully get her ass over to the barn. Then I switched into my other pair of work boots to accommodate my swollen foot. While mucking stalls that morning, several people asked after my bedraggled state, and I told them about Tux. It would only be a matter of time before the truth came out anyway, so I didn’t bother hiding the fact I’d lost a horse from anyone. The reactions from other boarders was shock, fear, and then a strange gleeful twinkle in their eyes. I couldn’t translate it until I realized it was always followed immediately by a frantic phone call to some other boarder. It was the joy of fresh new gossip. It was the schadenfreude of a small stable where other people’s bad news was great material.

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33

Astrid Amara

After asking everyone to pass on the email I had sent out that morning, I inquired about people’s whereabouts the night of Tux’s disappearance. The first person in that morning was Edith Blomkvist. Edith was another one of the wealthier patrons of the stable. She wore expensive deerskin breeches, her tack was always polished in impeccable condition, and she drove a gold-colored BMW SUV which had no semblance of dirt upon it. Edith was older, in her sixties, and elegantly beautiful, her silver-blonde hair up in a refined bun, black leather gloves tight over her fingers. Many of the wealthier women in the barn owned expensive, magnificent animals they were terrified of riding, and so they would come out and spend all their time grooming and fussing and babying their horses, or longing them, but never actually getting on. As a person who knew firsthand how dangerous horses could be, I didn’t fault them their fear, only their financial priorities. Why own an expensive horse if you didn’t want to ride? But Edith was different. She had a very prestigious Warmblood in training with Estevan that he alone rode, but she also had a big Hanoverian of her own, Axel, and despite her amateur status she still made herself get on him several times a week. I hadn’t seen Edith at the barn the day before, but I asked her for an alibi anyway, and whether she had noticed anything unusual. “I have an airtight alibi,” she promised me with a smile. “I was at a coworker’s party last night from seven o’clock on. Fifty witnesses. One of whom I kissed, but I can’t remember much about that.” For an older woman, she was certainly a flirt. “How come I never get invited to parties like that?” I asked. Edith laughed. “You never get a chance to leave Lynden, that’s why.” She scowled at my bruise. “Did you get hit on the head?” “It’s my brain, trying to beat its way out of my head.” Edith shook her head. “You know, I bet the Jacksons took Tuxedo somewhere.” “They deny it.” “Have they stopped by?” “No.” She made a face. “If I just found out my horse was missing, I’d be over here in minutes flat. What’s wrong with them?” “Don’t say that,” I told her. “You’re going to curse my already terrible day by summoning them.” Right on cue, Ruth, George, and their charming lump of a daughter, Chelsea Jackson, showed up, marching through the aisle like war had just broken out behind them. Edith whispered “good luck” and left me to face a wall of Jackson fury alone.

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Half Pass

Mr. Jackson had a head of tastefully styled silver hair, wore a maroon merino wool sweater and elegant trousers with the creases in the right places. He looked like money. His wife had the gold necklaces and earrings and bracelets of money, but ruined the appearance with a violet tracksuit. Their daughter, a bit on the frumpy side, was a droll, uninterested person with a dull expression and an ugly pair of breeches. She slumped around the place, looking like a teenage suicide, and not for the first time I wondered what her home life could be like, having to live out her mother’s equestrian dreams, having to listen to George’s tirades every day. Now that I knew what the Jacksons had said about Beth, it was hard to be polite, hard in a guttural, full-bodied kind of way. Hard in an I-want-to-beat-your-face kind of way. But I braced for unpleasantness and reminded myself, unlike other visits to the barn, this time they had a genuine right to complain. “Hello.” I gave them a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry about this mix-up with Tux.” “Mix-up?” George Jackson sneered. “You got a lot of nerve calling it that, boy! You have some serious explaining to do.” The image of Ricky Ricardo did nothing to help maintain my respect for the situation. I limped over to Tux’s stall, going over the scant evidence. “As you can see, nothing is disturbed, but he was missing last night when I checked on him. I searched the entire property several times, to no avail.” “I’ve contacted my lawyer,” George said. “I’ve got grounds to sue your ass for the value of Tux if you don’t find him.” An icy shiver ran down my spine at the threat. Tux was worth over a million dollars. There was no way any insurance policy Beth had on the farm would cover that cost. “We’ll find him.” I clenched my jaw. “There’s no reason for us to be here,” Chelsea said glumly. “Can we go?” “Honey, don’t you want to ride Chival?” Ruth asked her daughter. Chelsea looked like she was going to be sick. “Not really.” Ruth sighed. “We drove all this way.” “Estevan probably worked him already today.” Every word out of Chelsea’s mouth was spoken in the same monotone. “Is he back?” Mrs. Jackson snapped at me. No question who “he” was. “He got in just last night,” I told her. “See?” Ruth told her daughter. “Chival needs a ride.” Chelsea gave me a look as though I had just betrayed her, and she walked off with her parents, gathering equipment out of her tack locker at an excruciatingly slow pace.

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35

Astrid Amara

Over the course of the day I managed to check in with four other boarders, but none of them admitted to being anywhere near the barn last night. I anxiously awaited Stacy’s appearance, as her absence was becoming both worrying and suspicious. After a trip to the hay barn, I returned to find Estevan’s red motorcycle parked in front. My stomach clenched. Inside I found him tacking up Pandora, a little bay Arabian mare he had in training. He glanced at me briefly but didn’t smile. “Tux is missing,” I informed him, right off the bat. “I heard.” He pulled Pandora’s girth tight and she gave him a glare. He responded by scratching her under the chin. “Did you talk to Collin?” “The police did.” “I’m sure Tux will turn up.” Estevan turned around to grab Pandora’s leg wraps. “You don’t seem very concerned.” It was odd, considering that Tux was the horse that had won him an Olympic medal. He continued tacking up Pandora. “I have eleven horses in training and over thirty students. I don’t have time to teach and train and keep track of everyone’s whereabouts.” He looked over the horse’s back at me. “That’s your job.” Pandora gave me a pitying look, and I patted her neck. Yeah, she knew how it sucked to be snapped at by Estevan. But he wasn’t getting the last word. “Until this is resolved, I’m changing the security around here. No more snooping around past barn hours. And if you see anything suspicious, or Collin, let me know immediately.” Estevan raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond. He unhooked Pandora from the crossties and walked off without another word. I went back to mucking out stalls, which took longer than usual since Stacy wasn’t there to shoulder half the burden. Her absence really pissed me off. I was operating on little sleep, with an injured foot, I needed a chance to run into town and take care of errands, and had a lost horse to find. Instead, I was picking through shavings and trying to mentally prepare my legal defense. As I walked past the arena, I stopped to watch Estevan ride. The arena was pretty full at that hour; two women were riding horses, and another longed her horse at one end. But despite the presence of other riders, my eyes were instantly drawn to Estevan. He sat straightbacked, seemingly motionless atop Pandora. He got her to transition from a trot into a canter without any detectable change in his position or verbal command. Pandora diligently cantered the edges of the arena. He had her cross the center and switch from a right lead to a left lead. She appeared to be skipping.

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Half Pass

Estevan didn’t wear a helmet, a pet peeve of mine, but it did allow me to better see his expression. He concentrated, and a relaxed but focused expression made his face appear angelic. Where he was the epitome of masculinity on the ground, on a horse, he looked graceful. Compared to the other riders, Estevan’s body was clearly in full control of the horse between his legs. His expression never changed, not even when one of the other horses got too close to Pandora and she shied away. Estevan calmly held her in place with invisible walls and kept her moving forward. I forced myself back to work. I needed to keep a clear head about things. After all, Estevan was as much a suspect as anyone else. I knew for a fact he had been around the previous night. Another one of the barn regulars, Miriam Mallory, showed up that afternoon and gave me a chance to interrogate her about her whereabouts as well. Miriam wasn’t technically a boarder, she didn’t own a horse. She was a fresh high-school graduate who had been half-leasing one of the horses at the stable until the horse injured himself, and so now she was horseless and came by every few days to see if someone would let her ride. “You didn’t stop by the barn last night, did you?” I asked her. Miriam shook her head. She was a pretty girl but had a nervous habit of chewing the inside of her lip. “No, why?” “Because Tux is missing,” I told her, and she immediately burst into tears. It was a powerful reaction, one based on strong emotion. Love or guilt? “Not Tux! Oh, no, I love him? I absolutely adore him?” I nodded, patting her back. “I know. We’re all worried.” “I have been trying to get the Jacksons to lease him to me, and they won’t?” She wiped her nose with her sleeve. “I mean, it’s so not fair? There’s like all these horses here that no one rides, and I need to ride, and I don’t have a horse? And now the one horse I want is gone?” I wondered if she was even aware that every one of her sentences ended in a question. “You could post a request to half-lease on the bulletin board,” I suggested. Miriam followed me as I made my way into the feed room and started organizing everyone’s dinner. Each horse had varying amounts of grain, different supplements, pills and oils and ointments and powders. I had a wall-sized spreadsheet up to keep track of it all, and still it took all my concentration. It didn’t help that Miriam stood beside me and continued to yammer on. “It doesn’t even make any sense why the Jacksons keep Tux,” Miriam said. “Now that he has arthritis and can’t compete at Grand Prix level, Estevan is focusing more on other horses and spending less time with him?” “Uh-huh.” I was only half-listening. I held several grain buckets in my arms and tried to form a rhyme to remember whose went where. Evita, Cosmo, Rake and Boomer, Evita-Cosmo-Rake-and-Boomer…

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37

Astrid Amara

“It just sucks, because Tux would be perfect for me, and he needs exercise, and we could totally be great together? And if the Jacksons didn’t want to spend the money on him, he could totally live out with me and my friend in her paddock?” “I don’t think the Jacksons are worried about money,” I told her. “George Jackson is worth millions.” “But they don’t love Tux like I could!” Miriam cried. “And now he’s gone and it’s all such a complete waste.” Miriam enacted what I quickly was seeing as a barn trademark, a pfft! followed by a flick of her hair. Maybe it was something she’d learned from the horses. EvitaCosmoRakeAndBoomer… No, wait, that was Evita’s with the allergy pills in it, and Boomer’s with the beet pulp. These damn horses had more dietary needs than a room full of Californian lawyers. I straightened suddenly, realizing what Miriam was saying. I looked at her. “Were you here last night?” “No, I helped my friend Naomi move?” Miriam sniffed again, then seemed lost in thought, so I left her to her up-talking grief as she fondled Tux’s door. At last, I had a bit of good news that afternoon, when a woman with a plastic smile and polished hairdo stopped by, introducing herself as a real estate agent. She gestured to a grizzly looking older lady behind her. The lady, Mrs. Beech, was apparently in the equestrian property market. “Really?” I said a little too enthusiastically. “That’s fantastic!” I slipped off my leather work glove to shake her hand. The real estate agent flinched a little, although I wasn’t sure if it was from my off-putting enthusiasm or my bedraggled appearance—bruised-up face, hair on end, angry stubble, rumpled and dirt-stained clothes. Mrs. Beech seemed very friendly, however. “Can we see the property now or is there a better time—” “No, no, right away,” I nearly shouted. I had never wanted to sell the barn as much as I did that very moment. I limped my way around the property, pointing out the highlights and rushing past the rotten boards, the leaking faucet, the mold, the stains and the rust. Mrs. Beech was extremely chatty. As we toured the facility, I learned all about her dead horses, her dead husband, her delinquent children. I learned how she fell off a horse at twenty-two and still had an ache in her hips every time it rained. I learned that she loved reining but needed a good reining horse, I learned she adored barrel racing, and that she thought horse abusers would burn in hell. Her opinions were heated and her monologue exhausting, but I continued on with a smile, because she clearly wanted to start a boarding facility of her own and seemed like just the customer I needed. Sadly, despite the fact that she wouldn’t stop talking, she was also paying close attention to the tour. She pointed out every flaw as if she had a side-business as a house inspector.

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Half Pass

“What’s that?” she cried, pointing to the northwest corner of the indoor arena which was sagging with water damage. “Just a little fix-up project. It’ll only take me a weekend—” “What’s wrong with this?” she shouted, pointing at the outdoor faucet that I had hung a DO NOT USE BROKEN sign on. “It just isn’t hooked up to the well properly,” I explained, “and I—” “Well? This is on well water?” she demanded. “Yes. It shares the well with the house and the neighbor’s property across the road, and—” “House? You mean that house isn’t part of the property?” “No, it was split recently.” I tried to change the subject. “But the best thing about this place, Mrs. Beech, is the land. The paddocks are rarely muddy. It’s got soil so healthy even with constant use the land sustains a large number of horses without damage.” “Uh-huh.” Mrs. Beech frowned. Just then, Estevan stepped into the aisle, leading a very sweaty Pandora back to the crossties. He eyed the plastic woman and Mrs. Beech suspiciously. “Estevan!” I called out cheerfully. His eyebrow rose. “Mrs. Beech, this is Olympic medalist Estevan Souza.” I hoped that, despite her Western leanings, she might have heard of him. “Oh, hello! So handsome!” Mrs. Beech giggled. The plastic real estate agent lady cringed, and Estevan scowled at me. “Estevan, Mrs. Beech is interested in purchasing the property,” I said. Estevan shook her hand politely, but he didn’t smile back. “You’re a trainer?” Mrs. Beech asked. “Yes.” “What discipline?” “Dressage.” Mrs. Beech laughed. “And I heard all male dressage trainers were gay.” I froze in horror and glanced quickly to see Estevan’s reaction. Estevan didn’t say anything, just laughed and waved his hand as he disappeared into the tack room. Mrs. Beech turned on me. “I’m sorry. It’s a great location, but it’s far more run-down than what I’m looking for. I’d have to invest millions just to get it up to standard!” The agent hurried Mrs. Beech away from my stormy expression with a rushed thankyouforyourtime, and the two of them peeled out like the place was on fire. Great.

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39

Astrid Amara

I began bringing the horses in for the evening. Leah Fredrickson came out to help, even though she wasn’t working that day, she was just out to ride her horse. We talked a little about Tux, but as we walked back to the paddocks to fetch two more horses, I switched the direction of the conversation. “So what’s the deal with Estevan?” I hoped my question sounded casual, a shootin’-the-shit kind of question, not a desperately curious, what-incredible-biceps-he-has kind of question. “What do you mean?” she asked defensively. I had to remember she was one of the majority, proEstevan contingent. “You mean like what’s the deal with his incredible talent, or what’s the deal with his womanizing?” That answered one part of my question immediately. Rarely are womanizers also gay men. I had guessed as much last night, but still disappointment filled me. I deserved it—that’s what I got for developing fantasies over straight guys. “Does he go back to Brazil much?” I asked. Leah hooked a halter over the stall door. “Not really. He has a wife, but she lives in Rio. I don’t think he has kids. At least he never talks about them. He told Miriam once that there was some sort of visa trouble, that’s why his wife can’t be with him.” I didn’t care anymore, not if he wasn’t gay. I didn’t want to know about Estevan’s wife. I bet she was gorgeous. I bet she was brilliant and did things like paint with oils. After we finished bringing the horses in, I went through the barn and double-checked every single sliding bolt on every door, reassuring myself that Stacy would have to completely flake out to leave one of them open. I did a tour of the periphery of the property, making sure there were no weak boards or gaps in the electrical fence. I checked the fencing around the retirement field, but I didn’t like being out there with all of them at once, especially since they followed me around like lost ducklings. There was something pitiful about having a herd of horses walking slowly behind you, looking bored out of their minds. One of them, Stanza—or was it Rocko? I could never tell—took off at top speed, and they all ran off, only to come running back toward me with equal enthusiasm. My tour of the perimeter revealed no holes, no broken electric fencing. It was a beautiful Pacific Northwest summer day, in the mid seventies, air fresh and warm but not humid, and the sky was bright blue. There had been a time when the classic agrarian beauty of Lynden— deep green fields and herds of cows and white picket fences—had soothed me. I had loved it here. Mount Baker towered over the landscape, reminding everyone that as an active volcano, we were all living on borrowed time. Ragged Cascade Mountains formed the eastern jaws, sharp and shrouded in evergreens and glaciers. To the north, the Canadian Cascades formed irregular, unfathomably high peaks. And to the west, the blue-green waters of the Puget Sound, dotted with forested islands, looking serene, cold and lonely. It was all so picture perfect, and it was home.

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Half Pass

But as I stood there, I felt warped, a sense of complete loss. This was not my hometown anymore. It was full of bigots and bad memories. I had been back for all of two months and already managed to ruin any sense of serenity the landscape could offer. “Excuse me, Paul?” I turned to see Neil Strauss, the man who owned the raspberry field adjacent to the stables. He waved at me and I waved back. “How are you?” he asked, leaning over the fence to shake my hand. “Good, Mr. Strauss, how about yourself?” Mr. Strauss shrugged. I remembered him from my youth, he was a man of few words. I used to fix things for him for allowance from Beth. He’d always been nice to me, even after my scandal. “Did you have a bonfire last night?” he asked. I shook my head. “No, just lots of flashlights. I’m missing a horse. A big gray gelding named Tux. Let me know if you see him, all right?” “But there was smoke.” “Huh?” “Last night, in the field,” he said. “I saw a bonfire and that young lady here. I don’t know what she was doing, but I worried about my field. Can you keep the fires away from the property line?” I smiled blankly at him, my brain trying to figure out who or what he was talking about. “Young lady,” I said slowly. “You mean…Stacy? The farmhand?” Mr. Strauss nodded. He squinted at an interesting worm on the ground. “I saw her here, round ten last night, with some boy, and a bonfire. Out here in the last field. I don’t know what they’re up to, but I don’t like fires this close to my property, you see.” “No, no, I completely understand. Are you sure about the time? You saw Stacy here at ten?” “Yes.” Mr. Strauss spit. “I take a stroll around the property every night at nine forty-five. She was there, all right, doing something with a boy.” “Doing what?” I asked, then I quickly shook my head. “No, I don’t think I want to know.” I shook Mr. Strauss’s hand once more. “Thanks again for keeping an eye out for Tux. I’ll make sure we don’t have any more fires.” “Thanks, Paul.” Mr. Strauss wandered off, and I walked back to the barn, brooding. So Stacy came back last night. And unless it produced a lot of smoke, a fire in this last paddock would not be seen from the barn. Why was she lighting fires in my fields? It was an easy enough question to ask, but without the person in question present and accounted for, all I could do was speculate.

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41

Chapter Five

In the morning, there was still no sign of Stacy. I called and left another message on her phone, then decided to go for a long run to cap my explosive temper. When I returned to the barn, she still hadn’t shown up and I trudged out to do the chores myself. My frustration was tinged with growing concern. What if that boy had done something to her? I slaved in the stalls that morning, my task exacerbated by the unusual humidity. To make matters worse, two of the horses were on stall rest and were stuck indoors for the day. Cleaning a stall with the inhabitant still in it was a challenge, especially with these horses, who thought it was hilarious to push over my wheelbarrow or stand on the filthiest part of the shavings and not budge. I was sweaty and covered in a fine layer of wood dust when Estevan walked in that morning, his tall black boots impeccably shined, his light-beige breeches stainless and tight enough to show off the powerful curves of his thighs and buttocks. I paused mid-shovel and looked him up and down, admiring his body, before I made eye contact and realized he had caught me staring. He stared back, smirking. “What?” I asked self-consciously. Estevan took two graceful strides over to me. “You have shavings in your hair.” He tousled my hair, and I straightened immediately, reminding him I was the same height when not hunched over a pitchfork. He laughed, looking very cocky, and strode down the aisle to the tack room. “Asshole,” I whispered. Bluegrass, a big Standardbred, nibbled courteously on my pitchfork. “Stop it,” I told him. Bluegrass pushed his head against the handle of the pitchfork. Either he was trying to commit suicide or was hoping the pitchfork would scratch him. I yanked it away. Bored of me, he proceeded to sniff all the other horses’ manure in the wheelbarrow. I continued working, my blue shirt turning dark with sweat and stained with the droolings of the horses stuck indoors, who found licking me, nuzzling me, or snorting at me an acceptable distraction from their ennui. I tried to keep a low profile when Edith arrived and tacked up her horse Axel. Estevan chatted with her as she got her horse ready, giving her advice, his voice low and calm, his focus intently on his student and her horse. But every time I tried to slink by with my wheelbarrow heaped with shavings or waste, his eyes darted to mine and he smirked, mocking my low status. I felt serf-like and I wasn’t having any of it.

Half Pass

I planned on having a word with him about his attitude as soon as Edith was out of earshot, but then her lesson began, and he was in the middle of the arena, encouraging her, correcting her posture, instructing her to sink deeper into her seat, stretch higher with her head. I eavesdropped, and I pitied poor Edith, who looked wrung out after just the warm-up. I would too, given Estevan’s litany of metaphors. Her legs were loose spaghetti strands. Her butt had suckers on it. Marionette strings pulled her head. Lead wings pulled back her shoulders. Her arms were high-pressure hoses and she shot laser beams out of her hipbones. Jesus, this freak of nature was riding around on Axel like some sort of robotic nightmare. I knew what Estevan was talking about; I had suffered through dressage lessons years ago and appreciated the difficulty of describing intangible concepts in ways that a rider could physically understand. But something about the language barrier, or Estevan’s inherent ability to master the art of riding himself, made him a terrible human teacher. That warmed me to him. Mr. Perfect had a flaw. “Use impulsion to collect his motions,” Estevan instructed. Edith frowned. She loosened her death grip on the reins, and Axel surged forward, taking advantage. Edith looked startled as Axel burst into erratic trot. “I’m losing control!” she cried. “What do I do?” Edith’s voice had a very distinctive ring of panic to it. Estevan remained calm. “Let the energy flow through your hips and into his mouth.” This clearly didn’t help, and I saw the terror mounting in Edith’s expression. “Sit back, Edith,” I told her, leaning over the waist-high arena wall to translate. “He means sit and get your butt back down in that saddle.” She instantly did as she was told. Her leg drifted naturally back to the proper position, and Axel slowed his speed. “Keep the aides connected,” Estevan said. Edith looked to me. “Keep your butt in the saddle,” I said. “Think of it like a plug. The saddle is the socket. You need to have your ass firmly plugged into it to get the power you need to control him.” Edith changed her position and sank lower. She smiled. “Now I get it!” Estevan gave me a long look. I figured he was pissed, since I’d interrupted his lesson. Instead he flashed me a brilliant smile as well. “Thanks, Paul.” “No problem.” I could tell he was much better training horses than people. Beth had suffered the same problem. No wonder the two of them had got on so well.

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After another ten minutes of calmly but firmly instructing Edith to do such things as “travel through the forward motion” and “collect the energy on the hind” and various other new-age action verbs, Estevan let a bedraggled Edith dismount and he got on Axel instead. And showed everyone what “collecting the energy on the hind” really meant. After all, there was no way to actually explain in English what it was he was doing to keep Axel moving with such restrained power. He helped the horse dance across the room. Axel did a half-pass across the arena with such dramatic leg-crossing flair that Edith burst into a spontaneous round of applause and I forgot I was holding a pitchfork and nearly poked my eye in enthusiasm. Damn, I had to admit it. The women were right. That tight-assed bastard could ride. He never grew impatient, or angry, even when Axel protested a request and grew taller and went up with his front end. Estevan urged him forward, and Axel got pissed, pushed his ears back and tried to rear. Estevan didn’t even blink. He went about his ride like this turbulence between his legs was nothing, a mere brush of wind, and continued to patiently use legs, seat and arms to block all exits to Axel except the right one. And once Axel did as he was told, Estevan whispered something in Portuguese to the horse and gently stroked his neck. “That’s all for today,” he said finally, dismounting with a dramatic leap that magically did not throw any dust up onto his perfectly clean riding outfit. How did he do that? As he walked back out into the aisle with Axel, I made myself scarce, leaving more messages with Stacy and the Jacksons and eventually, the sheriff’s department, but no one seemed inclined to speak with me this morning. Miriam showed up around eleven, hoping that someone would be around to let her ride their horse for a while. When she saw it was only Estevan and Edith present, she made a face and was about to leave. “Wait!” I shouted, grabbing her arm. “I’ll pay you twenty dollars if you’d clean the rest of the stalls for me while I run to town.” She gave me a puzzled look. “Why don’t you just finish the stalls when you get back?” “Because it will put me behind all day.” Miriam shrugged. “Twenty bucks?” She looked at the looming mess in the last five stalls suspiciously. “…and you can ride Solo,” I threw in, realizing what carrot needed to be dangled. Miriam’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? You’ll let me ride him?” “Assuming you can handle him,” I added. The image of Mary Ann falling immediately filled my head, and I clenched my eyes shut. “Oh! Oh, of course I can handle him! He’s a doll, he’s an absolute charmer? He’s a smarty? I’d love to ride him? I’d even like pay you for it?”

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Half Pass

“Right now, if you’ll help me clean up, that’s payment enough.” I handed her the pitchfork. “All Beth’s tack is in locker number ten. Help yourself.” “Thanks? So much?” Miriam beamed as she turned to face the torn-apart stall of Romeo. Edith and Estevan were still talking, so I was able to slip out to my truck without any more unflattering smirks from Mr. Hotshot. I bypassed Lynden entirely and drove twenty minutes down the freeway to Bellingham, relaxing in the more liberal college-town ambiance and appreciating the selection of high-tech stores from which one could purchase security systems. A few hours later, armed with a top-of-the-line video-camera surveillance system, three baskets of clean laundry, and two weeks’ supply of frozen dinners and beer, I felt like a new man. I got out my new cameras, a ladder and the drill. I assumed the ladder would reach to the top of the hay barn, but it was too short. I climbed as high as I comfortably could and stretched my arms to reach the spot I wanted to anchor the camera. The ladder tilted slightly but I wasn’t concerned. I had relatively fast reflexes and I wasn’t high enough to do serious damage. But it must have looked bad, because as I was drilling in the camera mount, the ladder suddenly steadied. I stopped drilling and looked down to see Estevan supporting the ladder. “The fact that this ladder is too short means Beth didn’t make many building repairs,” I commented, finishing the drill hole. “Beth didn’t like heights,” Estevan said. Beth was not open about the things she saw as weaknesses in herself, and so if Estevan knew that about her, it meant she truly did trust him. “When I was a kid, I jumped off the high cliff at Whatcom Falls park,” I told him. “Everyone does it—it’s got a deep basin at the bottom of the waterfall—but she screamed and nearly passed out, and I was grounded for over a month for scaring her so badly.” Estevan eyed me carefully. “You don’t mind heights?” I shrugged. “Not really. And this one isn’t going to kill me.” “It’d hurt,” he said with a smile. I laughed. “Yeah. It’d hurt.” I anchored the mount and slid the camera into place, then climbed down the ladder. “Thanks.” I gave him a big smile. He stared at my mouth for a moment. “Do you have to install any more?” “Two, one for the main barn and one for the clubhouse.” “I’ll hold the ladder for you,” he offered.

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“Thanks,” I said again. I noticed he had changed clothes and was back in a pair of tight jeans, clean white T-shirt, and work boots. The humid air thickened and kinked his hair. Some men spent hours trying to look as good as he did without effort. He carried the ladder for me as we walked. I cleared my throat. “So…Leah told me you have a wife back home in Rio de Janeiro.” He leaned the ladder against the barn wall, but turned and scowled at something in the distance. “Do you have kids?” I asked. “No. We’re divorced.” Estevan squinted off into the fields and pointed. “You see there? In the last paddock. Something blue. It looks like a booty.” I followed his finger. “Why would a booty be out there? I thought they were only used to protect the horse’s legs from their hooves when riding.” “They are.” His expression was grim. “Come on.” He marched toward the wayward booty like a man hunting a rabid alligator. I liked his severe attitude. I liked how a lost flannel booty made him stalk. There was something charming about his exaggerated masculinity, coupled with the fact that I had now seen him braid a mare’s mane. I dropped my supplies next to the ladder and rushed after him. “You are part Rambo, part teenage girl,” I told him, struggling to keep up with his wide strides. “This is no laughing business.” He said business in three syllables, like busy-ness. I suspected his accent grew more pronounced when he got stressed. Our presence between the paddocks did not go undetected. Apparently having been fed a flake of hay each was not enough to pacify the eighteen pairs of starving horse eyes beseeching us as we walked past. Most of them walked alongside us in their paddocks. Some tried to look charming, all big eyes and lowered heads, begging, and others dashed at us as if we’d cough up the hay in sheer terror. One of them—Romeo, the bastard—had the gall to pin his ears and rear at me. Estevan’s response was to simply shake his head and say, “Shut up,” as if this giant animal hadn’t given him the horse equivalent of a death threat. I drew closer to Estevan. He slowed down and I ran into his broad back, and he turned his head to glance at me. Apparently he’d only just noticed I was nearly walking in his shoes. “I don’t like being out here where they can charge me,” I admitted. Estevan snorted. “These are the nicest horses I’ve ever worked with.” I thought about Jasmine, the twenty-six-year-old, fourteen-hand mare who’d nearly ripped my arm off while turning her out this afternoon, and I thought, Jesus, these were the nice horses? The paddock we headed to had a resident, another damn chestnut. She came ambling up to us.

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Half Pass

Estevan slipped under the electrified fence gracefully. I didn’t bend low enough and was rewarded with a shock that didn’t hurt so much as surprise. My teeth vibrated and my stomach churned unpleasantly. “Watch it,” Estevan said. “I’m okay, thanks for asking,” I replied. The horse sauntered up to him and nuzzled his open palm, then made her way to me. I reached out and scratched her between the ears. “It’s definitely Tux’s.” Estevan retrieved the fallen booty. He studied it with a puzzled expression. “What the hell is it doing out here? Tux’s paddock was along the driveway.” He handed me the muddy boot. The Velcro straps were all bunched together. I scuffed my boot through a small but distinguishable mound of charcoal and ashes. “Stacy.” I gritted my teeth. Estevan frowned. “How can you tell?” I told him what Mr. Strauss had reported the day before. His eyes snapped to mine. “She was here that night?” I nodded. Estevan scowled. “I wonder if she saw anything.” “You assume she didn’t just leave the gate open as usual?” “She’s careless about the gate, but the odds of her forgetting to shut it and forgetting a stall door the same night are slim.” “But what about this booty? She must have had him out here.” Estevan stared at the remnants of the fire angrily. I sighed. “We won’t know anything until we talk to her. Come on, let’s put those other cameras up.” Estevan seemed lost in thought for a moment. I reached out and touched his arm. I tried not to notice how hard the biceps was beneath my fingers. He looked at me. We stood there for a moment, then he swallowed and stepped away from me. “Let’s go,” he ordered. “That’s what I just said,” I mumbled, but he didn’t hear me. He was back to his stormy gait, yards ahead of me.

Cameras up, horses in, Estevan gone, Miriam happily galloping on Solo in the arena, I gathered dinner for the retirement horses and rode the four-wheeler out to the field. Anyone who believed in the inherent nobility of the equine clearly hasn’t seen a herd of horses begging for grain at a gate. They looked pathetic, each one vying with the others to have the softest eye. It was a wretched sea of chestnut legs and ears and noses. I started dishing out grain but stopped. What the hell was going on? Now I was short a bucket. Two of the horses eyed each other and pinned their ears, ready to fight for the one remaining.

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“Collin!” I yelled out, in no particular direction. I was going to have to buy another camera to keep track of the equipment all the way out here. The bastard was going to drive me crazy or broke. I apologized to the herd and ran back to the feed room. On my way I passed the wash rack and spotted a bucket, upside down and drying in the corner. When I turned it over, I paused. Something was inside of it. I’d turned off the lights in the main aisle so I took the bucket outside to better see. The inside of the bucket was stained dark red. Red, like dried blood. A shudder went through me. As I held the bucket in my hands, for the first time I realized Tux might not just be missing; he might have been killed.

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Chapter Six

The next morning, I was relieved to see a rusted blue Honda sedan in the parking lot. I rushed outside with my cup of coffee and stepped between Stacy and the entrance to the barn. She carried a hoodie over one arm and wore baggy sweatpants tucked into a pair of brown cowboy boots and a cutoff halter top despite the chill in the air. Her short blonde hair stuck in every direction but down. She looked terrible. “Hey boss,” she said groggily. “Where the fuck have you been?” I snapped. She jerked back in surprise. “Did you just swear at me? Beth never swore, you know.” “Did Beth put up with you disappearing for days at a time?” “I didn’t mean to. My boyfriend Tim needed a ride down to Portland two days ago, and then my car broke down, and I forgot to charge my phone, and—” “What were you doing here on Wednesday night?” Stacy’s eyebrows came together. “What? When?” “Wednesday!” I breathed deeply, trying to remember something of the meditative calming technique I’d learned from Kevin a few years ago. Not that anything about my relationship with Kevin had anything calm about it. I let out a deep, slow breath. “You were here. Wednesday. With a boy,” I clarified. Stacy’s eyes widened. “Oh! Yeah, this Wednesday!” “Yeah, this Wednesday.” “I showed Tim around the barn.” “What part of showing him around involved lighting a fire?” She wouldn’t look me in the eye. “Stacy…” I warned. “It’s personal.” “Nothing is personal when it happens on my property.” Stacy looked nervous. “I was just having fun. I didn’t break anything.” “But you did something with Tux, didn’t you?” “Why? Is he different?” She grinned. “Is he better?” “He’s gone.”

Astrid Amara

My words took a minute to sink past the pot-addled cloud in her head. I could tell when they finally did—her mouth went slack and she paled. “He’s…he’s disappeared?” “Where did you take him?” “I didn’t take him anywhere!” Stacy cried. Her hoodie dropped from her hands but she didn’t bother to pick it up. “What were you doing with his stuff?” “His stuff?” “His booty!” My volume rose. “Tux’s fucking booty! It was out in the farthest paddock, along with the remains of some fire you had.” “I tried to help him.” Tears formed in her eyes. “I used old magic, but maybe it backfired…” She looked genuinely panicked. I touched her arm. “Stacy. Please. For fuck’s sake. Help me here. What did you do to Tux?” She looked at me solemnly, licked her lips, and whispered, “I think I may have merged him with another horse.” I waited for the sentence to make sense in my mind. It didn’t. Stacy broke free of my grip. “Look, Tim and I were doing a séance, okay? I wanted to do a relaxation spell. You know how Tux always gets so uptight around Romeo? And every time they are put near each other in the paddocks, Tux freaks out? Well, I did a bonding spell where I connected the spirits of Romeo with Tux.” I stared, dumbfounded. “The booties were in Chelsea’s unlocked locker,” she said quickly. “I just borrowed them for the spell, and returned them, but I must have dropped that one out there.” I still stared. Stacy huffed air. “I didn’t think it would actually work, I just wanted to help out his stressed soul.” My hands clenched together. “Say something!” Stacy cried. “I’m sorry I borrowed the booty and left it there. But I wanted to help Tux. I didn’t realize my powers were strong enough to actually merge Tux into Romeo.” “That isn’t what happened!” I shouted. “Tux is not psychically gone, he is physically gone! All I have to show he once existed is an empty stall and a bucket of blood.” “A bucket of blood?” Stacy’s bottom lip trembled. “Or at least someone’s effort to clean up blood.” I ran my hand through my hair. “I wish you would just tell me you left the gate open as usual and he got away.”

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Half Pass

“I didn’t.” Stacy started to cry. “God, I’m sorry! But I swear I didn’t leave the gate open. I made a big deal of it with Tim, you can ask him. I was so paranoid about getting caught with the bonfire, I made sure to do everything else right.” “So you are positive you didn’t take Tux out of his stall, take him anywhere else?” “No!” Stacy wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Where would I take a horse? And why would I take him? If I were in the horse-thief business, I’d take Cosmo or Axel, one of the younger champions. But I would never steal a horse. Jeez!” She started to cry in earnest, big sobs shaking her small shoulders. I looked to the gravel in the driveway to help me. I never knew what to do when someone cried. Nice move, asshole. I awkwardly reached out and patted her shoulder. “There, there,” I said, feeling like a cardboard cutout of a human being. Luckily, at that moment, Edith showed up and rushed to Stacy’s side. I left Stacy weeping in the arms of another and went about my chores, digesting Stacy’s insane ramblings and trying to figure out what the hell had really happened that night. By noon I had managed to speak to everyone about their whereabouts the night of the disappearance except for Leah, who I had initially dismissed as a suspect, given the fact that she was the employee I trusted the most at the barn. When Leah did show up, she seemed surprised by my question about her whereabouts and laughed. “Wait a minute. Am I a suspect?” The prospect clearly thrilled her. I felt annoyed. “No, not a suspect, but possibly a witness. Were you here Wednesday night?” “No, actually I wasn’t. I had to drive out to Deming for Miriam.” “Miriam Mallory? The girl who rides here?” “Yeah, she wanted to borrow my trailer, so my husband and I went out to Deming and ate dinner there.” She reached into her pocket and wagged her cell phone. “You can call my husband if you don’t believe me. I think he’ll stand up in court as a reliable witness for my alibi. After all, he’s a lawyer.” I winced at the word “lawyer”. “That isn’t necessary.” She laughed again as she moved into the arena. I mumbled my gratitude and walked off, distracted. Miriam hadn’t mentioned anything about seeing Leah that night. And why did Miriam need a horse trailer? She didn’t own a horse. So maybe Leah was lying. I shook my head. Why the hell would forty-year-old Leah be stealing horses? She had her own young, beautiful horse, the last thing she needed was someone else’s retired, arthritic old gelding. The Jacksons’ SUV sped up the gravel driveway and came to a quick halt, and my energy level sank to an all-time low. This time it was just Ruth and her daughter, but that didn’t necessarily make interactions easier.

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Ruth Jackson was on the phone as she got out of the car, slamming the door. Her neck was adorned with dozens of long gold necklaces, but none of the rest of her outfit was the least bit refined. She was in another sweat suit. With gold. As if her neck was just a convenient storage area for the family jewels. “Hello, Mrs. Jackson,” I said, trying to rush away. “Wait there for a minute!” she yelled at me. She snapped shut her phone and moved into my personal space. I backed up until I hit Tux’s stall door. “Well? Have you found the thief yet?” she demanded. “I’m trying everything I can. And the sheriff’s department is looking into it.” “The sheriff’s don’t care about an animal!” I was cornered, literally. Then Estevan was there, beside me, arms crossed. Why was he was never around when I wanted him, but at all the moments I didn’t want him to see, he was by my side? “What’s going on?” He was sweaty from his last ride, and his cheeks were flushed. But his stance was cold and formal. “George and I have begun legal procedures to collect on our lost asset,” Mrs. Jackson informed him. “Although if the thief would just bring Tux back”—at this she glared at me, as if I had stolen him—“we would be willing to drop the case.” Estevan’s face darkened. “Asset.” “Don’t be naïve,” Ruth snapped. “Our family lost a lot of money with that horse. And I don’t believe for one second that your motivations are purely emotional either. You ride here for the cash, Mr. Souza, nothing more.” “You know nothing about my motives.” Estevan’s eyes had narrowed to slits, and he sounded almost choked on his anger. “I’m going to—” “Shut up if you know what’s good for you,” Mrs. Jackson interrupted. “Remember who you’re talking to.” I could feel tension in Estevan beside me, his large body shaking with anger, but to my astonishment he said nothing further and walked out of the barn. I stared at Mrs. Jackson, wondering what kind of voodoo she had to make Estevan back down. Ruth ordered her daughter to go spend time with Chival, then hunkered down in the clubhouse with her cell. In a moment of cowardice, I went for a long run until the Jacksons disappeared. I was disheartened to see their SUV still in the lot when I returned. I took a shower, and when I re-emerged, I found Chelsea glumly leading Chival to the arena. As she did so, I noticed she didn’t even look over at Tux’s stall. I found that interesting.

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Half Pass

After all, every time Miriam walked past Tux’s stall, she blinked back tears. Stacy touched the bars on the door fondly. Even Estevan, who acted as though he didn’t have time to care for the horse that had carried him to international fame, frequently glanced toward the empty stall. But Chelsea, whose family had owned Tux since he was a colt, didn’t seem the least bit put-out by his disappearance. Granted, I wasn’t sure what grief looked like on a moody teenager, but nothing about her behavior appeared any different from any other time she moped around the stables. Chelsea opened the arena gate and closed it behind Chival. She grabbed her longe whip. “How are you holding up?” I asked her. Despite the fact that she had the personality of a limp noodle, I worried about her. I knew what it was like to have assholes for parents. “I’m doing everything I can to find Tux. Emails are out, the neighbors are alerted, the police are on the case. We’ll find him.” “Okay.” She opened the arena door and led Chival inside. “Do you miss him?” I asked. She looked up at me, a suspicious expression on her face. “What?” “Tux. Do you miss him?” “I guess. I’m here to work Chival today.” I watched her head to the center of the arena and start with Chival. She didn’t care about Tux, that was clear. This was a person who barely liked horses, let alone enjoyed owning three of them. As Chelsea longed Chival, her knuckles were white and she clenched her teeth together, clearly afraid. She asked Chival for a trot, and he took off and began kicking and bucking at a fast gallop. Chelsea’s voice rose in pitch and she yelled “Whoa!” but it had little effect. Chival suddenly turned toward her and reared as if to strike. I threw open the arena door and rushed inside, feeling about to puke. “Chival!” I yelled out. I moved my arms to catch his attention and slipped past him to grab the longe whip and reins from Chelsea. She let me take over. My heart nearly leapt from my throat, but I got Chival’s erratic pattern to resume a simple circular trot. All I could think of was Chelsea, trembling beside me. What if something happened to her? I remembered Mary Ann, and that afternoon all those years ago. At least we had both loved horses. Mary Ann had died pursuing her dream, it was the only comfort I got from her horrific accident. And I had adored Petesake, my thoroughbred. Even after what he had done to me, it had been hard to sell him. But here was a girl who didn’t even like horses. The idea of her getting hurt by one infuriated me, made me dislike her parents even more. “You need to be less obtrusive with the whip,” I told her. I chirped at Chival and told him to walk, which he did with surprising obedience. I remembered Estevan trained Chival. That didn’t necessarily translate into a horse safe for beginners, but it did at least mean Chival knew what good behavior was. I got

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him to halt and looked to Chelsea, hoping she didn’t notice I was nearly as white as she was. “Let’s do this together,” I suggested. “It’s okay.” Her voice shook. “I know what I’m doing. I’m a trainer, you know.” I tried not to laugh out loud at that. Chelsea reached for the whip once more and I handed Chival over, shaking my head as I made my way out of the arena. I leaned over the arena door and watched as she once more got the horse moving, reassured that at least she wasn’t waving the whip around in Chival’s face anymore. I sensed the presence of someone large and warm behind me. I turned my head slightly to see Estevan standing at my back. If I stepped back a few inches, I could rest against his broad chest. Having him like that, behind me, made my skin tingle in anticipation. Urges, long since stuffed down as far as I could hide them, came surging to the surface, and my entire body electrified with the suggestive posture. With him behind me like that, he could— I shook my head to clear my lust-driven thoughts. I urged my body to slow down its response and glanced at his face. His eyes were such a rich color of brown, almost gold. His black lashes brought a softness to the chiseled features of his high cheekbones. He looked beautiful, until he opened his mouth. “Laundry day for the trained accountant?” I flipped him the finger. He chuckled. And then he moved closer. “Lucky me,” I snapped, “it’s raining trainers at the barn today.” I hoped any redness in my cheeks or other awkward physical repercussions of my imagination were well hidden. “Trainer!” Estevan snorted derisively. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Chelsea took an online course and got certification by email.” “How long have you been a trainer, Chelsea?” I called out from the doorway, smiling to myself as Estevan moved closer. “About six years,” she claimed, meaning her professional career began in her prepubescence. “I have five different certifications.” “They’re not working,” I whispered. Estevan chuckled. “You, however, are a good teacher.” I swore under my breath that he’d seen me in the arena. I hoped he hadn’t noticed my terror. “You have skill,” Estevan continued. “Just because I’m better than an eighteen-year-old girl at something doesn’t equate to skill.” “You have a natural way with horses.” “She was making some very basic mistakes, that’s all. It was easy to fix.” “She’s always making mistakes.” Estevan frowned. “One day she is going to get hurt.”

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“That’s what I’m afraid of.” “It’s her decision. She could always just tell her mother and father the truth. But she won’t. So she must enjoy it to some degree.” I shook my head. “That’s not it. Chelsea’s living a lie to please her parents. I’ve been there. It’s hard to get out of.” “How did you get out of it?” Estevan asked. I looked him in the eye. “My cover was blown. I didn’t have any say in the matter.” Estevan’s eyebrows came together as if he didn’t understand. I realized I had to be more specific. “My parents are not tolerant people,” I explained. “When I was a junior in high school, I got caught kissing my basketball teammate Tommy Van de Berg behind the bleachers. So I never had the choice of continuing the lie of being the dutiful, religious son.” Estevan stared at me, a weird look of shock on his face. “What happened after you were caught?” I shrugged. “Tommy claimed he had punched me when I had kissed him, which was complete bullshit. He and I had been fooling around for over a month before we got caught. But by then everyone knew about me. At first it was terrible, but in the long run, I don’t regret it. I might still be living a lie if it hadn’t been for that son of a bitch.” Estevan said nothing. I leaned back over the arena door and watched Chelsea. “You know, maybe it would be the best thing for her too. Someone needs to tell her mother and father that she doesn’t want to ride horses.” “Let alone go off to college with one,” Estevan added. “Is she?” He nodded. “That was the plan for Tux. Chelsea was supposed to take him with her to some fancy riding school in England.” For the first time, I wondered if Chelsea alone had the ability to smuggle Tux out of the barn. It would have solved a lot of her problems. One less horse to ride, and no chance of having to care for a giant beast she didn’t like into perpetuity. Chelsea got Chival to stop once more, switched the longe line to the other side, and began working him the other direction. Again he took off at a frantic, angry pace, and she grew stiff and terrified. I nearly barged in, but Estevan clicked loudly and Chival instantly resumed a normalized pattern. “She’s really terrible, isn’t she?” I whispered. “Yeah. She really is. But it isn’t nice to mock people when they don’t know it.” “Yeah? Then why were you smirking at me yesterday, as if I had manure stuck to my back?” Estevan smiled. “I wasn’t mocking you. I was admiring your hard work.” “Oh? Funny admiration, smirks and whispers.” “Maybe I just like you,” he said, his voice very low.

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My heart beat faster. I moved a little closer. But he backed off just as quickly. “I have to go back to work.” His attitude flustered me. What was with the hot and cold treatment? I didn’t get it. And I didn’t like it. I glanced over at his handsome profile. He wasn’t looking at me, but he seemed a little flushed. Maybe he did like me, but just couldn’t admit it? I had no idea what attitudes regarding homosexuality were like in Brazil. I had seen images of Carnival that suggested a vibrant, openly gay community, but that didn’t always equate to national acceptance. After all, I had just moved from San Francisco to Lynden. Didn’t that represent two ends of a broad spectrum of tolerance? “Got to get Cosmo out of the field,” he said. “I’m not bringing horses in for another hour, so you have to do it yourself,” I sulked. “I don’t mind.” “Good, get used to it,” I told him. “If Chelsea’s parents have their way, you’ll be running this place yourself, and I’ll be living on the streets.” I ran my hands through my hair. Every time I thought of the Jacksons’ threatened lawsuit I broke into a cold sweat. These were not people to mess with. Estevan must have sensed my anxiety, because he offered me another smile. “Everything’s going to be fine.” “I’ve lost a million-dollar horse, who may be injured or dead, I’m about to be sued for all I’m worth, I’m running a bankrupt business that no one wants to buy, and my cousin keeps looking for opportunities to kick my ass. Sunny skies, all around.” Estevan raised an eyebrow. “When was the last time you were on horseback?” I scowled. “What?” “A horse. When was the last time you rode?” I sighed at the change of topic. “A long time ago. Long before I realized that my balls could serve a better purpose than being crushed against the pommel of a saddle.” “Come on, then. Let’s go for a ride. It’ll relax you.” “Riding horses isn’t relaxing.” “It can be. It’s a chance to take in the scenery,” he said. “What scenery? I know every inch of the indoor arena by heart.” “Come with me.” I followed Estevan down the aisle and out the back door of the barn. Estevan nodded to a thicket of alders at the edge of the property. “Beth had an arrangement with the neighbors. We can cut through their yard and ride in their orchard as long as we drop off compost twice a year.”

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Half Pass

“You want me to ride out in the open?” My palms got sweaty just thinking of all the things outside that could spook a horse and get a rider thrown. “A lot of bad things happen in the open. Kids play ball. Lawn mowers are ridden. Squirrels alternate branches.” “So?” “These are spook-worthy things. Dumping things.” “You’ll be fine,” Estevan assured me. “If you don’t want to ride Solo, you can ride Jasmine. Her owner said I could use her for schooling any time I wanted, and she never does anything that requires lifting more than one foot off the ground at the same time.” Excitement and terror battled in my mind. My heart began to beat faster. “I’m not sure—” “Paul.” My throat went dry at the growly tone of his voice, and I was nodding even before I realized I had agreed. I guess part of me wanted to get back in the saddle after all. Estevan gave me a blazingly beautiful smile, then marched out to the field to grab Cosmo and Jasmine. I walked back inside, debating whether or not to tell Estevan the full story of my accident. So far I had only shared what had happened to Mary Ann. On the one hand, the complete story would help explain why I could feel the blood drain from my face as I waited to get on a horse. On the other hand, it would make me seem like a coward, avoiding the thing that scared me the most. I realized I was being a coward. I needed to face my fears at some point—why not now? Estevan chatted amiably as we tacked up, but the entire time, I had the sensation that an eel was swimming around in my stomach. It was one thing to own a horse stable. It was another thing entirely to go gallivanting off into the suburban wilderness on a wild, twenty-six-year-old pony that belonged to an eightyear-old girl. That’s the stuff of legend. It seemed like Cosmo picked up on Estevan’s enthusiasm, because he pranced in the crossties, something I’d never seen before. In stark contrast, Jasmine swayed from side to side as if she would pass out from boredom at any moment. Her eyes were barely open, except when I put the saddle on her. Then she turned and gave me what her owner always referred to as an “affectionate air bite” but what I knew to be a sign that, the moment no one was looking, she was going to kick my ass to kingdom come and shit on my face. To prove my point, she lifted her tail the second I started putting booties on her back legs. I got out of the way just in time. “Jasmine has a dark sense of humor,” Estevan informed me. “Is that what you call it?” “She will also try and splash you with urine.” “Great. This is all very relaxing, thanks for the suggestion.”

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Estevan managed to slip the bridle over Cosmo’s head and attach it in one swift motion, like it was nothing, like the movement didn’t require three separate buckles and a lot of careful ear alignment. Jasmine and I did not fare as well. My hands were shaking, so it took ages to get the brow-band over both her ears. I then discovered I’d failed to get the bit in her mouth. I used the old stick-your-finger-in-thecorner-of-her-mouth trick, but she refused to budge, eyeing me with suspicion. Then I noticed my reins were twisted backwards. “Need help?” Estevan asked. “No, no, not at all, situation completely under control,” I said, tripping on the reins as I took them off and tried again. By this time Jasmine had grown weary of standing still and wandered off. Panic fluttered through me—another escape!—and I rushed after her. She gave me a fake nip and planted her head in the bucket on Axel’s stall. “Uh, can I get a little assistance after all?” I finally asked. I braced myself for Estevan’s sarcastic, cruel grin, but instead he just nodded and expertly coaxed Jasmine back over to the center of the aisle. He had Jasmine ready to go in seconds flat. He was pretty cool. No, I told myself, shaking my head. He’s a testosterone-poisoned asshole whose ego doesn’t fit inside the building. I found a helmet in Beth’s locker and buckled it on, glaring at Estevan. “Don’t say a fucking word,” I warned him. He shrugged. “Wearing a helmet is smart.” He led Cosmo to the mounting block in the outdoor arena and smoothly hopped on. I followed suit, Jasmine moving toward the mounting block like the glue factory had just relocated there. Her death march did not change speeds even though my heart began to race and it seemed loud enough to be heard miles away. “Steady,” I urged her as I swung onto the saddle, even though she didn’t appear to be breathing, let alone moving. Jasmine gazed over at the long grass at the edge of the property but otherwise showed no intention of bolting. I slid my boots into the stirrups and realized they were too short. Without thinking about it, I moved my leg over her shoulder and adjusted the straps from atop her, a trick I had learned a lifetime ago. Apparently riding horses was like riding a bicycle. The muscles remembered what to do. Once I had my stirrups the right length, I grabbed my reins and looked up to see Estevan smiling at me from atop Cosmo. “Ready?” he asked. I nodded and gave Jasmine a little tap with my heels. She didn’t move. I gave her a larger tap with my heels. Still nothing.

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Half Pass

“You should probably have a whip with Jasmine,” Estevan said. “She is not what you call a motivated horse.” “I can see that.” I clicked at her as I kicked and she begrudgingly walked for me. It was strange. It had been years since I had sat in a saddle on a horse, but all the sensations came rushing back to me—the exhilaration, the nervousness and the peace. With each stride my muscle memory returned, and somewhere deep inside of me, a part of my brain switched on with a sigh of contentment, like this was what I had been missing out on all these years, like this was all I had needed. There had been a time that I had loved riding, more than anything in the world. I had forgotten, in the long months of physical therapy and mental grief over the death of my friend. But now, astride Jasmine in the open air, a spark caught fire in my soul, and I breathed deeply, feeling a sense of connection that had been lost since I was a young man. Estevan led the way as we wound around the outdoor arena and to the back gate separating our property from the neighbor’s. Estevan didn’t bother dismounting—he expertly leaned over the side of Cosmo and fiddled with the latch. He urged Cosmo forward, and the horse pushed open the gate with his chest. Estevan shut the gate behind me and we began our ride in the slightly rolling wild grass of the Hendersons’ orchard. Estevan pointed out trees and chatted about Jasmine and Cosmo, and seemed relaxed to a degree that made me wonder if he was going to fall asleep at any moment. As for myself, I had hoped the ride would be romantic. Me and this man, on horseback, in the wilds of Whatcom County. In truth, my heart beat too rapidly to really have a good time, but I enjoyed it slightly, in the way one enjoys getting off a roller-coaster ride. But for a few minutes at a time, I loved it in this incredible, all-body way, as if I was one with something alien and spectacular and perfect. It helped watching Estevan, who was a natural at riding. He sat on Cosmo like the saddle was a big armchair and the reins were an icy-cold beer. His legs hung down elastic, loose, and yet somehow exuding invisible energy, channeling Cosmo forward, holding him collected together. But relaxed as he looked, Estevan was still working. Cosmo jolted at a bird in the underbrush and Estevan urged him forward, without tightening the reins or squeezing his legs or even moving. He looked so calm and in control. Part of me wanted the ride to go on forever. Another part of me wanted off as soon as possible. “Do you want to trot?” Estevan asked, and before I could answer, he trotted down the long edge of the neighbor’s field, and I followed. It took a minute of trying to get Jasmine to realize I was seriously asking her to do this. With a loud groan like she had been stabbed through the heart, she trotted, tripping slightly on a hillock and nearly

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sending me plummeting. We struggled to catch up to Estevan and Cosmo, whose strides were enormous and who moved across the landscape like a hydrofoil on the surface of a clear lake. As we circled by Beth’s old house, I caught a glimpse of someone huddled on the ground. It took me a minute to recognize my cousin, but I couldn’t fathom what he was doing, crouched like that. Fireworks shot out of his hands and suddenly—no time to think—Jasmine galloped the other direction. My heart scrambled up my throat. I tried to steer but Jasmine didn’t listen. She veered toward the woods and at the last minute jerked away from a tree, petrified, and I nearly toppled off the other side of her. I gripped on with my knees, knowing that any minute now, I would be living the Christopher Reeves’ story. I heard hooves and saw Estevan galloping toward me on Cosmo’s back. Jasmine reared. I slipped backwards. Estevan reached out and grabbed me by the shirt, yanking me onto his horse. It must have been a good idea in his mind. But in reality, he cried out in surprise as my full weight crashed against him and we both tumbled off Cosmo and landed on the ground. It was a high fall, and I was stunned, frozen while my heart tried to gallop away. Estevan lay on top of me, his hot, heavy body crushing me. He jerked up his head and stared into my eyes. “Puta merda! Are you all right?” “What the fuck were you doing?” I shouted. “I was trying to save you!” “By making me fall off two horses instead of just one?” “I’ve only ever done that with girls, you know.” Estevan’s cheeks turned red. “I underestimated how heavy you are.” “Oh, thanks!” “No! You’re just… I haven’t swung a full-grown man onto my saddle with one hand before.” “Well then next time, don’t try it!” “I won’t!” We both caught our breaths, panting, glaring at each other. I realized I could feel his entire body pressing against mine, and the contact was pleasant, pleasant enough to overpower the growing agony of my shoulder, which had taken the brunt of our fall. His lips were close enough to kiss. If my shoulder wasn’t screaming and if my heart wasn’t racing, I probably would have. “Jesus.” Estevan shook his head. “You sure you’re all right?”

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“Hard to tell with hundreds of pounds crushing me into the blackberry bushes,” I said, and Estevan bolted off me, as if he hadn’t realized he was lying on top of me like a lover. His face turned crimson. He wouldn’t look me in the eye. “Sorry,” he said. “No harm done, I think.” I moved slowly, pulling myself into a sitting position. My jaw hurt from where my chin had smashed against my helmet on landing, and my shoulder ached profusely, but the rest of my joints seemed to be functioning, if dusty. The only true casualty was my heart, which beat as if it was just trying to get to the end of its life and terminate. Another horse ride, another horse fall. This didn’t bode well for my equestrian future. Estevan stood carefully. “I’ll catch the horses.” Cosmo politely stood beside us, nosing through the undergrowth for something to eat, clearly unimpressed with our flip-over-his-back-into-the-brambles trick. Jasmine was running all over the place in an erratic pattern of terror. When Estevan returned with her, he still had color in his cheeks. “Are you okay?” I asked, spotting a bloodstain on his arm. He glanced down quickly and shrugged. “I skinned my elbow.” “I thought you said Jasmine never lifts more than one foot off the ground.” “That doesn’t include situations where that son-of-a-bitch cousin of yours lights fireworks behind her.” “There’s always fine print, isn’t there?” I approached Jasmine, who had a wild, white-eyed look about her. I glared at Collin’s house. “I’m going to end up killing that bastard if he doesn’t kill me first.” My fury toward my cousin softened my feelings toward Jasmine, who looked wrung out. I patted her neck. “I suppose you think I should get on her again to show her who’s boss.” It was what Beth would have told me, but to my immense relief, Estevan shook his head. “No, she is too frightened. However, you should get on her in the next day or so, to get over the bad memory.” I laughed bitterly. “Bad memory? Not even close. At least this time I’m not going into shock from blood loss.” “What?” Estevan stared at me. “Long story.” Estevan’s curiosity was palpable, so I changed topics. “I will get on again. But first I have to get better about freezing up when I’m tense.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, she wouldn’t have reacted so badly if you hadn’t frozen. Just remember this about bravery and riding horses: you fake it till you feel it.” “Right now I feel it. Feel it all the way to the bone.” He gently touched my shoulder. “How bad is it?” “It’s not broken.” I rolled my shoulder and winced at the shock of pain that bolted through the joint.

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Estevan frowned. “It took both our weights. You should probably go to the doctor.” “Nah.” It looked like he was about to protest, but instead he rubbed my arm furtively, as if afraid of being caught showing affection. “We’ll put ice on it when we get back to the clubhouse.” I liked the “we” part of that sentence. Back at the barn, the women surged around Estevan at the sight of his speck of drawn blood. He gave me a pitiful look as I walked off, leaving him to his groupies. Jasmine, to her credit, appeared chagrined as I took off the saddle and put her fly sheet back on. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” I told her. “Running around like a pony half your age.” Her bottom lip quivered, so I gave her a carrot to make up for it. “Sorry,” I whispered. I’d had enough with making the ladies cry today. I got her settled in with a conciliatory mountain of hay and moved to bring the rest of the horses in when Estevan touched my shoulder. “Let’s ice that,” he said quietly. “The horses—” “I asked Leah to help Stacy bring them in. You should rest.” He gently but authoritatively steered me down the aisle and out to the clubhouse. Once inside he pushed me down onto one of the old brown couches and fetched an oversized gel ice pack from the freezer. “Don’t move,” he said. He held the ice pack against my shoulder. It felt good. I closed my eyes and sank into the couch. The roaring pulse and stretch of torn muscles eased to a numb ache. When I opened my eyes, I noticed Estevan sat on the armrest of the couch, holding the ice pack, watching me in a way that made me feel self-conscious. “You don’t need to hold it.” I reached up to replace his hand with mine. His hand didn’t move. My fingers touched his. We stared at each other. I badly wanted to kiss him. His mussed hair, golden brown eyes and dark lashes drew me in. His head leaned toward mine. The clubhouse door flew open and Estevan bolted away from me as if on fire. “Don’t slam the door,” I cried in a mangled, shocked voice. I hissed as I bent over to retrieve the gel pack that fell to the floor. “Here.” Estevan picked up the gel pack for me and handed it over. Stacy marched in front of me, arms crossed. “All the horses are in, okay?” “Thanks.”

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“Anything else you want to accuse me of before I leave?” she snapped. “No.” “Good. Well. Fine then.” She stood there a moment longer. “See you tomorrow.” I sighed. “Stace. I’m sorry about what I implied. I’m worried about Tux, and sometimes I say the wrong things.” Stacy’s expression immediately crumpled. “It’s okay. I’m so worried about him too!” She sat beside me and hugged me on the couch, and started crying again. I awkwardly patted her back, trying to squirm out of the hug, which hurt my shoulder. As she wept I looked up at Estevan, who stared at me, uncertain. I cleared my throat and softly pushed her away. “But you can’t take off for days at a time without clearing it with me first.” Stacy nodded and wiped her eyes. “Okay, boss.” “And no more séances or fires or voodoo,” I added. She rolled her eyes. “It’s Wicca.” “Did you hear anything that night?” Estevan asked, towering over us both. He crossed his arms. “We know you didn’t harm Tux, but maybe you saw or heard something.” Stacy thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No, sorry. I didn’t see anything weird.” Now I was out of suspects and out of leads. I gave her a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Estevan and I watched her leave. I glanced at him, hoping he would pick up where we left off. Instead he shook his head. “I should go. I still have to ride Pandora today.” I didn’t stop him.

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Chapter Seven

“Like I said, I was…” Pause. “…helping my friend…” Pause. “…move!” All the boarders accounted for, the only person who had a suspicious alibi the night of the crime was Miriam, and her answer to my questions came in shouted, high-pitched, nonsensical clips. She galloped by me in a giant circle in the center of the arena, and I only heard snippets of sentences. “Can you stop for a minute?” I yelled out. “What?” she shouted back. She giggled, spurring Solo faster, the two of them ripping up the arena and looking like they loved every second of it. I had spent most of the morning trying to pin her down, but Miriam was aloof when she wanted to be. “What do you mean, helping her move?” I asked. Clearly she wouldn’t stop riding long enough to give me the time of day, let alone a lengthy response to my questions. “Look at how dramatic his canter is!” she squealed, flying through the air. “Yeah, lovely,” I mumbled. “Naomi wanted help moving, that’s where I was Wednesday.” “Uh-huh.” I was getting dizzy watching the two of them canter around like a giant bee. “So why’d you borrow Leah’s horse trailer?” “For moving! I loaded it with furniture.” I tried to follow on with a question, but she gave a loud cackle and next thing I knew the two of them slammed to a halt, Solo’s feet skidding in the arena footing. Miriam hooted. “Solo used to be a reining horse, you know.” I just shook my head and walked away. I didn’t have it in me anymore to pretend to care. It was four days into Tux’s disappearance, and I was growing desperate. I saw suspicious activity where none existed. Nevertheless, something about Miriam’s story just didn’t sit right. She had wanted Tux, I knew that. She had a place to keep him, I knew that as well. No love was lost between her and the Jacksons. She had motive and she had the means.

Half Pass

And who in their right mind would move someone’s furniture in a horse trailer when one could rent a U-Haul for twenty bucks? As I made my way around the back of the barn to start loading up the four-wheeler with lunch, I saw Stacy up on the ladder, frantically scrubbing at something. Leah suddenly appeared from behind a car and held out her arms, blocking my path. “Hey, Paul,” she said with clear nervousness. “Can I show you something in Boomer’s stall?” I wasn’t buying the diversion. “In a minute.” I moved past her. “Paul…” Leah cautioned, stepping again between me and Stacy. “What?” I walked around her waving arms and came to a standstill beneath Stacy’s ladder. She worked as fast as she could, no doubt to spare me the message, but despite her efforts the word FAG was still detectable, dribbled poorly in fresh white paint. I stared at it. For one long moment, the insult hurt. It cut to the bone, and I had to swallow my feelings back. But then the moment passed, and fury replaced everything else. “It’s okay, Paul!” Stacy cried out, scrubbing fiercely. “It’s coming off, don’t worry!” “Collin.” I gritted my teeth and looked around for something heavy and long that could beat his head in. I turned just as Estevan’s motorcycle roared down the driveway and came to a halt beside Leah and me. “Great,” I said under my breath. Estevan and his perfect timing, as usual. I stormed past Leah into the clubhouse and yanked free the restraining-order papers I’d filed with the sheriff. By the time I re-emerged from the clubhouse, Estevan stood beside Leah, eyes blinking at the insulting graffiti with a look of pale shock. He made eye contact. “Where are you going?” he asked sharply. “Don’t fucking stop me.” I swung myself over the low white fence that separated the stables from Collin’s house. “Paul! Think for a minute.” Estevan rushed toward me. He still had his motorcycle helmet in his hands. “You can have him arrested on this. Don’t do anything stupid.” “You know what’s stupid? Not reacting to a man who trespasses, tries to get me thrown from a horse and graffitis slurs on my fucking house!” I stormed to Collin’s front door. The house was huge, some seventies monstrosity Beth ended up with as part of the land purchase, so I banged on the door then kicked at it to make sure he heard me in whatever dark hole of a room he was hiding in. I heard a curse from inside. Collin swung the door open and jerked back. He looked over my shoulder at someone. I turned to find I was not alone. Behind me stood Stacy, hands stained with paint, Leah, two of the older boarders who had marched over with her, and Estevan, who had his hands clenched in fists as if ready to defend someone—I still wasn’t sure if it would be me or Collin. “What the hell is this?” Collin sounded pained, and the way his eyes narrowed suggested a hangover.

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I couldn’t beat the shit out of him now that I had a Greek chorus standing at my elbow, so instead I just threw the restraining-order papers at his chest. “Read this, you asshole!” I shouted. “If you ever step foot on Serenity Stables property again I’ll have you jailed, you hear me, you little prick?” Collin’s face contorted in rage. “Fuck you! You’ll be talking to my lawyer.” Collin glared at the audience behind me. “My mother did everything for you people, and you are going to let her son be treated this way?” “Are you going to pay me for having to clean swear words off the stables?” Stacy asked, crossing her arms. “I saw you dump the grain behind the barn,” Leah said, although that was a lie, but I appreciated it. “Your mother would be ashamed of you,” Stacy scolded him. Estevan said nothing, but his expression was dark and dangerous. He slowly inched closer. At first I thought it was to restrain me, but the glare in his eyes was specifically directed at Collin. Collin moved toward me and I stepped forward. Collin slammed the door shut. A chorus of chatter burst behind me as my small but loyal fan base gave an instant replay complete with director’s commentary. Adrenaline coursed through my system. I felt absurd being commented on like an action star for doing nothing more than standing my ground. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” I said. Stacy immediately linked her arm in mine. “It’s okay, boss, I’ll get all of it off.” I smiled at her, genuinely moved by her efforts. “Thanks, Stace.” I touched her head fondly. Back at the barn, Stacy worked on erasing Collin’s graffiti. Estevan moved to my side. “How are you?” he asked, studying my expression. “What do you mean?” Estevan frowned. I snorted. “It’s not like I haven’t been called worse things than a fag before, Estevan. I’m fine. Pissed, but fine.” Estevan nodded. Then he gave me a blazing smile and touched my shoulder. So close, I could see the rich buttery color of his eyes, and smell him, masculine with a hint of soap and leather. I swallowed. For one completely irrational moment, I considered inviting him into the clubhouse. I wanted to kiss him, and my carnal needs outweighed the warning in my head about getting involved with coworkers. Estevan stood there, frozen, as if thinking similar thoughts. The way he looked at me filled the air with tension.

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Half Pass

But then I was surrounded by other boarders, fresh from hearing the latest installment in the Paul versus Collin battle. Several promised to call their lawyers and help me defend myself, the barn, and what Stacy called “Beth’s inimitable dream”. Edith apparently had connections with the sheriff’s department and said she was going to call them. “Don’t,” I began, but she was already off. I sighed, wishing for once I had fewer friends at the barn. By the time I looked for Estevan, he was gone again. That man was like a ninja. Or Batman. His pants were tight enough for the role. Stacy and I brought the horses in for the evening, and the place cleared out quickly thereafter. In the unusual and peaceful silence, I fostered a fantasy of having enough time to run into town, drop off the restraining order, and buy another camera for the retirement field. But before I could even fully enjoy the fantasy, I heard Romeo squeal and once again panic as he undid the repair job on his waterer. “God damn it.” I rushed to his stall. Once again he had dislodged the waterer from the pipe, soaking the bedding. I got his halter on quickly, my still-swollen foot reminding me the consequences of hanging around an angry Romeo for very long. He bolted out of the stall. “Steady,” I told him. I remembered Estevan’s advice, fake it till you feel it, and used that as my mantra as I led him down the aisle. I had no spare stalls, so I put Romeo in Tux’s for the time being. I calmly removed his halter and stepped back, fearing he would spin around and kick, but instead he moved closer, lowering his head, looking scared. “It’s okay.” I reached out and patted his neck. He moved even closer. I sighed and rubbed his neck slowly. I felt fear vibrating off of him, but as I stroked him, he calmed down, and finally, nuzzled my injured shoulder as a little “fuck you” and turned around to munch Tux’s leftover alfalfa. I left his stall feeling like Iron Man. Horses were scary and stupid but also pretty simple. They just needed confidence, and sometimes they had it on their own, and sometimes you needed to give it to them. Bolstered by my bravado, I repaired Romeo’s destruction. When I was finished, I looked at my handiwork with a rare moment of pride. There had been a time in my life, only a few months ago, when I had grinned proudly and stood beside my manager as we closed the deal on representing a large investment portfolio, and I had felt like a million bucks. But for some reason, looking at that waterer—repaired so neatly no one would ever notice it had broken—made me feel even prouder. I had taken something broken and fixed it. Maybe I could learn to enjoy managing a barn.

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The horse in the next stall over kicked the wall loudly in response to my silent thought, and I shook my head. No need to go crazy or anything. I stripped Romeo’s stall, waited for the floor mats to dry, and restocked it with fresh shavings and new hay. By the time I moved Romeo back home, I was exhausted and he was happy once more, swaggering down the aisle like he owned the place. In the two hours he’d spent in Tux’s stall, Romeo had managed to shit, piss a few times and drool all over the bars. I started cleaning but stopped when I noticed the wire connecting the heat lamp above the stall door was loose. Pulling on it, I saw it had been chewed nearly all the way through. He had stripped away the rubber, and only one loose red wire remained. I stared at the wire, horror rising up my throat as I realized how close Romeo had just been to electrocuting himself. If I had waited a few minutes later, I would be dealing with two horse casualties instead of one. Assuming it was Romeo who chewed it. I looked closer. There was no slobber on the wire. It could have been Tux who did this. But what did it mean? Had someone found him dead and buried him? Where did the bloody bucket fit in? A lot of people connected at this barn, and every one of them had strings attaching them to Tux, but none of them tied to the few scattered, random clues I had.

I had intended to cook myself dinner that evening, but another visit from the Whatcom County Sheriff’s Department delayed my efforts. This time they wanted to look at the graffiti, but Stacy had done too good a job of removing the slander for them to have interest and they finally departed. At that point, even sandwich construction felt like too much effort, so I settled for ordering a pizza. I sat at the small clubhouse table and pulled out a pad of paper to jot down notes as I ate. Like everything in Beth’s world, it had horses frolicking along the margin. I wondered if it was possible to own a barn and own one thing that wasn’t equestrian-themed. I started writing down everyone who had anything to do with Tux. There were the Jacksons, of course. George and Ruth put Tux formally under training by the time the colt was three. Tux had won them countless trophies, prize money and prestige, but he wouldn’t earn them anything missing. Unless, of course, he was found dead. Then there was any life-insurance money they had on him. I knew for a fact that the Jacksons insured all of their horses, but they were millionaires and didn’t need to concoct some fly-by-night horse mauling for a few extra bucks. Besides, they’d only get paid if Tux was dead, not if he was kidnapped.

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Then there was Chelsea to consider. Tux was technically her horse, although she never rode him. If she dreaded the day her mother was going to send her off to college with Tux as part of some equestrian college education for the big league, maybe she took the horse. It would be one way to avoid a long, unpleasant future in a field she had no interest in. And there was Miriam Mallory, desperately in love with Tux and unable to have him. She had nervously burst into tears when I first mentioned his disappearance. Was that out of guilt? And what about Stacy’s romantic little divination party? Stacy habitually left doors open. Even if she claimed to have closed all the gates, what’s to prove she didn’t stop in Tux’s stall, especially since he was the subject of her séance? She gives him a pat, leaves the door ajar, then drives away after her ritual, giving Tux a chance to escape through an open gate. I opened another beer and drank slowly, mulling all of this over, when there was a short, sharp rap at the door. It startled me and I jumped, nearly dropping a pizza slice onto my blue shirt. “Fuck.” I yanked the door open. “Barn’s closed!” Estevan stood there, looking me over carefully. I froze. “Sorry,” he said. “Am I disturbing you?” In so many ways, I thought. I opened the door wider. “I don’t want to bother you, but I thought I’d let you know I am here and will be changing the poultice on Cosmo’s leg.” I frowned. “You don’t have to ask permission to be here, Estevan. You’re an employee.” He stepped inside. He stood close. Close enough that I could smell his skin, slightly sunburned, masculine and clean. He had showered before coming over, and shaved. The corner of his mouth lifted. “Given the heightened security, I thought I’d let you know I’m snooping around, as you put it.” I winced. He seemed delighted with my discomfort. His crooked grin rose by a fraction of a centimeter. Then his piercing gaze caught the container of sausage pizza on the table, and his stomach growled. He’d never looked so embarrassed. His cheeks grew red, and he quickly glanced down at his boots. “I am sorry to disturb your dinner. Good night.” “Wait.” I reached out and touched his arm. “Have you eaten?” I motioned toward the table. His gaze was powerful, it held me captive. He was looking into me. Not just noticing me, but taking me in. There was a subtle difference, and his stare was like the sun on cool skin, and I could even detect a hunger. Then his stomach growled again and I realized what I was reading as hunger was nothing more than…hunger. “Sit down,” I said. “Want a beer?”

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“Sure.” He moved into the clubhouse nervously, as if he hadn’t been there a million times before. He finally did sit, although having him at the tiny table made me feel like Jack from the beanstalk hanging out with the giants. Everything looked miniature. I sympathized with the smaller horses he rode. “You want an IPA or Porter? I’ve got both.” “IPA.” He cleared his throat, reached into the box of pizza. And ate like a man who hadn’t eaten in a week. Like the horses did, a sort of panicked starvation. I watched, fascinated. This was such a fastidious, perfectionist man. Everything he did was orderly, calm and stylish. Except this. He ate like an animal. He didn’t even look up as he consumed the entire slice whole. I started to laugh and had to bite it back. I’d never seen such a display of famishment. “What are you writing?” he asked, mouth full. He glanced over at the notepad on the table as he Bogarted another slice. The last sentence I had written said Estevan??? with a big line under his name. Shit. “What’s that?” Estevan asked. I shrugged. “My feeble sleuthing. Clearly Tux didn’t walk away on his own. I’m narrowing the list of suspects.” “And I’m one of them, I see.” He grinned. “Everyone is, until Tux is found.” “Did the police interview Collin?” Estevan asked. I nodded. “He has an alibi—he was seen by others at the Silver Reef Casino all night, getting drunk.” Estevan nodded. “Collin frequently goes there. Beth had to drag him home a few times.” “So if Collin was genuinely out getting drunk all night long, that means someone else came back after we returned from the bar.” “Who are your suspects?” He leaned back against the protesting chair as he shoveled another slice of pizza down. His shirt had to be tailored to fit him so well. His jeans were tight in just the right places. I could have sat there for hours, admiring him. I told him about Miriam borrowing Leah’s horse trailer, despite having no horse, and Estevan’s eyebrow twitched but I got no further response, which I assumed meant he was unimpressed with theory number one. Theory number two, Stacy leaving the gate open, also earned a mere eyebrow flicker but nothing else. I then suggested that Chelsea could have disposed of Tux in order to free herself of the burden of schooling with a horse she didn’t trust. “That’s not it.” He reached for the last slice. “It was your suggestion,” I reminded him.

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“Yeah,” he said between bites, “but you pointed out that she would never disobey her parents like that.” I shrugged. “She disobeys them every day in a way. Do they really believe she comes out to ride five times a week?” “It’s one thing to exaggerate—say you come out five times instead of one time—but to steal from your own family? I don’t think so.” He reached for another slice and found the box empty. “I’ll order another.” A subtle blush colored Estevan’s cheeks. “Sorry. I guess I was hungrier than I thought.” “I’ve never actually seen you eat before,” I commented, smiling. “It looks like you do it lion-style, all at once.” He focused intensely on his beer, the blush not fading. “So what about Chelsea’s parents, then?” I asked, going back to the topic. “Do you think they took Tux?” Estevan’s expression hardened. “I don’t care to speculate.” He downed the rest of his beer. “And why don’t you care?” I was confused by his attitude. I stood. “For chrissakes, this horse gave you a medal!” He turned on me, gaze sharp. He stood as well. “There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about that horse.” He stood close enough to pin me to the wall. “Believe me, I care. But as much as it frustrates me, Tux isn’t my horse. The Jacksons no longer pay me to ride him. I have nothing to do with him, and so while I’m concerned for his welfare, there is little I can do but worry on my own.” A subtle change affected him halfway through his speech, a melancholy tinge to his anger, and I realized he did indeed care, a great deal. He just hid it well. He hesitated, standing too close for it to be just an accident. My stomach clenched tight, and my heart beat roughly, unevenly, as if trying to run away from something that hurt this good. Giddiness and fear and excitement coursed through me. This was how I felt the first time I kissed another boy, the secret guilty pleasure of it, the sick roiling of terror, being caught, found out, but also the drive for it, the need to show myself. I glanced up at Estevan and he was staring at me with a look that was a request and a suspicion, all at once. What the hell was going on in that mind? “I should go,” he said softly. But he didn’t leave. Shit, was I going to have to initiate this? He swallowed. A shudder ran down his neck. His Adam’s apple leapt in his throat. I leaned forward. Our lips nearly touched. He turned away, face blazing crimson once more. He practically ran for the door.

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“Don’t forget to lock this behind me,” he instructed, and then he was gone, swallowed by the darkness, and I was left with an erection, an empty container of pizza, and a strong suspicion that this man was not nearly as straight as he seemed.

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Chapter Eight

The following morning, as I flipped through the local paper, I found my name under the Local News section, with a mention of the vandalism on my property. For anyone who had lived in Lynden for any time, it was a clear message: That homosexual boy is back in town, causing trouble again! I was under no false expectations about my reception here, but it still bothered me that they had to go out of their way to list my name and address. I quickly flipped through the rest of the mail but stopped when I noticed an intimidating letter from Beth’s mortgage company. It was addressed to the Residents, and not the stable itself, so I strongly suspected it was intended for Collin. Since the property had only recently been split, I ended up with a lot of his mail. I could have given it to him. Instead, still pissed about the day before, I opened it. It was a second notice of foreclosure. Apparently Beth still owed money on a refinance of the house itself, and Collin had inherited that debt along with the property. He hadn’t made a single payment on the place in three months. The bank warned it would give him only six more weeks before they foreclosed. I sat there, staring at the letter, realizing what Collin’s threats were really about. It wasn’t just that he hated fags. He wanted the stable so he could sell it and use the money to keep the house. And his burglary attempt must have been a desperate search for cash. If he hadn’t been such a prick, I might have felt sorry for him. But the slur on my wall killed any sympathy. “Paul?” Stacy stuck her head around the office door. “There’s a guy here looking for you.” I walked out of the office to see a man standing in the main room of the clubhouse, slightly hunched, a nervous-looking grin on his face. He was tall and thin, and dressed strangely for a Whatcom County man, his shirt open one button too many, his shoes polished, an expensive cut to his sports coat. He was definitely overdressed for a barn. “Hey, Paul,” the man said, unstuffing one of his hands from his pockets to shake. I stared at him. The style to his brown, wavy hair was unrecognizable, as was the clothing, but his bright blue eyes instantly triggered a memory. It took me a moment to fully accept who it was standing in front of me. “Tommy…Tommy Van de Berg?” I asked incredulously. The man laughed quickly. “Yeah, that’s me. I go by Tom now, though. How the hell are you, man?”

Astrid Amara

I shook his hand, and he held mine a second longer than necessary. “What are you doing here?” It startled me to see an old high-school friend after so long. Correction: ex-high-school friend. This was the guy who had told the whole school I forced my attentions upon him. He was another liar in a string of liars I seemed to get involved with. “I saw your name in the paper this morning and couldn’t believe that you were back in town.” Tommy shook his head as he looked around the clubhouse. “Still helping your aunt out here, are you?” “My aunt died three months ago,” I told him. His smiled appropriately departed. “Oh, hey. Hey, I’m sorry about that.” I moved over to the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee. I didn’t offer him one. When I turned back he was giving me a quick look-over. “You look good, man. Really good. I wanted to see you. Wanted to see if you’d like to go out for a beer.” “I’m pretty busy these days.” “Looks like you’ve been working hard,” he said with a weird laugh. “What are you up to these days?” I asked, forced into polite conversation thanks to years of Lutheran upbringing. Tom shrugged. “Oh you know, this and that. Got a contracting business right now, but I’m also helping out a friend at his woodworking shop.” I nodded as if I found it interesting. “Uh-huh. Here in Lynden?” “Yup, just outside of town. On my way there now, but I thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing.” I narrowed my eyes at him. Sipped my coffee. “It’s been ages since I’ve been here,” he continued. “Can you give me a tour?” I raised my eyebrows. “I could, but those fancy shoes of yours will be gone in about thirty seconds.” “I don’t mind getting dirty.” The way he said dirty made me scowl at him. “I mean you’re going to lose your shoes. The mud is a foot thick in places. It steals footwear.” “You have a pair of muck boots I can borrow? We’re nearly the same size.” The man was four inches taller than me. While I frowned at his clearly larger shoe size, he reached out to put his hand on my arm. “I think we probably still have a lot in common, Paul.” A-ha. Sad it took so long for me to recognize a pickup. It was a lifetime ago that a man had shown interest in me, and I’d forgotten what flirtation sounded like. But as his glance traveled down my body, I finally figured out what this was about. This was a booty call. Unfortunately for him, he’d lost his chance years ago. Tommy’s hand squeezed my arm. “We could go to your house, see if anything fits?” I nearly choked on my drink. “Jesus, not very subtle, are you?”

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Tommy’s hand was still on my arm. “Is there any reason to be subtle?” His voice had dropped and his entire stance changed dramatically. There was a loud bang on the arena window. I jumped back, startled, to see Estevan, on top of Chival, fist against the glass. He looked furious. I backed away from Tommy. “I’m not interested,” I told him. “Who’s he?” Tommy sneered. I turned to see Estevan leap off of Chival. He charged out of the arena. “Our dressage trainer.” “Your dressage trainer is a guy?” Tommy scoffed. “You married, Tommy?” Tommy’s eyes widened. “Got kids?” I continued. After a moment, Tommy nodded. “Three.” “Sounds like you’re a real family man these days.” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm from my voice. Tommy looked away. “I got work to do,” I told him. “Paul, don’t be a dick,” Tommy said. “Come on, just have a beer with me tonight.” The clubhouse door slammed open and Estevan stormed in, looking ready to throttle someone. I turned to Tommy. “No thanks. I make it a rule to stay away from liars, but I wish you the best.” A look of hurt crossed Tommy’s eyes, but I didn’t have the energy to spend my time catering to the needs of rest-stop queens. “You okay?” Estevan asked me, slightly out of breath from running in, still carrying his riding crop in one hand. For once there was dirt on his boots. “Fine,” I told him. “Tommy’s leaving.” Tommy mumbled some sort of farewell and left the clubhouse, slamming the door behind him. At this rate, the door was going to be broken by the end of the week. Estevan watched him go, his body tense. “Who was that?” “Remember when I told you I got caught kissing a guy back in high school?” He frowned. “I remember.” “Well, that was the guy I was kissing.” He glared at the door. “You mean the one who got you in trouble.” I shrugged. “Actually, it was his tattling little brother who caught us kissing, but Tommy put all the blame on me.” “You should have kicked him out of here,” Estevan growled. “Why the hell were you even polite to that bastard?”

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“I am polite. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to take part in any more of Tommy’s lies…or anyone else’s for that matter.” Estevan’s eyebrows came together. “Paul.” He seemed upset about something. “What?” He stared for a long moment, but didn’t say anything. I waited. I figured the guy would eventually just blurt out whatever was rumbling around in that inflated head of his. But he didn’t. I broke the silence. “Are you done riding for the morning?” I asked him at last. The change of topic seemed to clear his head. “What? Yes. For a few hours at least, until Edith’s lesson.” He smiled at me. “Do you want to have a lesson on Solo?” I laughed. “What part of flying off the twenty-six-year-old pony the other day makes you think I want to get on a bucking Arabian?” “You know what you’re doing.” He reached out and touched my arm. “You said you’d get back on a horse.” “Not Solo. Besides, Miriam’s riding him.” “Not today. She doesn’t come by this early in the morning.” My heart started racing, both in excitement and terror. “Come on, Paul. I’ll give you a lesson.” “I can’t afford it.” “Don’t be an ass. It’s free. Any lesson with me will always be free for you.” I don’t know if he was trying for some innuendo, because he lowered his gaze and his voice roughened, but I didn’t have the will to flirt if it involved suicide on horseback. Estevan squeezed my arm. “If you ride him once, and don’t like it, I’ll never ask you to ride another horse again, all right?” He sounded sincere. And honestly, at this point, I was no longer sure why I was set on not riding. For months I’d been living and working at the horse barn I had loved. I knew one bad experience, no matter how bad, shouldn’t have colored the rest of my horse-riding life, but that was the way it was. I hadn’t come out here to confront my feelings about horses or what happened, but now it seemed everyone else wanted me to get over my phobias even if I didn’t. “Why does it matter so much to you?” I asked. Estevan looked me straight in the eye. “Because I hate squandered talent.” “You have no idea how I used to ride.” “No, but Beth told me you were gifted, and from what I’ve been able to piece together, I can tell she wasn’t exaggerating. Clearly what happened with Mary Ann made a lasting impression. But you are one of the bravest men I have ever met, and I don’t think you should let that memory stop you from enjoying something you once cared for.”

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The speech was both moving and annoying, and I don’t know which part touched me more, but I found myself sighing. “All right. One ride. Then you leave me alone.” Estevan gave me a gorgeous smile. “It’s a deal.” We walked out together to get Solo from the field, our shoulders brushing companionably. He haltered and led Solo in for me, and I groomed him, the whole time concentrating on how much I wanted to impress Estevan, not on how little I wanted to get on top of this crazy animal. It seemed like suicide. Solo was unpredictable. As I led Solo into the arena, other boarders began to gather at the door, cheering me on. Leah stopped tacking up her horse to watch. “I’ve always wanted to watch you ride,” she said. “It isn’t pretty,” I warned her. My heart was racing. “Go, Paul!” Stacy cried. My throat was dry, and I swallowed to bring moisture back to it. “Just once,” Estevan whispered to me as he followed me into the arena. “Right.” I couldn’t think too hard about it. I just had to get on. I had to ignore the fact that, upon seeing Beth’s saddle, my shoulder immediately started throbbing and my legs began to ache. Estevan held Solo steady for me at the mounting block. “Solo’s not going to kill you,” he reasoned. “You don’t know that. If a horse accident could kill Genghis Khan, it could kill me.” I stepped up to the mounting block. So little had changed in this arena over the last ten years. I could feel the blood drain from my face. Estevan noted my expression. “What happened to you?” “I was showing off,” I told him. “Trying to impress Mary Ann. I did a flip dismount off my thoroughbred. He didn’t like it and kicked me, full speed, at the top of my leg. He broke my pelvis, and sent me hurtling fifty miles an hour into the wall over there. I had my arm up to protect my head and managed to shatter the tibia in four places.” I held out my arm for emphasis. “I was in traction for months, nearly bled to death, and now I’ve got an arm that’s half-metal. But worse, it was my little stunt that spooked Mary Ann’s horse. That’s what killed her. My trick.” Estevan, Leah, Stacy, and two of the other boarders who were watching all looked instantly horrified. Before I could think anymore about it, I swung myself into the saddle. I quickly put my feet in the stirrups and held on to the reins. I remembered Beth once teaching me that horse riding was a physical representation of one’s inner psychology. Nervousness represented itself in a nervous horse. If you were calm and in control, the horse would understand and trust you, and be calm as well. That’s all nice on paper, but when I got on Solo and felt his back tense and shiver in anticipation, how the hell was I supposed to keep myself from panicking? Estevan still looked a little stunned by my story. “Breathe,” he croaked.

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Astrid Amara

I breathed. I moved Solo forward. He responded. He was keyed up. Unlike Jasmine, who needed to be drop-kicked to take a step forward, Solo was like a coiled spring, ready for the smallest release from me to shoot forward. Muscle memory returned. Relax into the saddle. Let legs hang loose. Maintain contact with the reins, but don’t pull. “You look great, Paul,” Stacy cheered, waving her pitchfork in my direction. “Uh-huh.” The pitchfork waving spooked me, but it wasn’t spooking Solo, so I tried to ignore it. I pushed Solo forward with my seat and moved him into a circle. “Nice.” Estevan had recovered from my story and looked proud, and I felt better. I breathed out and relaxed a little. Solo responded by dropping his head, rounding his neck and taking the bit in a gesture of good will and acceptance. “Good,” Estevan continued. “Keep that position. He is listening to you. Tell him what you want to do.” I legged him into a trot and he bolted forward. “Use gentle aids,” Estevan cautioned too late. “You don’t have to yell at Solo. He responds to whispers.” The truth was, I had never ridden a horse as nice as Solo before. The horses I rode in my teens were quarter horses with one foot in the grave, or else they were thoroughbreds with two settings, explode and sleep. Solo was attentive. He was listening for me to tell him what to do. And when I didn’t, he made up his own things to do, which turned out to be bad ideas, like jump three feet to the side to avoid a new beam of sunlight across the arena footing. “Make him work, Paul,” Estevan told me. “All right.” I focused. I tuned out my own whispering terror, Stacy’s erratically moving pitchfork, the sunbeams, the repairs I hadn’t done, everything but the feel of Solo beneath me. I collected him together and asked him to move in a circle, radiating out at a slight angle. I brought his shoulders in and kept his hind out, helping him flex and bend. He was like putty, responding to every request I gave him. And there it was again. That tingling sensation of sheer joy I had sampled on Jasmine the other day. Solo and I were connected, for better or worse. “Why don’t you canter?” Estevan suggested. Why don’t I puke? I considered responding, but that wasn’t a very manly sentiment. So I took a deep breath, tried to sink deeper into the saddle, as deep as my tense ass would allow, and shifted my legs ever so slightly to change the command from trot to canter. And then we were cantering. It was like flying. Solo’s strides were sky-bound. It was pa-da-dum, and air, pa-da-dum, and air again. The arena rushed by and we barely touched the ground. I had never ridden a horse with such perfect rhythm. He was like a metronome. His long mane fluttered. I heard a noise and realized it was me,

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laughing, mouth grinning with a wild, thrilled chuckle. How the hell had I forgotten this feeling? Nothing compared to this. I thought turn and we turned, I thought bring it together, slower, and Solo did. I was psychic. So was he. We were careening around the place and all my terrors of paralysis and Solo’s rejection faded in the glory of this three-beat rhythm we now shared. By the time I stopped, my adrenaline pumped not out of terror but sheer adventure. I slipped off Solo and stood there, feeling like the world just got a whole lot smaller when I wasn’t riding him. “I think you’re going to keep him.” Estevan smiled, a flash in his eyes. “Oh yeah?” I couldn’t have pried the grin off my face if I tried. Estevan nodded. “You two are a good match.” He patted Solo’s neck affectionately. Solo leaned into the contact. I felt a rumble of excitement, thrill and hope and terror and joy, building, but then I tamped it down, hard. “But I’m selling the stables.” I realized I had no place for Solo once Serenity was sold. Estevan stroked Solo’s nose. “We’ll see about that.” He then gave me a pat, an awkward gesture that was part-reassuring-squeeze, part-stroke, and he looked into my eyes. “Mary Ann wasn’t your fault, you know.” I had to clench my jaw against the sudden burst of emotions. I was drunk on the canter, thrilled by the ride, and intensely missing my old best friend. “It was the horses that spooked, not you,” Estevan said. “It doesn’t really matter whose fault it was,” I said when I was sure my voice wouldn’t waver. “The damage is done.” Most would have said something more, tried to convince me to feel better about something that never could be better. But Estevan just nodded. “It’s time to forgive yourself.” He took Solo’s reins and led him to the crossties. I struggled with many emotions as I stood there, watching on as Estevan removed Solo’s saddle and booties. I found Estevan’s breeches an improved distraction, highlighting his strong thighs as they flexed with every move. He picked Solo’s feet for me and I swallowed back the desire which flooded me at the sight of him bending over. Adrenaline, and an absurd level of confidence still coursed through me after a successful ride. I wanted to make a move on Estevan, and thought about Tommy’s direct, inelegant approach. Perhaps it was that simple? Invite him into my room, say I want to show him something, and kiss him? What if I was wrong? What if I was seeing arousal when it was nothing more than general affection? After all, Estevan was not an American. He grew up in a different culture, where men might interact with each other in ways that we in the U.S. would consider romantic, but they would consider fraternal. Still, my enthusiasm after Solo and my mounting sexual desire forced me to give it a try.

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“Estevan?” I asked, as he unhooked Solo from the crossties and put him in his stall. “Yes?” “Let’s talk about something privately in my office.” I hoped my nervousness didn’t show. Estevan shut Solo’s stall door, paused, then very deliberately turned to look at me. There was a question in his eyes. “All right.” Nervous anticipation fluttered through me as I led the way through the barn to the clubhouse. I considered locking the clubhouse door, but it was still open hours for the barn, and knowing my patrons, they were more likely to bang on it incessantly if it was locked than just go away. I brazenly put my hand at the small of Estevan’s back and led him toward my office. He drew closer to me, and I could feel the change in him, the sudden alertness. His cheeks flushed. But he didn’t stop moving forward. I pushed open the office door. My cousin Collin was in there, on his hands and knees, in one of the filing cabinets. I choked. “What the—” “Hey!” Estevan charged. He reached down and grabbed Collin by the collar and pushed him against the wall. Collin shoved Estevan in the gut with force, and Estevan let go. Collin bolted from the room. Estevan rushed after him as I dove for the phone and dialed 911. Estevan was back in the office before I had finished my call to the sheriff’s department. He shook his head. I hung up, and shook my head as well. “They’re sending a car around now, but my guess is he’ll be long gone from home by the time they get there.” “I couldn’t see what he took,” Estevan said, panting a little. His hand hovered over his ribs, where Collin had shoved him. “What was in that folder?” “I have no idea.” I crouched down to look in the bottom drawer of Beth’s file cabinet. “There’s nothing in here but old records of horse sales, and info on old clients.” I glanced up and saw Estevan rub his chest. “You okay?” He nodded. “He’s got a strong punch.” “I know it.” Estevan suddenly laughed. “Things are very different with you around. This is the third fight I’ve been in the middle of.” After a second I laughed as well. He offered a hand and helped me stand. “Don’t blame me,” I said. “I’m the one who just wants to be an accounts manager, remember?”

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He smiled. Standing so close I could smell soil and horses and sweat and leather on him, and found myself leaning in to the scent. This close, the white scar above his eyebrow stood out against the dark tan of his skin, and the stubble already forming on his cheeks looked unexpectedly arousing. He went very still. I slipped my arm around his waist. He didn’t protest, confirming all my suspicions. Ex-wife or not, this man was gay. “Paul, you in here?” Leah’s voice called out from the main room. Estevan broke away from me so fast I nearly fell backward. He didn’t say anything, he bolted from the office. Leah stood there, looking as stunned as I felt. “Sorry for interrupting,” she said softly. I stared out the office window to see Estevan practically run for the barn. “What do you want?” I snapped, unable to hide the frustration in my voice. I felt like I was courting a timid squirrel. I slumped in my office chair. “I just wanted to let you know we’re running low on the flax-seed supplement.” Leah hesitated. “I’m sorry.” I swiveled the chair and looked up at her. “Why?” Leah shrugged. “It looks like I…I may have interrupted something.” “Don’t say anything, all right?” I asked, although I knew the chances of that were pretty much next to nothing given the appetite for gossip at the barn. But Leah didn’t have that gleam of gold in her eye. She came in and gave me a hug. It was a weird reaction. I didn’t know what to make of it. “I’m really glad you’re here, Paul,” she said at last. “For Serenity’s sake, and for Estevan’s too.” The sound of police sirens interrupted us, leaving me wondering what the hell she could have meant.

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Chapter Nine

The next two days, Estevan wouldn’t make eye contact with me. No matter what I said or how often I looked, he ignored me. Other than required grunts in response to my questions, I got the silent treatment. This pissed me off. Relationships were hard enough without the bullshit of mixed messages. And we weren’t even in a relationship. If I was going to get the cold shoulder from a lover, at least I should have gotten off first. Estevan’s behavior put me in another of my increasingly frequent shitty moods, but then I walked in to the clubhouse after cleaning stalls to find a hot cherry pie. “It’s for you.” I turned to face Edith Blomkvist. She looked stunning as always, even after her ride, in sleek herringbone breeches, hair coifed in a style more appropriate for the opera than the barn. “Really? Why?” “You looked haggard the other day,” she said. “I don’t approve of the Jacksons’ lawsuit and I don’t think you need more stress added to your already difficult job.” Of all the people in the barn, I expected Edith, who was wildly wealthy and hardly mortal, to be the least sympathetic. But she had baked me a pie. I choked up a little. “Thanks, Edith,” I said as she turned to leave. She smiled. “Good luck. And if it makes you feel better, I completely trust my horses in your care.” “It does make me feel better,” I said, genuinely touched. I followed her out to the barn aisle, where she started putting away all of her tack. “Have the police found anything new?” she asked. I didn’t have the heart to tell her they weren’t really burning the midnight oil on Tux’s behalf. “Nothing new. The person I spoke with this morning said it’s most likely an inside job, but I can’t put together any of the evidence we have to suggest a culprit.” I helped Edith attach the myriad number of straps on Axel’s blanket. As I did so, Axel gave me a sweet, sleepy look. I patted his neck. “He’s a great horse,” I told her. “My favorite to turn out every morning.”

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Edith smiled. “Yes, he’s much more polite than my old horse, Aura. She was a nightmare to turn out. She pulled and chewed on the lead rope and leapt in the air at every opportunity.” “Did you sell her?” I asked. “Oh, I still own Aura. She’s out in a pasture in the county.” “You can’t ride her?” “No. We made great strides but then she hurt her back flipping over in the crossties one day and that was the end of her riding career.” She shook her head. “A thirty-five-thousand-dollar horse, now acting as a moving lawn ornament.” She gave a little laugh. “You must have felt furious.” Understatement of the decade. But Edith just shrugged. “It happens to the best of us. Leah put all of the money she had saved for graduate school into a young colt with an incredible lineage, spent another fifteen thousand dollars for osteochondrosis surgery when he developed a bone cyst, and he never fully recovered enough to be sound.” The realities of horse ownership were so bleak. Every person I’d ever met who had anything to do with horses had a similar story of pain, heartache and financial ruin. How many horse dreams had I seen shattered at this barn? How many untrainable mounts, how much bloodshed and grief? Horses go lame or colic or injure themselves, and then they’re expensive pets. Riders are thrown and broken or die, horsefarm dreams blossom and wither from bad weather, hard work, a lack of funds, and the steadily increasing cost of hay. This was a terrible business and a gut-wrenching hobby. Why the hell did people do it? Why did they put themselves through this heartbreak, get filthy and risk their lives and waste all their money? For what? A rush of adrenaline? “I just don’t understand horse people,” I told Edith. “Oh?” Edith’s mouth curled. “Why not?” “It’s like wallowing in mud, ripping up five-dollar bills as fast as you can. Expensive, dirty and pointless.” “Then why are you here, Paul?” I frowned. “I inherited the place.” “You could have sold it from San Francisco.” “I owe Beth more than that.” Edith’s eyebrow rose. She looked at me with a little smile, but she said nothing. She grabbed her box of brushes and headed into the tack room. I glanced over and saw I had buried my fingers in Axel’s mane. My arm was draped around his neck. His eyes were big and soft, and as he stared at me, something lurched inside my chest. “Stop it,” I warned him. The look didn’t change. “It’s not working.” He eyed me silently for another few seconds, and for a moment, everything in my heart went perfectly serene and still.

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I shook my head to clear it and led him back down the aisle to his stall. “Pfft. Horse people.” I wouldn’t ever understand them.

I spent the rest of the day trying to find a quiet moment with Estevan and failing. Before I could get to him he jumped onto Chival, then Cosmo, then gave a lesson to Leah, stopping only to change tack. As I ate lunch in the clubhouse, I came upon a dressage magazine that someone had left out on the kitchen table, and it was opened to an article about the best international riders. There was an entire section on the man himself. The reporter had nothing but praise for Estevan’s calm demeanor and simple, elegant style of riding. The article went into an in-depth analysis of his freestyle with music routine at the last World Equestrian Games, but didn’t bother to spare a sentence for the man’s personal history. How hard was it going to be to figure this guy out? My ruminations were ruined once the clubhouse door swung open, and George and Ruth Jackson advanced. “Have you found him yet?” were the first words out of George’s mouth. My hand clenched around the magazine. “I told you I would call you the moment I heard any news.” “It’s been almost a week.” Mr. Jackson pointed his finger at me. “I’ve given you all the time you’re allowed to resolve this, but I’ve had enough. You’ll be hearing from our lawyer this afternoon.” “I don’t think you want to talk lawsuits,” I said coolly. The Jacksons both glared. “Why?” Ruth asked. “Let me show you something.” I led them outside to Tux’s stall and held out the frayed electrical wire. “I found this.” I hit my rolled-up magazine against my thigh for emphasis. I was about to launch into a lecture about their contract, which stated that they were liable for damage to the property from their horse, and what a disaster an electrical short would be, but I didn’t need to. Mrs. Jackson went instantly pale and George, almost in compensation, turned bright red. He moved closer, threateningly, but I was a lot taller than him and smiled coldly. “Sue your way out of this one.” Mrs. Jackson latched onto her husband’s arm with a death grip. Without another word, they both angrily left the barn. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw Collin sneaking around the clubhouse. I rushed out of the barn and around the side of the building, but he was gone. I watched his house intently for movement but saw nothing. Since he had broken the rules of the restraining order, I had the sheriff’s department’s

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attention, and had strict instructions to call them the second I saw him return home. But Collin’s place had been conspicuously dark and empty over the last two days. After finishing chores, I went for a long run and took a shower, locking the clubhouse door after having been walked in on more than once in my tenure as barn manager. I wanted the peace and freedom of being able to call the entire space my own for the evening. The shower energized me. Although I had learned my lesson about locking the clubhouse door, I wasn’t entirely educated, because once again I jumped into the shower without bringing a change of clothes. I toweled off and enjoyed the cooling summer air on my naked skin. The front door was locked, so I wasn’t concerned. I wandered out of the bathroom and made my way to the main room and opened the fridge for a beer. I reached down for the beer, and when I straightened, the back of my neck tingled. I swiveled and immediately realized my mistake. It was late, but the lights in the arena were on. Estevan was on horseback, stopped at the window, staring in at me. My cheeks burned hot from embarrassment, but I didn’t move. I froze there, beer in one hand, stark naked, and met Estevan’s gaze. His face was expressionless, but his eyes seemed darker than usual, dilated. I swallowed. Tension hovered in the air, passing through the glass that separated us, holding us both captive. My body seemed trapped and enthralled. A vibration of nervous excitement shot down my spine at the way his gaze swallowed me whole. His mount, Cosmo, snorted then turned away. Estevan’s eyes held mine for a moment longer. He let Cosmo take off, galloping to the other end of the arena. My heart beat so quickly I felt light-headed as I made my way back to my room. I quickly changed into jeans, threw a long-sleeved T-shirt over my head and hastily tied my boots. I wasn’t sure what my game plan was—all I knew was that, after that electrifying look, there was no way I was just going to stay in the clubhouse. I dressed faster than ever, but even at top speed I didn’t re-emerge in time to see Estevan ride again. The arena lights were out; the arena door was closed. I dashed out of the clubhouse and down the porch stairs, and made my way into the main aisle of the barn. Estevan’s mess was still there. He hadn’t bothered to sweep up, which was not like him—but Cosmo was back in his stall, untacked and ready for bed. Estevan had booked it out of there. I heard his motorcycle engine turn over. I ran to the door just in time to see Estevan, on his bike, take off down the road and disappear from sight. I’d scared him off. Again. I stood there, staring at the driveway, wondering what the fuck I was going to do now. I was hyped up, brain spinning, cock throbbing. I had no doubt anymore that Estevan found me attractive. But clearly he

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wasn’t out. I could be patient with him, although the idea tired me. Kevin had been the same way when we first met, and it had taken years for him to openly declare his sexuality. Did I really want to go through all that again? Why was it so hard to find a healthy, openly gay man around here? Oh yeah. I was in Lynden, Washington. I turned back and wandered forlornly through the aisle, leftover adrenaline and nervous excitement fading. What were the attitudes about homosexuality like in Brazil? Maybe his uncertainties lay with possible repercussions at home. A noisy rattle distracted me. Boomer’s bucket was still in his stall, and he swung it from side to side with his nose. I opened his stall door and he gave me an innocent what? expression, like he hadn’t just been using the bucket as a punching bag. “Nice try, smart ass,” I told him. I rubbed a smudge of dirt off his pink nose. “But I’m on to you.” I turned to remove the bucket from his stall when something like a sledgehammer smashed into the side of my head. I fell forward, slamming into the stall door before collapsing into the shavings. I remember looking up with blurry eyes, seeing a stain on the wood boards, and thinking, hey! I’ve got to clean that, before slipping into an excruciating oblivion.

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Chapter Ten

My back hurt. Someone was dragging me by the ankles into another stall. I moaned. “What the—” a muffled voice said. My head burst with pain as another crushing blow landed near my temple. Nausea, fear, and then darkness again.

“Paul.” Pain filled my head, it filled me so full I couldn’t think, let alone focus. “Paul!” Someone cradled my head. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t the ground below me that hurt, it was the agonizing throb inside my brain that made me want to die. I thought about the word “die” and realized I almost had. I sat up. At least I tried to. But nausea welled through me and a large, warm hand pushed down on my chest. “Stay still, an ambulance is on the way.” I wanted to ask what happened. I moaned instead. “Is he alive?” someone asked. “He looks cute lying down,” someone else said. “What’s on his shirt?” “Oh my God, it’s blood!” My eyes fluttered open at that. The lap cradling me shifted as a warm hand slipped up to my forehead. “Stay still,” said the voice. It was low and dark and male. Estevan’s voice. Only he could sound so calm when there were so many explosions of painful color everywhere. I squinted up and saw Estevan’s face. He looked agitated. Surrounding him, peering down at me, were nine of the barn ladies, watching me avidly, their wide-eyed faces only inches from mine. “Ahh!” I cried. Everyone stepped back in surprise. “He’s totally conscious!” Stacy said. “Poor baby,” Leah cooed. “I think he’s going to hurl?” Miriam whispered loudly.

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“What happened?” My voice sounded hoarse. The words banged the walls of my head like moths trapped inside a light fixture. “Romeo kicked you in the head.” Leah wore an expression of horror-delight. Something about horse accidents seemed to simultaneously thrill and terrify these people. “What…?” I blinked. What the hell time was it? Why was everyone here? Had I been out all night? “It wasn’t Romeo,” I said weakly. A couple of the women looked at each other in concern, and Estevan’s grip tightened on my arm. “Are you sure?” he asked. I wanted to shake my head but thought better of it. “Someone hit me. I heard voices.” “Why would anyone hit you, Paul?” Stacy asked. “You are like the coolest guy ever.” Estevan rolled his eyes. His hand brushed against my throat, as if feeling for a pulse. He looked either pissed or terrified, I couldn’t tell. “You left,” I said to him. Estevan frowned. “I came back ten minutes later and found you like this.” “Why did you come back?” I asked. “I…” Estevan swallowed. He glanced at the gaggle of female heads all inches from his, and shook his own. “I’ll tell you later,” he whispered, his accent noticeable, a sure sign he was upset. “Edith’s birthday party is tonight, and we all planned on meeting here?” Miriam explained. “But then we heard Estevan crying and came in to the barn to see what happened?” “I wasn’t crying!” Estevan snapped. I could hear the ambulance siren and was grateful for it. As fascinating as my current predicament was, everything hurt so badly I just wanted to be unconscious again, and I really hoped the EMTs aboard the ambulance would have something to facilitate that. At the sound of the siren, Estevan shifted, and the sudden movement was so painful I didn’t even wait for the soothing silence of drugs. I was out a second later.

Someone held my hand. Semiconscious as I was, I couldn’t fathom who it would be. My best friends, Laura and Jim, were in San Francisco, and my Aunt Beth was dead. That formed the entire list of people in the world who would hold my hand. I twitched my fingers. Yes. Someone was there. Heat, softness, but most of all, comfort. That incredible sensation of “it’s okay” translated into physical sensation. A lone finger was making small circles on the pulse point at my wrist. I opened my eyes.

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Estevan looked smaller than I remembered him. Maybe it was the lack of tight-fitting clothing or big cowboy hats. He looked mortal, in jeans and a blue hoodie. A hoodie? Then I reminded myself I was back in the Pacific Northwest. Here, even nuns owned hoodies. “How do you feel?” Estevan asked softly. God, I loved that husky voice, so dark with that slight accent. No one in the world sounded like him. “Why are you holding my hand?” I asked. He dropped it. I felt bitter disappointment rise in me, then I thought, oh no, that’s not disappointment. I lurched over the side of the bed away from Estevan and threw up. There was a basin there already. Like someone at this hospital knew that was going to happen. I wanted to be alone. I didn’t want Estevan there, watching as I shakily wiped my mouth. He pressed some button beside the bed. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “God, I’m a mess.” “Don’t apologize. I’m just glad you’re awake.” I leaned back against the pillow and breathed shallowly, trying to control my nausea. “You’ve been out for two days,” Estevan told me. The news alarmed me, but then Estevan reached out and stroked the wet hair from my forehead, and I thought, It’s almost worth it. The pain. It’s worth it to feel this. “Do you remember what you said at the barn?” he asked. I closed my eyes. “No.” “You said it wasn’t Romeo that kicked you.” “I wasn’t even in Romeo’s stall.” I opened my eyes but regretted it, and quickly shut them again. The pain in my head had passed by unbearable minutes ago. Now I wanted to be shot and put out of my misery. “Paul.” Estevan’s voice was soft but insistent. “I was in Boomer’s stall, when someone hit me on the head. I’m sure of it. Then I was dragged into Romeo’s and hit again.” “Would you recognize the voice if you heard it?” “Maybe.” I tried to concentrate on the memory but it was slippery, and easily eluded me behind giant walls of throbbing pain. “You have a suspect?” Estevan didn’t answer. He just glared. “Are you pissed at me or something?” I asked, bewildered by his angry look. Estevan’s eyebrows came together. “Why would I be pissed at you?” He said pissed in two syllables, piss-ed, and it seemed funny to me. He leaned over the bed and kissed my forehead.

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The doctor walked in a moment later and Estevan pulled away quickly, giving my hand one last squeeze before leaving me to face the medics alone. The emergency physician was kind, because he spoke in a quiet voice as he expressed pleasure at my conscious and talking state. I had suffered a concussion and staples held my head together in two places. While it seemed no permanent damage was immediately apparent, they still wanted to keep me another night for observation, given the slight swelling at the back of my skull. My first disturbing thought was, How the hell am I going to pay for three nights’ hospital stay? But this was quickly eclipsed by a more disturbing thought—someone had tried to kill me. And they’d tried to make it look like an accident. So why now? What had I done recently to elevate me to someone who deserved to be murdered? Was it the restraining order? The discovery of the bloodstained bucket? I couldn’t be certain. But it scared me, because I didn’t know who to trust. The lawsuit was the least of my worries now. The bar just rose on this mystery. It had gone from missing horse to attempted homicide, and I realized I was in a lot deeper than I could get myself out of on my own.

I’d never liked hospitals before, but I will say the steady stream of painkillers, gently tending nurses and kindly quiet voices kept me calm as I lay like an invalid hooked to brightly blinking monitors. By the afternoon of the third day, the attending physician was satisfied with the reduction of swelling in my head and released me. I intended to call a taxi but three of the boarders waited for me outside, Miriam bearing flowers, Edith cradling an expensive bottle of wine, and Leah with the best of offerings, an ice pack. On the way north to Lynden, the ladies speculated on what was now the hottest news to hit the barn since Tux won his Olympic medal. “It’s a miracle you’re even alive,” Leah pointed out. “Lucky for you, the murderer isn’t very good at his job.” “You assume it’s a man?” Edith asked, travelling up the interstate at a smooth ninety miles per hour. “Don’t you get it? It’s probably one of us.” “It’s got to be Collin?” Miriam said. “Who else wants Paul dead?” “Stacy kept Collin’s house under surveillance with her boyfriend all night,” Leah informed me. “Did she see anything?” I asked. “No. He’s been missing since you called the cops on him.” I cradled my head as we bounced over a pothole. “I figured out how to watch the security footage on your computer?” Miriam told me, but then she frowned. “But the camera outside the barn didn’t catch any vehicle in the lot?”

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That was interesting. “Who knew I put them in?” I asked. “Everyone,” Leah replied. “It’s not like there are any secrets at the barn.” “So someone either walked over,” Edith said, “or else knew they had to park out of sight of the cameras.” I brooded in silence for the rest of the journey. When we got to the barn I wanted to do nothing but go to bed, but a sheriff’s department patrol car was parked outside the clubhouse, waiting to talk to me about the attempt on my life. I walked slowly, my head pounding, and was greeted inside the clubhouse by three more boarders, two detectives and Estevan, who had stubble on his face and looked like he hadn’t slept. “Sit down, Paul, before you collapse,” Edith ordered, leading me over to the couch. The level of interest from law enforcement had doubled since I had first reported Tux missing. The tall, severe-looking fellow introduced himself as Detective Henry Gray, and his partner was an intense little man named Jones. They had already taken statements from the other boarders. “As soon as we find Mr. Clark we’ll bring him in for violation of your restraining order,” the detective informed me. “But we’d like to ask you some questions about the attack and your missing horse.” I explained to the officers what I remembered, which wasn’t much. They asked questions I could only answer with sketchy images. A brown-gray mess of something against a wood board. A bright red smear, which only after the fact I realized was my blood. A voice, hard to discern. The more I played the incident over in my head, the more the evening was reduced down to sexual frustration from Estevan, excruciating pain, followed by a little more excruciating pain. A gripping narrative I did not make. But I was grateful for the interest from law enforcement, even if it took an attempt on my life to get them to give a shit about what was going on around here. When the boarders realized no more revelatory news items would be revealed, they wandered away to tend their horses or go home to their husbands, children and real lives. Only a few lingered, including Edith and Leah. And of course, Estevan, because he was the champion of hanging around when I didn’t want him near. I had been all right leaving the hospital, but as the conversation wore on my headache worsened. Just when I thought I couldn’t bear it any longer, the detectives finally departed, armed with the CD of video footage. Stacy came in to report the afternoon chores completed. She informed me that, for a small daily fee, her boyfriend Tim would help clean stalls, turn out horses, and feed until my health returned. Despite my dwindling financial reserves, I didn’t hesitate. I deputized him barn-hand and stumbled toward my bed. I wanted to be alone. Leah and Edith followed me in. “Please…” I asked pitifully. One of them pulled back the sheets for me. The other took off my shoes.

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“It’s like having two mothers,” I complained, but I softened when Leah put the ice pack against my pillow and turned out the lights, and Edith came by a moment later with a glass of water, which she put on my bedside table beside two aspirin. “Don’t worry about anything, Paul,” she said. “We’ll keep an eye on the barn.” “Thank you. All of you.” Maybe it was the headache, or the murder attempt, but I was getting emotional with all the loving attention, and tried to smile at them. It must have looked horrible because they simultaneously shook their heads and tsked me. Then they left me in peace. The moment my head hit the pillow I slept more soundly than I had since moving back to the Pacific Northwest.

I woke up feeling like a new man. Maybe it was the joy of being alive when someone wanted me dead. Maybe it was the knowledge that Stacy’s boyfriend would do the chores and I had permission to sleep in. Maybe it was the clearing of my headache, the absence of a heavy fog which had addled my thoughts for four days. But now, fresh in mind and in energy, I rose ready to face the world and all its equestrians, drunk cousins and attempted murderers. I stepped from the loft and made my way toward the bathroom, but stopped short when I saw a pair of cowboy boots crossed over the arm of the clubhouse couch. Men’s boots. My stomach clenched. I moved toward the couch slowly, careful not to make noise. Estevan lay stretched out, still asleep. His long lashes contrasted nicely with his dark stubble. He looked peaceful, but he was fully dressed in jeans and boots and white T-shirt, his arms crossed over his chest as if cold. I stared down at him. His eyes fluttered open. He stared back at me. “Good morning,” I said. Estevan sat up quickly. “Has something happened?” I frowned. “No. Why?” “What time is it?” He rubbed his hand over his face. I looked at the clock on the wall. It was only four in the morning. No wonder it was still dark. “Sorry, I didn’t know you would be here.” I moved to sit beside him on the couch, and he swung his legs down to make room. “Even with a concussion, I guess I can’t sleep longer than twelve hours.” He was still blinking to wake himself up. His body had a nice smell, earthy and sleepy. “Why didn’t you go home?” I asked.

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“I wanted to make sure you were safe.” “I doubt whoever came after me would try a second time.” “If they’re motivated enough to kill you, they’ll try again.” “Yeah? Well I can take care of myself.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “You haven’t done a good job so far.” He was being playful, but it bothered me. “And why the hell do you care anyway?” His smirk disappeared instantly. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.” “The other day you couldn’t even look at me. What the fuck is going on with you?” Estevan froze on the couch, eyes wide, and I instantly regretted my comments. “Look,” I said quickly, “I appreciate your concern. But your mixed messages are fucking with my head.” We sat there in dark silence. “I don’t mean to,” Estevan said eventually. “This is hard for me.” “What is?” “You!” He turned and glared. “How I feel about you.” “How do you feel about me?” I asked after a moment. His eyebrows came together. “It isn’t… I thought I could forget these feelings. Get over them.” “What feelings?” My heart raced. Estevan said nothing. He stared at his boots. And then he finally looked me in the eye. “The feeling that I want to fuck you so badly it leaves me shaking.” My body burned at his words, a current that came on so quickly it took my breath away. He looked away from me again. I reached out and cradled his chin in my hand. “Don’t look away.” I turned him to face me. “Are you really stupid enough to think you could just ‘get over them’?” Estevan gave me a small smile. “Don’t call me stupid.” “Well you are. You thought you could just will yourself straight?” Estevan shrugged. “It isn’t easy for me. My family…the people close to me…if they knew…” “If they are important, they won’t care, and if they do care, fuck ’em.” I pulled my hand back from his face but he caught it in a tight grip. He yanked me toward him and then I was kissing him, oblivious to headaches, bruised shoulders, trodden feet and thieves, murderers, and kidnapped horses. There was only this. “All right then,” I said at last, pulling back to catch my breath. “All right what?” he whispered, his voice hot against my cheek. “Fuck me.” His eyes closed and his mouth curled into a delicious, angelic grin.

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Chapter Eleven

It was easy, kissing Estevan after so many false starts. My lips just touched his and his mouth opened, tongue surging into my mouth, and his hand cradled the back of my neck as he pushed deeper into me. My heart raced in my chest and I gripped him back hard, clumsy and desperate in my joy. His body was so warm. He held me close and kissed me deeply, and while I tried to speed things up, growing more frantic as arousal thrummed through my body, he seemed to go even slower, his tongue playing lazy games with my own, his eyelids barely open, watching me with those startling golden brown eyes. I’d never kissed anyone so still. He held me, a slight tremble in his hands the only hint of his excitement. His eyes burned in the low light. His reach was gentle, hand stroking my back softly, tongue making lazy swipes along my lips before plundering my mouth. He tasted like spearmint gum and something heavy and masculine. A scent rose from him, hot and hungry, and I couldn’t resist grinding my groin against his in response to the smell of his need. “You want to do it here?” he whispered into my hair, my body shivering in response. “I’ll be gentle.” “Don’t be,” I said back. I slid off of him and walked to the office, holding his hand and leading the way up the narrow stairs to the loft. He watched intently as I stripped. I stood on display, my own cock stretching out heartily to introduce itself. Estevan had frozen again, his eyes dilated, looking like he was either going to maul me or bolt. “I love your body.” His eyes raked over my nakedness as he quickly stripped. I was still wondering how he undressed so quickly without tripping himself up, when he was embracing me, his body hot, dark skin and sleek muscle surrounding my own pale flesh. His mouth sought mine and we kissed again, bodies rubbing against each other in lazy, glorious friction. His stubble was rough against my face but I didn’t care. His cock was so hard it pressed against my stomach with angry intention but I didn’t mind that either. The taste of him, after such longing, filled my senses and made me oblivious to all but the tremor of pleasure starting at my groin and pulsing up my spine. Estevan guided me back until my calves hit the bed, and I lowered myself down. I continued to kiss slowly but Estevan’s initial lazy pace had disappeared, his movements grew frantic. He looked almost pained with desire. His cock thrust from his body like a separate entity entirely, dark and engorged, leaking as it stared at me in kind. I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out to cup his balls in my hand and feel that feather-soft skin between my fingers, the hefty weight of them. My fingers slid further back, toward the

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cleft of his ass, and his entire body began to shiver, his cheeks flushed. I don’t think I’d ever seen anyone as beautiful or as aroused before. He looked like the definition of masculine carnality to me, broad chest darkened with chest hair, cock jutting rugged and large, strong thighs trembling, all force and need, shivering under dark skin. My own body seemed thin and pale in comparison, but when I lay back and spread my legs to show him where I wanted him, some Portuguese swear word slipped from his tongue in a low, gravelly voice, and he crouched over me, kissing me deeply as his fingers stroked my flank, lowered, and reached between my legs. The mere flutter of his fingertips against my opening nearly sent me over the edge. My right hand flailed at the bedside table for the ever-hopeful and long-unused plastic bag full of condoms and lube. Estevan seemed to sense what I was groping for and opened the drawer for me, fishing around until he found what he needed. I watched with trepidation and excitement as he carefully applied lube to his fingers and crawled back to me. There was no smile in his expression now, only a dark hunger. His mouth surged upon mine and his tongue plunged into me just as his fingers penetrated my ass. I clenched down on the cool sensation, but he didn’t withdraw. He stretched me open as his other hand stroked my cock and my balls, rhythmic and slow. He pushed my legs up toward my head and dipped down to lick the entire length of my shaft. I writhed on the pillow, too much sensation, too great, all at once. His mouth engulfed my cock and I was ready to come right then, and when he added the persistent thrust of his fingers, I whispered a long string of words which may or may not have made sense. I didn’t care, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was this sensation, this raw need for completion. I had to get there, and I didn’t care if it hurt. The thrust of his fingers stretched more, a delicate pain consumed by a roaring pleasure, and I had to draw in a heavy breath to speak. “You better fuck me now,” I managed to say, “because I’m going to explode.” Estevan rose onto his knees and rested my legs on his shoulders. He rolled on a condom and guided his thick cock into my ass without another word. It had been over a year since I’d been penetrated by anyone, and now the feeling shuddered through me. Too much, too much, I was being impaled, and then it stopped, and all I could think of was more, God, more. I marveled that so much of him could fit inside of me, all of that male heft and weight shoved into my tight hole, and still he kept pushing deeper, his cock stretching my entrance with small waves of pain, then settling into a slow burn that faded into a shattering ecstasy. It was too soon, I thought. Damn it, I’m like a teenager coming for the first time. But it was too late. Just the sheer size of him was the fulfillment of a lifetime of fantasies. I reached up and stroked my cock once and climaxed, streamers of my pleasure shooting into the air and landing on my chest.

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He smiled down at me, and shuddered. All at once I felt it, a rapid pulse of liquid heat, and with another guttural Portuguese word, Estevan came, clinging to me for dear life. He said something huskily to me that I didn’t understand, kissed me breathlessly, and slid out of me. And then fell asleep. Immediately. I had to push him off me. I could have been charmed or disenchanted, but there was a small, genuine smile on his lips, and he looked so disheveled, pleased and exhausted, I couldn’t be disappointed. I shoved him to one side of the narrow bed and made my way to the bathroom to wash up. When I returned, he was spread-eagled across my entire bed, snoring away contentedly. I sighed and pushed at him again. “Move over, stallion,” I whispered. “This is a stall for two.” He grumbled something, and his arms lurched out and grabbed hold of me, pulling me tight against him. His legs entangled with mine, and his body cocooned me. He kissed my forehead. “Not much for postcoital conversation, are you?” I joked, but he was already snoring again, his nose breathing in my hair. So I said good night to the wall of hairy pecs that I now had my face smashed up against and called it quits for the night.

Hours later, I woke from a pleasant dream where someone was doing something absolutely incredible to my dick, to find someone doing something absolutely incredible to my dick. Estevan was between my legs, giving me the kind of lazy-morning blowjob a guy only dreams of getting. We made love again, slower this round, and I took the time to appreciate the body lying next to mine, the play of tension and soft skin, the smells of sex and sweat heavy in the air. Afterwards, I slipped back under the covers and Estevan enfolded me, a smile on his lips as he reached out to run his fingers though the paltry collection of blond hairs on my chest. It must have looked amusing compared to the thick dark hair which covered his own. “Don’t judge a man by his chest hair,” I told him, and he laughed and reached down to cup my balls. “No. I’ll judge you on this.” I grinned. “And the verdict?” He gave me a gentle squeeze. “You are beautiful, and surprisingly strong, given your penchant for being hit about the head and face.” “I’m an accounts manager,” I reminded him. “I’m not used to assault and murder.” He ran his hand along the flank of my body, and traced his finger along the long scar on my arm. “Is this from your accident?” I nodded. “There’s more metal than bone in there. It’s like fucking a cyborg.”

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“It’s a handsome scar,” he told me, completely serious. I almost laughed. I ran my hand along a crescent-shaped scar beneath his left breast. “Where’d you get this?” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Asshole Warmblood. Kicked me in the chest. Lucky for me, not very hard. But I had a hoofprint-shaped bruise for months.” “And this?” My finger traced a thin, ragged line just above his knee. “I was removing boards between two stalls at an old stable outside Rio. The whole structure was rotten and the separating wall fell on me and cut open my leg.” I kissed him, and he kissed back hungrily. There was a gleam to his eyes. Typical. It would be just like some macho man to get turned on talking about his own battle wounds. “And this one?” I reached to touch the first scar I’d noticed on him, the thin white line over the edge of his left eyebrow. Estevan’s smile vanished. “I don’t remember.” The tone in his voice suggested he did remember and had absolutely no intention of telling me about it, and so I dropped it. I’ll ask him about that one in thirty years, I told myself. I changed the subject. “So, your wife in Rio…?” Estevan leaned back and stretched, closing his eyes. “Divorced, remember?” “But you did get married.” He nodded. “I thought I could grow to like it.” I ran a hand along his lean stomach muscles, loving the way they sloped down to the dark curls on his groin. “Didn’t take, I gather.” He kissed me again, but looked a little shaky when he pulled back. “I’m not brave like you, Paul.” I laughed. “Yeah. Brave. I’m terrified of an eight-year-old girl’s pony.” “You are brave. After the slur on the barn, I would never have stood up to Collin like that.” “Sure you would have.” “No.” There was a finality in his voice. I glanced at him. He seemed to be struggling to tell me something. “I’m not like you Paul. I’m not…out.” I swallowed. “Okay.” “I am a coward.” “Pfft.” I dismissed the term. “You jumped in the middle of a fight, threw a guy who’s stronger than you against the wall, and spend your time riding around on potentially fatal animals that may or may not break your neck.” “No one here knows about…this.” He gestured to the delectable image of our two cocks, sleeping soundly together where our groins met. I shrugged. “It just takes time.” “It didn’t for you.”

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“I had no choice. There was no going back for me.” “But when you moved,” Estevan pressed. He rested his head on his hand. “You went to college, to San Francisco. You started a new life. And you didn’t lie about who you were then either.” “No.” I sighed. “It wasn’t worth it. If I learned anything from my experience here in Lynden, it was that there was nothing to be gained by hiding behind the gymnasium kissing boys and lying about it. People can hate me for who I am, but I refuse to hate myself for it.” “That’s what’s so amazing about you.” He smiled and ran his hand through my hair. “How could someone as confident as you be afraid of Jasmine?” I laughed. “Jasmine doesn’t care if I’m gay, straight, male, female, or even nice. She can still break my arm without meaning to.” Estevan rolled toward me, pulling me closer with an arm around my chest. “Hey?” I asked after a moment. “Yes?” “What did Ruth Jackson mean the other day when she said you should shut up if you know what’s good for you?” There was a long pause, and Estevan’s breathing slowed. I suspected he’d fallen back asleep, but then he stirred, pulling away from my body. “Ruth is a manipulative woman,” he said at last. “She has ways of hurting me and thinks that if she threatens me I will do her bidding.” “How can she hurt you?” “What time is it? I have to go home.” “Not a very subtle change of topic,” I said. “And besides, you don’t have to leave. You can stay here. Easy work commute this way.” He kissed me. “And what about Salvatore?” “Who?” “My dog,” he said. “Without food, he’s likely to eat something else, like the inside of my sofa.” “You don’t seem like a pet kind of guy.” “Why not? My entire career is about animals. I like Tux more than most people.” A silence fell over us as we both thought about the horse that was at the center of all the intrigue. Estevan kissed me once more, then hunted the room for his clothing. I watched his strong body move around the room and got hard again, despite having been fully sated only moments before. “You should stay in bed,” Estevan instructed as he pulled on his jeans. “I’ll come by as soon as I change clothes and feed the dog to do your chores at the barn.” I yawned. “Don’t bother. I’m paying Stacy’s boyfriend Tim to do them for me.” Estevan’s eyebrow quirked up but he didn’t complain.

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“Besides, I feel fine,” I told him. “And I’ve missed four days. I should see what tragedies have taken place in my absence.” Estevan sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his socks. He looked over with a hard expression. “Don’t go anywhere alone.” “The likelihood of being attacked in the middle of the day is slim.” Estevan shook his head. “Until the police determine who hit you, I want you to stay in the clubhouse and keep the door locked. Don’t open it for anyone but me.” I laughed. “Jesus, Estevan, what do you think, Leah and Stacy ganged up to clock me? The boarders are fine.” “One of the boarders is the problem,” he growled. “And I’m going to find out for certain who it is that hurt you.” He clenched his jaw again. “But I won’t be able to concentrate on anything if I think you’re in danger.” His protectiveness was endearing and also instantly tiring. “I’m not doing my chores, but I’m going to go about my other business as usual,” I told him. He started to protest but I held out my hand. “I promise not to go into dark alleys alone, but other than that, I won’t spend my time hiding from some asshole who thinks he can knock me out of the picture.” Estevan shook his head but left, resigned. When he was gone the bed was much bigger, but also a lot colder. I tossed around it a little longer before determining I couldn’t sleep another minute and got up to start my day. The barn had a manic energy about it, given the level of intrigue. Pockets of individuals spoke in quiet whispers, then silenced as soon as someone walked past. Even the horses seemed to sense the tension. Every time I looked out to the paddocks, one of them was setting all the others off, creating a competition of galloped laps, heads flung high, complete with screeches and superfluous bucking. Jasmine was the only horse unaffected, because she apparently didn’t care if I was going to be murdered. Estevan returned to the barn around nine and practically ran up the steps to the clubhouse. “You doing okay?” He barged into the office, looking me over carefully as if I had acquired additional bruises in his absence. “Estevan, I’m fine,” I told him. “Stop worrying.” “Pfft.” He shook his head. I noticed he sounded a lot like Cosmo when he made that noise, and wondered what sort of bad habits grown men developed when they spent all their time around horses. “I have to give Leah her lesson, and run into town, so I will be gone for a few hours. Don’t go anywhere alone,” Estevan reminded me. “Yeah, yeah.” The corner of Estevan’s mouth quirked up. He moved toward me as if to give me a kiss, but Leah entered the clubhouse.

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“Estevan? Are you here? I want you to look at Boomer’s fetlock for me, it seems swollen…” She paused when she saw the two of us and gave us a big smile. “Hey, guys.” I smiled back, but Estevan pulled away. “I’m here. Let’s go.” He left with Leah. Detective Gray returned around noon, and went through Beth’s paperwork. I showed him the drawer that held the file Collin had taken, and we both poured over the contents of nearby folders for clues of what had been stolen. But there seemed to be no pattern to the drawer. Gray was silent whilst sorting through the material I myself had reorganized and neatly filed, but when he asked for anything older than three months I had to point him toward the drawer that consisted of a messy stack of loose documents that hadn’t ever been put into folders. “Beth wasn’t what you’d call an organized person,” I told him. Detective Gray mumbled something about overtime then dug in. I spent the rest of the day catching up on bills and arranging for yet another removal of the manure pile. It was warm and sunny out, and a breeze wafted through the clubhouse. I felt good. Probably better than I should have, given my situation. But the night with Estevan had reinvigorated my spirit. When my real estate agent Dan Cadwell called, I was even cheerful to him. “I’ve got a prospective buyer,” Dan told me, sounding equally enthusiastic. The words stopped me cold, however. Why now? was my first thought. And then I shook my head to clear it. “Great!” I said quickly. “When do they want to come by and see it?” “They’re coming from Eastern Washington, so they’re hoping next month would work.” “Fine, sounds like a deal.” I looked away from Beth’s walls of photos. “I’ll talk to you next month.” “Talk to you later, buddy,” Dan said. I hung up the phone. Buddy. All day, a parade of the regular boarding crew swung by the office to wish me well. Miriam gave me a quiche as a gift to thank me for letting her ride Solo, and even Stacy pitched in, baking some sort of gluten-free scone that was as hard as a hockey puck and stuck the top of my mouth to the bottom. Estevan returned from whatever errand he had run, but then jumped on Pandora. He followed this by giving another lesson to one of the older boarders. Next he rode Axel. My legs ached watching him. They had been sore after a short ride on Solo. Getting on ten different horses a day sounded exhausting. I wanted to stroll the property and check to make sure everything was in order, but I sensed Estevan’s angry glare, even when he was in the arena, training. So I asked Miriam to accompany me. She chatted amiably about organizing a tack sale. As we strolled by Solo’s paddock, we stopped and let him amble his way over to say hello. He gave me a rumbled greeting and nuzzled my outstretched hand, and I thought to myself, He’s mine. I’m keeping him.

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I tried to dislodge the irrational thought. “He’s pretty fun to ride, isn’t he?” Miriam asked. I nodded. She gave him a pat and then we circled round to the retirement field, where Miriam checked on the horse she used to lease before he went lame. For once, the horses in the field all stood still long enough for me to count them and check if they looked well. As we walked back she asked me if I remembered whose voice I heard the night I was hit. “Not really,” I said. “I can’t even tell if it was male. But if it was, that narrows my suspicions to Mr. Jackson and Collin.” Miriam sighed. “You didn’t hear the news then, did you?” I froze. “News? What news?” “The Jacksons have an alibi? Detective Gray told Leah this afternoon when he was trying to flirt with her? The night Tux disappeared, the Jacksons were at the Bellingham Country Club all evening, and there are witnesses.” Disappointment flooded me. So if the Jacksons didn’t have anything to do with it, and Collin had an alibi as well, who was left to be guilty? “We’ll figure it out?” Miriam said, throwing her skinny little arm around my shoulder. She was tiny, and she had to struggle to reach my height, but I liked the warmth in the gesture, so I threw my arm around her shoulder as well. Inside the barn, I noticed Estevan stalking about the place. I took a moment to appreciate the view of him in his tall boots and tight pants before we made eye contact, and I realized his fury was directed at me. “Where have you been?” he asked, voice low. He gave me a quick visual scan, apparently once again checking for bruises. “Don’t worry, I had Miriam with me to fight off bad guys,” I said. Miriam giggled. Estevan shook his head. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” I extricated myself from Miriam, and Estevan and I walked outside. Once out of eyesight Estevan moved noticeably closer to me, his hand on my arm. He steered me to the back of the shavings shed. For one strange, irrational moment, I was frightened. What the hell were we doing back here, away from everyone? Was it him this whole time? Was I blinding myself to the truth because of the way I wanted him? Estevan pushed me against the corrugated steel wall of the building, and I tensed, ready to fight for my life. Instead he kissed me, hard. His groin pushed against mine, demanding attention. I kissed back with relief. “Where are you sleeping tonight?” he asked quietly. “Hopefully somewhere with you,” I said, my voice a little shaky with mounting arousal. “I don’t think you should be here.”

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“I won’t be alone.” I reached out to squeeze the hardening bulge in Estevan’s breeches. His eyes fluttered closed and he made a small involuntary moan. “Stay with me,” I whispered. His eyes snapped open. “No.” “No?” “Stay with me. Come to my place. It’ll be safer.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Besides, my bed is bigger.” He looked pleased with his decision, but he hadn’t thought it out all the way. “Your neighbors might notice.” His eyebrows came together. “Notice what?” “Me. Coming to your house in the evening. Not leaving until morning. It may lead to questions.” Estevan nodded slowly. “Ah. That’s true.” “So do you want to stay here?” Estevan looked over at the fence line for a long moment, his jaw grinding. He turned back to me and kissed me once, quickly but deeply, enough to heat my core and cause me to lean in for more. “No. I’m not going to hide.” I clenched my eyes shut. “Estevan, I don’t want our sex life to be some sort of challenge you have to overcome.” “It’s not,” he said strongly. “It won’t be. It’s fine.” “You sure?” He nodded. “Come home with me.” He smiled, and I saw no hesitation in it, so I smiled back. “Bueno,” I said. “Certo,” he corrected. “Whatever.” I grinned. “Take me home.”

How could something as simple as making love feel like the greatest invention in the whole world? My mind struggled with the overpowering sensations of Estevan’s mouth, hot and probing against my own, with the feel of Estevan’s rough hands, stroking my shaft, cupping my sac, the heavy thrust of Estevan’s prick, pushing into my body and striking at such an angle as to liquefy my muscles and stop my breathing. I lay supine to his welcome assault, as he filled me up with his hot flesh and pulled me tightly to his muscled torso. We didn’t speak. We just moved, two bodies finding a rhythm, and every time my body relaxed, he pushed himself deeper, taking advantage of each centimeter I offered up to him. The velvety head of his cock brushed me with such unerring accuracy that I couldn’t hold back a moment longer, everything culminating into a shivering need, and I came, my seed pulsing out of me, coating his fingers.

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Estevan never stopped kissing, and I gasped into his mouth and clenched my ass around his hard cock. Estevan came as well, never breaking the kiss, nearly bending me in half as he tried to cradle me, impale me and kiss me all at once. We slowly broke apart, his cock slipping from inside and leaving me feeling scraped raw, open, empty. I must have made a face, for his eyes flashed and his hand cupped my face. “You all right, caro?” I nodded, still too stunned to speak. Aftershocks of pleasure shivered through my body. He nuzzled my neck. “I love the way your body feels, clenched tight around my cock.” I stretched, grinning. “I aim to please.” Estevan laughed. His fingers tangled in my hair. “Next time, your turn?” My eyebrows rose at that. “Yeah?” Estevan’s eyes glinted. “Why not?” “You done it before?” “No.” He ran his hand down my chest. “But I trust you. You can be my first.” “You seem like a pro to me,” I said, and I wasn’t kidding. The man had moves. He watched every expression on my face and nailed the right spot without trying. But there was a nervous excitement in his eyes as he proposed a switch-up, and I realized that he may have topped his way across the Americas, but it was very possible he’d never bottomed before. The fact that he trusted me to do so was touching, and I kissed him to show my appreciation. “I’ll be very gentle,” I whispered. “Don’t be.” He echoed our words the night before. He stretched out beside me. I was quiet for a moment, content and feeling the first flirtations of love in a long while. When I turned to ask him a question, I saw he was already asleep. I slowly got out of bed and went in search of the bathroom. The layout of his house was a mystery, since we had barely made it through the front door before ripping clothing off. I followed a trail of socks, pants and shirts to the front room, then started back again, trying the closed doors. Estevan’s Labrador retriever, Salvatore, followed me around with a hopeful expression, and every time I glanced at him his eyes would light up, his tail would beat three times, and he’d glance invitingly over to his food bowl. The house wasn’t big but it was elegant, with modern interior design and tasteful, dark cherrywood floors. His kitchen was shiny and stainless steel, and looked rarely used. I found the bathroom next, another surprisingly elegant room, with cool aqua-blue glass tiles on the walls and the floor, and a curved wall separating the shower stall. A deep Jacuzzi bath took up the other wall, and I eyed it longingly. A hot tub seemed like a great way to finally shake the ache in my shoulder.

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But I didn’t want to be gone for long, especially if Estevan woke up and wanted to get to work on his sex education, so I settled for a quick shower instead, marveling at the man’s collection of expensive hair products and manly smelling Italian body gels. Only after I got out of the shower did I realize the sleek bathroom lacked visible towels. I searched under the sink counter but located them a moment later in a glass cabinet by the door. I dried myself off and wrapped the towel around my waist. I paused, and looked back under the sink again. There were several packages of hair dye in there. So Estevan’s hair wasn’t truly as rich and black as it seemed? Well, it made sense, given the fact that the guy had a huge ego and was often photographed. But as I studied the box of dye, I was bothered by the lie. Estevan was hiding the truth from me, and even though it was a small thing, it still cut deeply. It had started like this with Kevin too. An innocent lie about where he had been one evening. He had told me he was at the bookstore, but I found him at the gym, working out. It didn’t seem like the end of the world at the time. A small lie. An innocent lie. But that’s how it begins. I shook my head. I didn’t want to think about it. But against my better judgment, I now found myself looking around Estevan’s house as he slept, seeing what other little secrets he’d kept to himself. I didn’t let myself pry outright. I wouldn’t look through notebooks or on his computer. But if there was a drawer, I peaked in it. Salvatore joined me, intrigued by this new midnight group activity. The most incriminating evidence I saw was a photo album filled with pictures of Estevan and a gorgeous, tan lady, but I assumed that was probably his ex-wife, and he had been honest about that. But on later-dated photos I saw a picture of a baby with them as well. What the hell? It’s nothing, I told myself. But now that I started, I couldn’t let it go. Six years of lies from Kevin, years of secrets from everyone. I was sick of it all, and even now, Estevan kissing me behind the shed, hoping no one saw us together. I wasn’t having any of it. By the time I made it back to his bedroom I had worked myself into a state of anger. I dressed quickly and quietly, mind churning. I wanted to go home. I thought about Estevan waking up alone, and how worried he’d be, if he really was the amazing guy I had thought he was only an hour ago. I decided to write a quick note, saying I’d decided to sleep at home after all. I wasn’t going to lie, it was a promise I made myself when Kevin and I split, so I said I wanted to be there early in the morning for chores, which was indeed true. Estevan slept like the dead, snoring contentedly into his pillow as I departed. My truck turned

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over loudly and I cursed, hoping it didn’t wake him, but after waiting a minute, I didn’t see his front door open and I escaped without detection. I brooded the entire dark drive home. I struggled to remember the turns, and the unlit county roads were harder to navigate now that it had begun to mist rain, fogging up my windshield. Once back at Serenity Stables, I sat in my truck in silence for a long moment, fighting an urge to tear something up. What was I doing here? What the hell was wrong with me? I heard a noise outside and flinched in surprise. Estevan’s caution about being alone at the barn echoed through my mind. I had been so busy thinking of Estevan as a bad guy I had forgotten that much worse guys were waiting for me. I grabbed the crowbar from the side door of the truck and walked into the rain, ready to face my assailant. I wanted them to come after me. I searched the perimeter of the barn but saw nothing suspicious. Collin’s lights were out, and all seemed quiet at his end of the property. I leaned against the fence post of the retirement field after searching the outdoor arena. And suddenly, I really missed Beth. It was so quiet here, no people in sight, not even the sounds of vehicles. I was alone in the country and in a countryside that hated me for who I was. The last great love of my life was a disappointment, and the only person who had seen and loved me for who I was had died. All that was left of her was this crumbling facility, a dream that halfway made it to fruition in her lifetime. I leaned against the post in the rain, and let myself grieve for my aunt. My grief turned inwards, as it always did. My parents hated me, my friends were a thousand miles away, and I was here, in a community that harbored a person who was willing to commit murder to get me out of the picture. I didn’t like encouraging negativity but I gave myself permission this once, to wallow in self-pity, because I was in my thirties and nothing was the way it was meant to be. I heard the crack of a branch behind me and swiveled. In the darkness, I couldn’t see anything, and my heart began to race. I clenched the crowbar tighter. I heard a low, breathy exhale, and from the shadows a large, dark presence emerged. It was a horse. One of the horses in the retirement field had ambled over to investigate. He approached warily. He stopped right beside me and started grazing. His trust was implicit, and in it I found something beautiful and heavy, heavy enough to snap my heart like that branch, and I leaned against the fence post and took a few deep breaths, holding my heartache in and telling myself it was going to be okay. A few minutes later, the horse looked up and moved closer. Then he did the most amazing thing. He reached his head over the fence and licked my ear. I stroked his neck. We communed together for a misty, silent moment before he walked away.

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I stood there, stunned and touched, and watched his beautiful body be swallowed by shadow. In the dim light he had looked sleek and youthful again. Illusions of darkness—they made him handsome, and they made me feel lost. But in daylight, the truth would come out. He would be nothing but an old retiree once more, and I would be confident Paul King again, not a man crippled by the doubts that had scarred his youth. I said farewell to my midnight friend and walked back into the clubhouse, locking the door behind me and checking all the rooms to make sure no one lurked in a closet, ready to kill. Only after I turned on the bathroom lights did I finally notice the red color coating my right palm.

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Chapter Twelve

I was up early, before six o’clock. I took a hot shower and made a strong pot of coffee. I fed the horses in the hazy early morning light and completed the task I hoped to have done before anyone showed up at the barn. But Estevan had also gotten up earlier than usual. I didn’t expect him until nine, but his motorcycle roared down the driveway at a quarter past six. I headed toward the clubhouse, fishing in my pocket for my cell as Estevan parked his bike. He took off his helmet and slammed it on the handles. The strap missed the bar and the helmet fell to the ground, but he didn’t bother turning around. He stormed toward me, expression furious. “What the hell are you thinking, coming here alone? Someone could have killed you!” I backed toward the door. “As you can see, their dastardly plot failed. I’m still alive. And I have chores.” “Stacy’s boyfriend is working here now.” “The kid doesn’t know what he’s doing.” Estevan lunged forward, grabbing my arm. “No, you don’t know what you’re doing. Why aren’t you taking this seriously? Your life is in danger!” “You certain of that?” My smile was cold. I yanked my arm free and dashed for the clubhouse door. He bolted forward and blocked my path. “What are you thinking—” “I don’t think anything. I’m just a stable manager now.” Estevan slammed his fist against the side of the building. The corrugated steel rattled and the noise made me flinch. “Damn it!” Estevan shouted. “Be rational for a minute.” I swallowed my fear. “There’s nothing rational about this situation.” Estevan lowered his arm. “What happened?” “Get out of my way.” He hesitated there at the door. I held up my phone, heart pounding. “I’m calling the cops.” “Don’t!” Estevan froze. “Paul, look. I have to…” He suddenly looked shocked. “Jesus. You think I tried to kill you?” I didn’t say anything, and that seemed to hurt him. He slumped down the wall. He banged his head against the clubhouse siding, looking sick.

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“I’ll tell you everything, but just…don’t call the cops. Not yet.” I hesitated for a moment, feeling the fear and heartache I’d struggled with since last night. “You took Tuxedo,” I said at last. Estevan looked up, his expression grim. “Yes.” Betrayal and fury rushed through me. “All this time, with everything going on, you knew where he was and didn’t say anything?” “I didn’t know you, Paul,” Estevan said. “I didn’t know if I could trust you.” “Trust me? That’s rich, given the fact that you’ve been lying to me from the moment you stepped foot on my property.” I kicked the plastic chair on the porch and sent it crashing into the railing. “I can’t believe I trusted you.” “I wanted to tell you.” He swallowed. “But at first I assumed you would just kick me out, then I liked you too much to tell you the truth. I didn’t want you to think badly of me.” “So you let the Jacksons sue me, the police hound me and the entire stable fall under suspicion of theft?” “I had no choice.” His voice was hoarse with emotion. “I found the henna dye in your house,” I told him, trying to control myself. I felt dangerously close to either crying or punching him. “I thought it was odd that you had auburn hair dye, given that your hair is black. But the dye matched the chestnut color that had dried in the spare bucket, and the color that washed off the extra horse I discovered living in the retirement pasture.” Estevan didn’t look me in the eye. “You hid Tux right under my nose, didn’t you?” I demanded. “You were here when I walked through the barn that night. I saw Tux partially undressed and assumed he’d gotten out of his fly sheet, but you were in the stall with him, crouched out of sight. You had just enough time to take off his sheet and stash him in the retirement field before coming out to break up my fight with Collin.” “Yes.” He looked harrowed. “It was you that woke me up that night, after you came back to dye him red.” I clenched my hand around my phone. “And here I thought I’d imagined the sound of running water, but it was you, bathing Tux in the wash rack!” Estevan swallowed, but I didn’t let him say anything. “Why the fuck would you do this to me? Or— fuck that—to the barn? To Beth’s fucking barn?” “I had no choice!” he said again. He stood up. “I could think of no other way to save Tux’s life.” That wasn’t what I had expected. “What are you talking about?” He opened the clubhouse door and strode across the room in three quick strides. From one of the drawers by the fridge he pulled out something small and handed it to me. A metal clothespin. “I found this on Tux when I said good night to him the evening I returned from my tour.”

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I stared at the clothespin. It didn’t make sense to me. “What does it mean?” “It’s a way of killing a horse, a particularly cruel way. You clip a frayed electrical wire with a metal clothespin to his tail, which electrocutes him. Most veterinarians wrongly determine the death as colic.” Nausea swelled up in me as I imagined it. You’d have to be a sick fuck. A sick fuck who needed the insurance money? “The Jacksons,” I said, and Estevan nodded. “But why?” “They’re broke.” There was tense malice in his tone. “They’ve been living in debt for the last five months. George has a gambling habit, and Tux is insured for over a million dollars, which would cover their obligations. And since Tux can’t compete on the Grand Prix circuit anymore, I’m sure they didn’t give it a second’s thought.” “It’s a big jump going from killing their own horse to trying to kill me,” I told him. “They must have thought you found the metal clip. And when you told them about the frayed wire, they made their move.” I remembered the magazine I had been holding during our confrontation about the wire. I rushed to the kitchen table and flipped to the article on the horse-murder scandals of the 1970s and how Tommy Burns used electrocution to fraud insurance companies on the murders of dozens of horses. I held it up to Estevan. “The Jacksons saw me reading this.” Estevan nodded. “They must have assumed you figured out their plan to fraud the insurance company. After all, anyone who knows anything about horses can tell that wire was stripped, not chewed.” I straightened. “It’s not your fault, Paul.” Estevan gave me a solemn look. “You haven’t been around horses as much as I have. But I could tell. And when I saw that clip and the wire, I knew they would kill Tux. But only after you were injured and put in Romeo’s stall to make it look like an accident did I realize how far they would take it.” “But why not just go to the cops?” I asked. Estevan’s lip curled in a snarl. “The Jacksons are loved by the local authorities. You think they will believe me, a Latino foreigner, over their local born and bred?” “Seriously? That’s the only reason you didn’t do the right fucking thing?” I couldn’t believe he’d be such a coward. “No. That’s not the only reason,” he said after a moment. His voice sounded desperate. “There’s something else.” I glared at him, waiting, but he hesitated. “I don’t want you to call the cops because I’m not legally here.” I nearly dropped my coffee cup. “What?” “Ruth Jackson knew. It’s what she’s been using against me to keep me quiet about my suspicions.”

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“You’re an illegal alien?” He looked nervous. “No! I was here legally. But my visa expired a month before Beth died. She was going to renew it, but then she got sick, and I didn’t want to bother her.” I ran my hand through my hair. “Great. All this is fucking great. Why didn’t you just come to me with all this? You should have told me. All that stress and worry over him, and he’s in my backyard!” “I wanted to tell you.” Estevan stepped forward, hesitant. “But at first you were a stranger and I wasn’t sure you’d believe me. And after you said you hated liars, I was too afraid to come clean.” I was so angry I couldn’t look at him. I went to the kitchen and busied myself pouring another cup of coffee. “Paul.” Estevan’s voice was low and soft. I didn’t turn around. “I should have trusted you,” he said, “but I had to act fast. I didn’t want to be sent back to Brazil, but I refused to let Tux die. He’s my best friend. I’d do anything for him.” I swear, any moment, one of the two of us was going to cry, and like hell was it going to be me. After a minute he asked, “What are you going to do about Tux?” “I don’t know.” “Is he still in the field?” “No. He’s in the arena.” I pointed to the windows. Through the glass we could both see Tux, freshly washed by me and back to his original gray coat. He finished a trio of dramatic flying lead changes, then busied himself rolling in the hog fuel, looking ridiculously content for someone who had been the subject of intense stress and speculation for so long. “I can’t believe you dyed him chestnut,” I complained. Estevan made a strangled little laugh. “It hurt me more than it hurt him, trust me.” I sighed loudly. Estevan approached and touched my shoulder. “I’m very sorry, Paul. I promise, no more lies. I’ll do whatever it takes to win your trust back. But I have to protect Tux. I can’t let the Jacksons have him. If they’re willing to commit murder for the money, Tux doesn’t stand a chance.” “I’m not going to let them have him,” I promised. I looked Estevan over. He was pale from our fight, eyes wild. He looked wrung out. “Drink some coffee,” I offered. A look of relief washed over Estevan’s face. I sat down on the couch and drank my own coffee, feeling drained. It wasn’t much of an olive branch, but Estevan clearly took it as one. He poured himself a cup of coffee, adding nearly all my leftover cream. I was going to have to buy enough food for three people if we continued dating. Dating. Were we? Did I even want to? Here I was again, making a decision whether or not to stay with a liar. I knew what I should be saying. I should be firing him, never looking at him again. But the magnificently ridiculous animal who was bucking in the arena softened my anger. Estevan had lied to protect Tux, and in his shoes, I might have done the same.

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“The kid,” I asked. “In the pictures in your house. Is she yours?” Estevan’s eyebrows came together. “No, that’s Amelia’s daughter. My ex-wife. She remarried and had a child with her new husband. Amelia and I are still friends, even if we are divorced.” I was relieved that at least one thing I thought was a lie was not. “I’m still pissed at you,” I warned him. “I know.” Estevan sat next to me. We didn’t touch. “It’s going to take time to win your trust back. I know that.” “It may never come back.” “I’m willing to work at it,” he said solemnly. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I want to be with you, Paul.” I shook my head. “You want to be with me, but secretly. I don’t have it in me to sneak around anymore. I’m thirty-three. I’m done with all of that.” “No.” Estevan stared at me. “I told you I’ll do whatever it takes. If you want me to be out with you, I’ll do it.” I closed my eyes. “You have to want to, Estevan. You can’t do it just for me. I don’t want to be responsible for you coming out to the world.” Estevan was quiet for a moment, then he said, “I made you get on Solo. Do you regret it?” My eyes snapped open. “What does that have to do with anything?” “Do you regret me making you ride him?” I thought about it. I had been terrified, over a decade of guilt and fear and pain coalescing into equinephobia. And I knew that fear would still be part of my rides, perhaps forever. But maybe after time it would lessen, be something I could live with. Because I wanted to get back on Solo. Riding him had offered a glimpse of something that had once given me more happiness than anything else in this world. So I didn’t regret it, as much as I thought I would. “No,” I finally told him. “You were right. I needed to have a good experience on a horse.” Estevan nodded. He was still pale. “Sometimes we need other people to encourage us to be brave.” “But riding isn’t like coming out. They are disparate.” “They are both about fear,” Estevan told me. “It’s different,” I insisted. “I don’t even know what views are like in Brazil. Is it like here? Are people openly homosexual?” Estevan frowned. “In one sense, there is an active and open gay community.” “And in the other?” “You asked about the scar on my face.” Estevan gestured to his eye. “Seven years ago I had my head bashed with a two-by-four for being a fag.”

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Cold horror washed through me. That was so much worse than being kicked by a dumb animal. The thoroughbred who kicked me was just angry about his situation. The man who had split open Estevan’s face intended to hurt him, for who he was. “Christ.” I forgot that I was still pissed at him. I wrapped my arm around his shoulder and he leaned in. I buried my face against his neck, smelling his unique scent of leather, hay and sweat. It felt so good to be in his arms, I nearly forgave everything. “I’ll renew your visa,” I told him, pulling back. “Don’t worry about that.” His eyes were rimmed red. “Thank you,” he said. Seeing a man who was so powerful look so vulnerable crushed the last of my anger. I reached out and cupped the back of his neck. He pulled close and kissed me immediately, tongue surging into my mouth. My entire body responded instantly. But then Estevan pulled back, sighing into my hair. “What are we going to do about the Jacksons?” I kissed his neck. “Do we have enough evidence to go to the police?” “It would be my word against theirs. And we have no proof it was them who tried to kill you.” “Then we have to get proof.” I straightened my shirt. “We need the Jacksons to try to kill Tux again, but this time, have it captured on film.” Estevan scowled. “That’s a terrible idea.” He stood, struggling to settle his breeches over a very noticeable erection. I could see the contours of his cock through the thin fabric and found myself staring. Estevan caught my eye and smirked. “Maybe we should just forget the whole day and go back to my bed.” I laughed. “Love it. Let’s go.” He leaned down and kissed me, but then he shook his head. “It’s too late. Now that you washed Tux off, we can’t keep his presence a secret any longer.” He cocked his head. “Maybe we should dye him again?” “No.” I stood as well. “We use him as bait. Say a neighbor who wished to remain anonymous found him in their field and returned him. We set him back up in his old stall and move the cameras there. We record everything.” “I don’t like it.” Estevan stared out the large windows, looking at Tux with his hands on his hips. “I don’t want to risk Tux like that. If we’re late, he’ll die.” “So we make damn sure we’re not late.” I stood beside him. Tux seemed to realize he was being watched and trotted over to us, streaking the window with his runny nose in his attempt to say hello. “If anything happens to him, I’ll never forgive myself.” Estevan’s expression softened as he made eye contact with Tux. “We’ll disconnect the electrical wire from the other end,” I suggested. “The Jacksons will think it’s still live, but there won’t be any way to electrocute Tux.” Estevan ground his jaw. “They may not try it again.”

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“If they still need the money they will.” I patted his shoulder. “Let’s move the cameras into position before anyone arrives.” “You sure this will work?” He looked at me hopefully. I only then realized how much he loved that horse. He’d lied, stolen, and been willing to go to jail for him. It made my resolve to keep Tux safe even stronger. “I’ll protect him, I swear it.”

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Chapter Thirteen

We installed two of the cameras at different angles above Tux’s stall and I made sure the video feed to my office computer was working and recording on a CD. Only then did we reinstate Tux. Estevan spoke to Tux affectionately as he led him inside and gave him a mountain of hay. I left the two of them to be reacquainted and called the Jacksons, sharing the good news. Mr. Jackson sounded startled on the phone when I told him Tux had returned. “Are you sure it’s Tux?” he demanded. I flipped the phone the finger. “Of course I am, Mr. Jackson,” I said nicely. “And he looks healthy, no worse for wear. Come by and see him today!” “We will.” He hung up. I shuddered, realizing I had just spoken to a man who was actively trying to murder me. If he’d hoped to regain his lost million through a lawsuit, I’d just ruined that chance as well. When Stacy arrived for work, bedraggled boyfriend in tow, she burst into tears at the very sight of Tux. An hour later, Miriam shouted in joy at his safe return and spent a good half hour grooming him in his stall. Every visitor of the barn that day said hello to our missing hero, and Tux clearly loved every minute of it, being fed almost an entire bag of carrots in treats before lunchtime. Estevan’s worried glances flickered between me and Tux all morning, and although he pretended to go about business as usual, there was a stiff tension in his stride, his rides were shorter than normal, and he refused to tack up any of his students’ horses unless it was directly outside Tux’s stall. But even more different was Estevan’s hand, lingering on my lower back despite the presence of boarders. At one point he purposefully kept his arm around my shoulder as Leah stepped into the barn for her lesson. He flushed noticeably, but he didn’t step away. Leah seemed delighted, even winking at me during her lesson, which proved to be a bad decision, as Estevan yelled at her for being so easily distracted and she had to work twice as hard. As the lesson continued, the rest of the barn took the shocking new revelation in stride. I heard nearly hysterical whispers behind me as this newest piece of information exchanged from one cluster of friends to another, but most of the boarders still greeted me with a smile, and only one of the older ladies looked visibly discomforted by the sight of Estevan’s hand in my hair. A little after noon I ate lunch in the clubhouse, equally flattered and amused by the fact that every time Estevan circled the arena on Cosmo, he peered through the clubhouse windows to make sure I was still breathing. I’d wave each round and he’d smile, until he started galloping. At that point he just flashed

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me a smile every circle, his back straightening and his face lighting up, and I realized not only was he keeping an eye on me, he was showing off. He crossed the arena and had Cosmo do five rapid tempi changes as they approached the windows. When he finished he grinned proudly, and I waved my turkey sandwich in his general direction. I was glad to see him relaxing a bit, even if it only proved he was more of a show-off than I had originally assumed. The belabored front door once again blew in from a maelstrom of emotion. This time it was Edith, who barreled into the clubhouse and glared at me with crossed arms. “Is it true? Are you and Estevan dating?” she demanded. “Dating is such a strong word,” I began, but she cut me off. “Paul. Seriously.” I shrugged. “I like him. He likes me. We’re romantically involved.” She widened her eyes. “Is that a problem for you?” I asked. She said nothing for a long moment, and my stomach clenched. I liked Edith a great deal and didn’t want to lose her as a friend as well as a boarder. “It’s…something I have to get used to.” “Nothing’s changed, Edith,” I assured her. “I’m the same guy you knew yesterday. So is Estevan. Don’t treat him any different. He deserves better than that.” “I know.” She sighed. I could see her rallying. “It’s just a surprise. He never said anything to anyone.” “As you once reminded me, we live in Lynden.” “That’s true.” She tilted her head. “Lynden’s not so bad a place, though, is it?” I smiled. “No. Not bad at all.”

The stable cleared out of people early that evening. Estevan helped me feed the horses dinner. He’d changed into his jeans and old brown work boots again, and he looked good enough that I wanted to pull him into the hay barn for a quickie. But as dusk approached, his near-constant glances toward the stalls meant he wouldn’t relax until this evening was over, so we ate inside the stable instead, awaiting the arrival of the Jacksons. It was almost dark by the time George and Ruth showed up. Chelsea was not with them. They entered the barn and glared at Estevan and me as we sat in the tack room, eating takeout cheeseburgers with one eye on Tux. “As you can see, he looks perfectly fine, no harm done,” I told them. Ruth glared at Tux from the bars, but George opened the stall door and went inside to inspect him. I could feel Estevan tense beside me as George ran his hands along Tux’s flank. Mr. Jackson frowned. “Where was he again?”

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“A neighbor found him in their fenced field. Whoever took him must have dumped him there.” George eyed me suspiciously. “Very strange.” “But it’s all over.” I stretched to hide the tremble in my hands. “You two can stay as long as you like. Estevan and I are going out, so make sure to close the main gate if you leave before we get back.” Mr. Jackson nodded. He continued to prod Tux along the ribs as if checking to see if he’d lost weight. I left the barn, with Estevan reluctantly behind me. I knew this was hard for him, but I also knew they weren’t going to try anything with us around. I started up the truck and Estevan finally joined me, his expression dark and furious as he got in the passenger side. We drove up the driveway, and Estevan opened and shut the gate for me. We peeled out of the drive but instead of heading toward the interstate we took a right and went half a mile down the road to turn into the long driveway that led to the property directly behind Serenity. I parked the truck in the ditch beside a long gravel road. We’d been gone for less than five minutes, but I could tell every second was killing Estevan. “He’s fine,” I reassured Estevan. “You don’t know that.” “Come on. Let’s head back.” I led the way through the woods. I used to cut through these properties as a kid, and although the path was narrower and the blackberries were denser than I remembered, it still routed us through the neighbor’s lot and dumped us directly behind Collin’s house. It was dark now, but enough light shone from the nearby properties that I stuck to deep shadows. I thought I saw movement from Collin’s house. “Do you see Collin?” I whispered. Estevan shook his head. “No. Where?” I pointed to the right of us. Something was moving. But nothing appeared, so we crossed the expanse of lawn and made our way around the back of the clubhouse undetected. I’d left the kitchen window unlocked that afternoon. I stood on one of Beth’s old trailer tires and opened the window. I jumped up and squirmed inside. A moment later, Estevan joined me, although his sheer bulk complicated his efforts and he had to squeeze to fit through the window. By the time we arrived in the office, over fifteen minutes had passed since we’d left the Jacksons. The camera image was clear on my computer screen, and showed George in Tux’s stall and Ruth standing at the barn door. Estevan looked sick. “Are they doing it? Seriously, they’re fucking trying again!” I leaned in closer. Sure enough, Mr. Jackson wore thick insulated gloves and had a clothespin in his hand. Estevan lurched for the door.

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“Wait,” I whispered, grabbing his arm. I pulled out my cell phone. “He has to go for the wire and Tux. We can’t risk there being any doubt about their intentions.” Estevan looked furious as I dialed 911. As soon as dispatch picked up, I told them a murder was taking place at Serenity Stables and gave the address. I didn’t bother telling them the murder was of a horse—no need to delay their response time. We both watched, horrified, as Mr. Jackson said something, and Tux amiably moved closer. Mr. Jackson reached for Tux’s tail. He grabbed the frayed wire. I’d disconnected wire but it didn’t matter. Estevan bolted for the door. I finished the call and ran after Estevan, jumping the porch stairs. The barn door was ajar and Ruth cried out in alarm when she saw Estevan. Estevan slammed past her, pushing her out of the way as he dashed for Mr. Jackson. “You fucking bastard!” Estevan shouted. Tux whinnied in fear and the other horses in the barn immediately called back in alarm. Estevan backed Mr. Jackson into the corner of the stall with the frayed wire. Mr. Jackson looked shocked. Tux weaved at the other end, whimpering. “Stop it!” Ruth cried. “Everyone calm down.” Estevan slapped the wire from Mr. Jackson’s hand. Mr. Jackson held up his hands. “Just relax, okay? Relax! We don’t want to upset Tux.” I thought that Estevan was going to punch Mr. Jackson in the face at that moment. “Estevan, get him out of there,” I demanded. Estevan growled as he grabbed Mr. Jackson by the arm and practically threw him out of the stall. Tux whinnied again. Estevan turned and briefly patted Tux’s neck before shutting the stall door. He stood in front of it, arms crossed, a furious sentinel. Ruth looked ready to bolt, so I shut the larger barn door and stood guard in front of it. “What the hell is going on here?” I hoped the explanation would buy us time until law enforcement arrived. “Please, just let us go,” Ruth Jackson begged. “It isn’t what you think. We aren’t cruel people. We aren’t doing this for fun.” She turned to face Estevan, pleading. “You know we love that horse. We have paid for his care since he was a colt. But we are in terrible financial trouble. We had no choice.” “No choice?” Estevan made a fist. “After everything Tux has given you, this is how you repay him?” Mr. Jackson scowled. “It’s painless. It’s euthanasia. Tux only has a few more years left anyway. We wouldn’t hurt him. There’s lots of ways you could be mean about this, but that isn’t what we wanted.” He licked his lips and looked to me. “Think about Chelsea. She has her whole life ahead of her. How are we going to pay for her college? How are we going to care for her?” Estevan looked ready to curse again so I shot him a glance.

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“Have pity,” Ruth begged me. “If only for Chelsea. We’ll leave the barn. No one will ever have to know about this. We won’t say anything. We won’t try it again. Just let Chelsea have a normal life and let us go.” I strained to hear sirens, but there still was nothing. The barn door behind me slid open and I jumped. Before I could turn around and see who it was, I felt the cold, hard press of metal against the back of my neck and the sound of a gun cocking. I froze. “Don’t move, you fucking faggot.” Confusion washed through me. What was he doing here, now? “Collin,” I said as calmly as possible. “Please lower the gun.” “No!” He violently shoved me and I fell to the ground. He stepped into the barn and pointed the gun at me. “What the hell is going on?” Mr. Jackson rushed to Ruth Jackson’s side. “Everybody get against the wall. Now!” Collin shouted. I whirled around and he aimed the gun at me, then at Ruth Jackson. She screamed, and Collin shot the gun. The noise was deafening inside the barn. The bullet shot far to the right of her, bursting through a bag of carrots on the floor. Cries of alarm echoed through the barn from all the horses. “Move!” Collin yelled. At once Ruth and I complied, scrambling to join Mr. Jackson and Estevan against the stall door. Tux reared in his stall, eyes rolling white with fright. I stood in front of Estevan, hoping to keep Collin’s wrath focused on me, not him. Mrs. Jackson huddled beside her husband, whose face had gone beet red in rage. “What the fuck are you doing?” Mr. Jackson demanded. “Saving you from jail,” Collin spat. He held up a folder, the one he’d taken from Beth’s office. “My mother had been investigating your past. She had enough circumstantial evidence to prove that your horse which colicked back in Kansas, and the other one in California, both died of electrocution.” I felt Estevan’s fingers grab my belt from behind. He slowly pulled me to the side. “Then why didn’t your mother press charges?” Mr. Jackson sneered. “Because she got fucking cancer!” Collin raged, his voice breaking. “Now I know the truth, and it’s going to cost you to keep my mouth shut.” “Collin,” I said, holding my hands out. “Just calm down. We’ll call the police, and—” “No police,” he shouted, pointing the gun back at me. My hands shook at my sides. “I don’t care if they kill Tux,” Collin said, eyes wild. “I just want some of the fucking money. George, you give me seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars from the insurance claim, and no one will ever find out about what happened to Tux, or any of your other horses, that’s my promise.” “But they know!” Ruth motioned toward Estevan and me.

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“I tried to get him out of your way once already.” Collin grinned coldly. “But you know how unstable fags are. There’s a lover’s quarrel. One shoots the other, but the bullet spooks the horses and there’s a terrible accident. No one would know any different.” I saw the blood drain from Estevan’s face. Mr. Jackson narrowed his eyes. “Fifty percent. Split down the center, and we have a deal.” “I’m not negotiating here!” Collin waved the gun at him. “We have to make it worth our while to be part of something this dangerous.” Ruth Jackson’s eyes widened and she turned to her husband. “What are you talking about? This isn’t insurance fraud, this is murder!” “How do you want to do this?” Mr. Jackson asked. He moved slowly toward Collin, hands raised. Collin eyed him carefully. Collin’s face was rough with stubble and pale with little sleep, but he looked sober, which did not bode well for me or Estevan. “We get Tux to trample Paul, and then shoot the Brazilian,” Collin said. “And Tux?” Mr. Jackson asked. Collin shrugged. “We kill him in a few weeks, once the buzz has died down from this.” He narrowed his eyes. “I need the 750K. And I get the stable when it all settles down, and I expect you to help me with my claim.” “Of course.” Mr. Jackson nodded. “George,” Mrs. Jackson began, her voice shaking. “Shut up,” Mr. Jackson snapped. He reached toward me. “Get in the fucking stall.” He looked to Collin. “Grab that shovel over there. If you beat Tux through the bars he’ll eventually strike out and hit him.” I held my ground. Mr. Jackson yanked at my arm and I shoved him back. I had no idea what I could do to get out of the situation, but like hell was I going to march to certain death. “Get moving, you fucking asshole!” Collin yelled at me. He pointed the gun at Estevan. “Or I’ll just shoot your cocksucking buddy now.” Estevan’s eyes were dark, his jaw set, as if ready to die. I threw up my hands. “Okay, okay!” “Get inside.” Collin pointed the gun at me. Mr. Jackson opened the stall door. As soon as I moved, Estevan lunged forward, tackling Collin by the knees. They both tumbled to the ground. Tux and the other horses shrieked. I pushed Mr. Jackson again and he stumbled through the open door and into the stall just as Collin’s gun went off. Tux reared, striking his left leg into Mr. Jackson’s face. The movement was so fast it blurred past my sight. Mr. Jackson instantly crumpled.

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Mrs. Jackson screamed, pushing past me to get to her husband. I glanced over to see Estevan on top of Collin, punching him in the face. Collin lay stunned on the ground, the gun beside him. I grabbed the gun. There was blood everywhere. Estevan punched Collin once more. Collin’s nose and mouth bled, and he groaned. Estevan rolled off of him, looking deathly pale. Blood poured from his shoulder. “Estevan!” I didn’t know what to do, who to protect, but I kept the gun trained on Collin. Estevan winced as he slowly stood. “You okay?” he asked. His right eye was darkening from a punch. He clutched his left shoulder, wincing. “Oh God,” I said, horrified that after everything, Estevan had been shot. “I’m fine, it just grazed me,” he said, breathless. Sirens could be heard in the distance, and I almost wept with relief. “I’ll move Tux. You keep an eye on Collin.” I resisted the urge to kick Collin while he lay bleeding on the ground. “Can you hold the gun?” Estevan nodded and took the gun, his hands slick with blood. I grabbed Tux’s halter. Ruth clutched Mr. Jackson’s bloody unconscious body and made no move to stop me as I stepped past her. Tux practically trampled me on the way through the door. He burst from the stall and took off down the aisle. “Take it easy,” I told him. I marched quickly to keep up with his frantic trot. I didn’t bother taking off his halter, I just unclipped the lead rope and let him loose in the indoor arena, shutting the door behind him. He immediately galloped, kicking and whinnying in panic. The rest of the horses banged on their stall doors or called in response, but the cacophony was quickly drowned by sirens. They shrieked up the driveway and stopped just outside of the stables. Collin remained hunched in pain on the ground. Estevan looked ready to pass out. “Hold on,” I urged, touching him briefly. He gave me a pale smile. “I’m okay. Go talk to the cops.” I gave him one last pat of reassurance and walked outside, arms up, to meet the police.

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Chapter Fourteen

At first the slow, slick heat against my cock was soft enough to feel almost like a wet dream, something distant and pleasant, unreal but nice to ponder. The hard heat of muscle and bone pressing against me brought the sensations soaring forward in my consciousness, and I fully awoke and smiled down at Estevan, in his usual position at six o’clock, between my legs. “Morning,” I said groggily. I wiped my eyes. He grinned up at me. “Good morning.” “Swing around this way, will you?” I leaned back against the pillows. He didn’t need a second invitation. Without stopping his ministrations, he rotated his body until I eyed his hard, thick cock. I pulled the warm flesh to my mouth and began to suck him off, loving the feel of him deep in my throat, the gaspy noises he made around my own dick, the way we developed a rhythm that was both deep and slow, a lazy fucking that had no end goal, only this, the sensation of filling and being filled. My hands clenched his ass cheeks as he sped his rhythm and fucked my mouth, and I let him finish first, his enthusiastic orgasm pulling him temporarily away from my own shaft as he shivered in pleasure. When he finished, he closed his eyes and stretched like a cat. I thrust my still-hard cock at his face. “Unfinished business here.” He laughed and pulled me down his throat once more. My climax brought bursts of light to my eyes and I lay there afterwards, feeling as close to fucking perfect as was humanly possible. But then Estevan slapped my bare ass and turned himself around. “Time to get up.” I groaned, but diligently followed him out of bed, nearly tripping over Salvatore. In his role as barn dog, Salvatore left much to be desired. He had a terrible propensity of being either underfoot or else eating horse shit, two characteristics which were making it hard to bond. Then again, he was a great running companion, as long as we didn’t pass any rabbits. I made my way to the large walk-in closet that took up an entire wall of our bedroom. Estevan had purchased Collin’s house out of the foreclosure settlements, and ever since he invited me to come live with him, I had to get used to having ten times the space I’d had in San Francisco. My half of the closet was nearly empty; on the other hand, Estevan’s side of the closet was completely full.

Astrid Amara

He picked out a clean pair of dark breeches while I yanked on jeans and went into the kitchen to make us breakfast. Estevan wanted to remodel the entire house with my help, and all of my visions started here. It was going to take a lot of work to fully rid the presence of Collin from the place. After we ate, we walked across the property to the stables. I fed the horses while Estevan longed Cosmo, then he stopped his training to help me turn out horses. It was getting cold quickly, autumn coming dramatically upon the Pacific Northwest, but there was still enough daylight to give the horses almost eight hours outside. “You grab Romeo,” he told me. “Not that again,” I complained. He was on a new kick to get me to master handling the dangerous horses. “He’s safe,” Estevan lied. He opened up Cosmo’s stall and was greeted with a cheerful whinny. “Romeo only strikes out at geldings, and you’ve got lots of balls.” I smirked as I put on Romeo’s halter. “Thanks. But he pins his ears at you, what does that imply?” “He does that because I make him work,” Estevan said. “You make Cosmo work, and he doesn’t mind you at all.” “Cosmo is special.” Estevan scratched Cosmo’s neck affectionately. “I think Cosmo is gay.” Estevan laughed. We headed back to the barn for two more horses. By now all of them knew it was turning-out time and were grunting and kicking at their stall doors in anticipation. I headed to Solo, who greeted me with an impatient shoulder clock. “Stop it,” I growled at him, and he immediately calmed down. Against my initial trepidations, I was now taking lessons with Estevan on my horse. The more I got to know Solo, the more I realized his bastard-like behavior was all bravado. He was actually a complete softy, who pretended to be a stallion. He’d puff out his chest until I presented an apple slice, at which time he’d turn into a big begging baby and follow me around like a starving puppy. Further proof that his machismo was all an act was the fact that he jumped when he dropped his carrot and I had now seen him spook at a butterfly. These instances, rather than turning me off, only made me like Solo more. He was a lot like Estevan actually—all swagger and looks until you realized what a sweetheart he was underneath. Estevan and I made six more trips out to the paddocks, then he returned to his training regimen while I went inside to handle the monthly bills. Since permanently hiring Tim to take over my stall-cleaning duties, I found I had a lot more time to manage the things I enjoyed managing at the stables. I had increased marketing, found a more reliable hay provider, and was designing the stable website. Tim’s wages had cut deeply into my forty-five-dollar monthly profits, but then Estevan had offered to pay a higher percentage of his training fees to the barn.

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Half Pass

“I don’t want your charity,” I had told him when he first suggested the idea. “It’s not charity,” Estevan reassured me. “It’s purely selfish.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.” Estevan smirked. “I want you limber and conscious in the evenings, not all stiff and exhausted from stall cleaning.” “How selfish of you.” “Serves me better,” he had said. And he was right. I was a much happier person when not mucking stalls. Actually, I was just a much happier person in general. Thanks to the video footage, the Jacksons were sentenced for insurance fraud, and the ownership of Tuxedo, Chival and Cosmo reverted to their daughter Chelsea. It didn’t take much effort to convince Chelsea to sell Tux and Cosmo to Estevan, and since her parents weren’t around to make her ride Chival, we hadn’t seen sight of her since. Even when Mr. Jackson did eventually make parole, I doubt he’d be much of a threat to anyone ever again. Chelsea informed us that Tux had destroyed most of his face with his strike and that Mr. Jackson was in fragile health. And while I knew firsthand the horrors of horse accidents, and shouldn’t have taken any delight in his discomfort, I did. I’m a bastard like that. I was glad he suffered, if only because of what he wanted to do to Tux. With an attempted murder charge against him, Collin would be locked away for longer, but this gave me less joy than the Jacksons’ incarceration. It would have hurt Beth to know what a shit her son had become. But after concussing me and shooting Estevan, I had no pity for the man, only for Beth’s genetic legacy. Around eleven the postman stopped by and I noticed the letter from immigration. Even though it was addressed to Estevan, I opened it anyway, too excited to wait. Estevan had a clinic tour coming up, and several international competitions in the spring, all of which hinged on the contents of this envelope. I rushed to the arena with the good news. “Got a present for you,” I shouted. I held up his passport, freshly stamped with his new work visa. Estevan trotted over to me on Tux. I was surprised to see Tux—Estevan usually rode him in the evenings for pleasure, but not during the workday. Estevan leaned over and took the passport, beaming a smile. “That’s a relief.” I stroked Tux’s nose and his whiskers, which had gotten long now that he was no longer groomed for the show circuit. His lips twitched in the palm of my hand. “Why are you riding him so early?” “He needs to get back into shape,” Estevan said. “He’s getting fat and lazy in retirement.” “Isn’t that what retirement is all about?” I scratched Tux’s neck. “Besides, he looks good to me.” “Of course he does. He always looks beautiful.” Estevan leaned over Tux’s neck and whispered something in Tux’s ear. Tux didn’t look very impressed.

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I shook my head. “I told you before. Part Rambo, part teenage girl.” Estevan jumped off Tux. “I just know how whispering in Portuguese makes some guys react.” I opened the arena door quickly, turning so that Estevan wouldn’t see the heat in my cheeks, which would no doubt further inflate his already enormous ego. Sometimes, I would wake up in the mornings and Estevan would be talking to me in Portuguese, and although I couldn’t understand the words, the sensual tone in his voice as he huskily spoke them, and the things he was doing to me as he said them, were making his native tongue a dangerous aphrodisiac. We walked down the deserted arena aisle together. Estevan took off Tux’s bridle and slipped on his halter, then hooked him to the crossties. “Thank you for this,” Estevan said, handing me back his passport. “It means a lot to me.” “I’m just glad everything worked out.” Now that his work status was resolved, the last legal case against Estevan could be dropped. He had been absolved of kidnapping Tux after a judge dismissed the Jacksons’ lawsuit, and we were free to go about our business, law enforcement no longer breathing down our necks. At least for another six months. “It’s too bad we can’t legally get married in Washington State,” I mused, “or else you could just get a green card and we could be done with work visas.” I was just speaking casually, but Estevan’s expression instantly froze. My face grew hot. “Never mind.” “No, I mind.” Estevan moved closer, looking serious. “If it were legal, would you want to? Marry me, I mean?” I considered brushing off the whole topic. And I still felt a little ashamed of myself at how quickly I had forgiven his lies. But I understood why he had lied, and as far as I could tell, he had not done so since. And the sincerity in his eyes emboldened me. “Yes.” Estevan’s expression softened. His fingers coiled in my hair, and pulled me closer for a kiss. “I’d say yes, you know.” Sudden applause rang out from the tack room, and from nowhere Leah, Stacy and Miriam appeared, clapping and cheering. “Barn wedding!” Stacy cried. “I’ve always wanted to be a bridesmaid for a horse-themed wedding.” “Ooh, we could make veils for the horses,” Miriam said. Estevan scowled at them. “No horse veils.” “No wedding!” I shouted. “It’s not legal, remember?” “So what?” Stacy shrugged. “We could still have a party.”

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“Any excuse for a party,” Leah chimed in. “Remember when we had that party when all the waterers froze? Or when we had that party because that bitch Allison Hovander left? That was epic. Even Edith did jello shots. They spilled on her Gucci bag.” “Jesus, will I ever have a private moment again?” I lamented. “Nope,” Stacy said, giggling. “Excuse me? Paul?” I turned at the sound of a man’s voice, coming from behind. In the doorway of the arena, I saw someone in a suit and tie, standing with a nervous-looking couple. “Yeah.” I extricated myself from Estevan’s arm, nearly choked myself on Tux’s crosstie, and stumbled to a standing position in front of my guests. “I’m Paul.” Then I noticed the man in the suit was none other than Dan Cadwell, my erstwhile real estate agent, a man I met once months ago and hadn’t seen since. “Hey, buddy.” Dan shook my hand enthusiastically. “I thought I’d stop by, sorry to catch you unawares. Paul, I want you to meet Richard and Teresa Nielsen, they’re that couple from Eastern Washington, who finally made it across the mountains to come take a look at the place. And what a beautiful location, right, folks?” Teresa and Richard smiled blankly at me. They had the glazed expressions of people who had spent too many hours considering square footage and draperies. “The Nielsens are looking for an equestrian investment opportunity,” Dan said, eyebrows rising as he looked at me. Teresa was studying the stalls, and Richard was straining for a look at the indoor arena. I looked at the two of them. They were dressed nicely and seemed like decent equestrian people. Richard had a bit of a paunch, probably wasn’t a rider, but Teresa appeared fit and studied the interior of the barn with a knowing gaze. I turned. I looked at the boarders, my friends. I looked at the horses, my job. And then at Estevan, with his arm draped around Tux’s neck, and I made a decision. “I’m not selling anymore.”

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About the Author

Astrid Amara is the author of several gay romance titles, one of which was a finalist for the 2008 Lambda Literary Award for Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror. When not writing she keeps busy riding her quirky, beloved Arabian gelding, hiking with her geriatric dogs, or sleeping. She has lived in Maidenhead England, Jerusalem Israel, and Bukhara Uzbekistan, but has settled in Bellingham Washington because the rain improves her complexion. Read more about Astrid at her website: www.astridamara.com.

What the tide washes in, the past can sweep away.

Driftwood © 2010 Harper Fox All Dr. Tom Penrose wants is his old life back. He’s home in Cornwall after a hellish tour of duty in Afghanistan, but while the village is the same, he isn’t. His grip on his control is fragile, and it slips dangerously when Flynn Summers explodes into his life. The vision in tight neoprene nearly wipes them both out in a surfing mishap—and shatters Tom’s lonely peace. Flynn is a crash-and-burn in progress, one of only two survivors of a devastating rescue helicopter crash that killed his crew. His carefree charm is merely a cover for the messed-up soul within. The sparks between him and Tom are the first light he’s seen in a long, dark tunnel of self-recrimination, which includes living in sexual thrall to fellow crash survivor and former co-pilot, Robert. As their attraction burns through spring and into summer, Tom must confront not only his own shadows, but Flynn’s—before the past rises up to swallow his lover whole. Warning: Contains explicit m/m sex, hot helicopter pilots and skin-tight wetsuits. Also, in true British tradition, a tiny bit of joystick innuendo.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Driftwood: Another easy silence fell. “How’s your friend?” Flynn asked suddenly, breaking Thomas’s reverie. “The one you were going to help the other week… Victor, was it? In the boathouse?” “Oh, Victor…” Thomas sighed. He thought about reaching for the Riesling, but Flynn’s glass was still full, and somehow the impulse was not as strong as usual anyway. “He’s out of the boathouse, at any rate. For now. Vic’s a combat-stress case. Army. Three tours in Afghanistan, and he’s pretty much destroyed. Drinks too much, can’t deal with people. Shuts himself up in his lair every so often. I’m not surprised it looks good to him.” He fell silent. It had struck him that, barring a few hard-won disciplines and social graces, he could have been describing himself, and he was suddenly afraid that Flynn had not missed the parallels, either. His expression was extraordinary. Thomas thought he had never seen such compassion— muted, bright-eyed, fierce—in a human face. He felt some dammed-up thing inside him start to strain behind its walls. “He’ll be okay,” he said roughly. “If the bloody MoD coughs up his compensation, anyway. Are you finished there? Go and sit down and I’ll make us some coffee.” Flynn got up. If he minded their conversation’s sudden ending, he didn’t let it show. “Okay. Thanks for dinner.” He put out a hand to scratch behind Belle’s ears, and she paced a little way after him as he left the kitchen, then cast an anxious backward glance at Tom and returned to sit at his feet. Tom was glad that Flynn had obeyed him without question. He needed, fiercely, to be alone for a short time. He had forgotten the pains and joys of serious, significant human interaction—of talking, about

something other than the weather, and of being heard. Barely aware of his own actions, he switched the kettle on and turned to start the washing up. “Thomas?” He froze. Damn, he should have tried not to let the cutlery clatter. He might have known that Flynn was too polite a guest to leave him to clear up, no matter how much he needed the break. He went through to the living room, wiping soap suds off his hands with a tea towel. Flynn was kneeling between two piles of his uncategorised books, apparently sharing a perusal of them with his wolfhound. “Yes? You okay?” “Fine. But leave the dishes. I’ll do them later.” Thomas looked at him. His presence altered the room in ways Thomas could not account for. Always somehow numinous, now lit by a single lamp in the corner, it had even more of a solemn, waiting air about it, as if any moment it would be filled by the song of angels or mermaids. Well, he could hear the sea, a distant, almost subsonic booming in the cliff-caverns far below. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll just run them through now. It won’t take five minutes.” “This is quite a collection,” Flynn commented, as if he hadn’t heard him. He was carefully turning over the pages of a 1960s account of the Kennedy assassination. Fascinating, practically written on the day. Thomas found himself more interested in the movements his hands made. Capable, deft. Incredibly gentle. Thomas wanted, with a violence that shocked him, to feel their touch on his skin. His mouth dried out. “Henry James, Thackeray, DIY,” Flynn continued, glancing over the wildly eclectic mix. “And yet everything else is so organised and…” he gestured to the well-scrubbed flagstone floor, to the room’s other surfaces, giving back the lamplight without a trace of dust, “…so beautifully clean.” Thomas swallowed. He never spoke to anyone about his compulsion towards order. Barely acknowledged it to himself. But Flynn wasn’t challenging him. His expression was kind, as if he already understood. “I know. I feel as if I have to.” “Like the washing up.” “Yes. I feel as if I have to.” Flynn uncurled from the floor. Not taking his warm gaze from Thomas, he went to the sofa, sat down and stretched one arm along the back of it. Crossed one ankle over his knee. He smiled at Thomas, a long, slow smile that left no room for doubt. “Leave it,” he said huskily. “Come here.” So Thomas came to sit beside Flynn. It was awkward—Flynn had not moved his arm, and the sofa was not large, but he thought he had made a reasonably casual job of it until he realised he was still clutching at the tea towel. The bloody undone dishes tugged and nipped at his mind, and he shivered, trying to push the compulsion away. Normally it would not matter; normally he would not miss much by giving in to it. Tonight, however, a handsome green-eyed man was sitting with him in his sea-washed eyrie—one of the loveliest things Thomas had ever clapped eyes on, now he let himself know it—and to turn away his attention seemed criminal.

Then where was he supposed to focus it? The sofa was quite small, but still there had been no need for him to settle within six inches of his guest, in flagrant violation of both their sets of personal space. If he looked down, there were Flynn’s lean, powerful thighs, encased in their worn denim. If he looked up—if he tried to meet his eyes—they would be…oh, God, shockingly close, nose to nose, practically, one unthinking inch off a kiss. He forgot about the dishes. Flynn said, “Look at me,” and his reflexive obedience closed the gap. Another man’s mouth under his own. Thomas sucked in an astonished breath and felt Flynn laugh and choke as it was snatched up from his lungs. “Sorry,” Thomas mumbled against Flynn’s smile. God, Flynn tasted of sea salt. He was so warm. He reached up and placed a hand on Thomas’s shoulder—an open hand, no restraint, just a palm circling his clavicle, tenderly round and round the protuberant bone, even when its fingers closed, no restraint. And so the choice was Thomas’s, when the hundred reasons why he shouldn’t flickered like sheet-lightning through his mind and he leaned hungrily forward anyway, into Flynn’s taste of sunlight and salt, the evanescent sweetness of the Riesling. He moaned, taking hold of the edge of Flynn’s T-shirt. His fingers felt clumsy and damp, but Flynn briefly touched the back of his hand in a gesture of assent and suggestion, his mouth opening under Thomas’s, slow as a sea anemone. Instinct stirred in Thomas, and he shyly let his tongue press inward, feeling the welcoming flutter of Flynn’s before he could recoil at his own daring. How long since he had touched human skin not brought to him for diagnosis, healing? How long since he had… Oh God, rhetorical bloody questions. Thomas always knew almost to the minute when he had last had sex. A shudder ran through him. “Flynn… Flynn, no. Stop.” Flynn had closed his eyes, as if in concentration. Now he opened them in concern. “You’re pale,” he said. “You all right?” “Yes. No, of course not.” Now that his mouth was off Flynn’s—an inch off, anyway—all he wanted to do was press it back, restore the kiss that had made his heart ache and race. Which, perversely, now he had decided that this was an impossibility, had called up his erection as hot and strong as could be managed in the confines of his cords. God, he ached. He wanted Flynn, wanted to fuck him, be fucked by him—he didn’t much care which. “We can’t,” he said, his voice unsteady with regret. “You’re with someone, and I…I’m screwed up, Flynn, beyond bloody human imagination. Not fit to be with anybody.” Flynn sat in silence for almost a minute, watching him. He reached up the pads of his fingers and ran them over Thomas’s brow. Thomas knew that ineradicable marks of pain had gathered there, and hated them. He didn’t mind looking older, but not like that. Flynn didn’t seem to mind them, though—was targeting them with his caress. “I know,” he said, gently. “You’ve told me—some of it, anyway. And it takes a nutter to know one. You must’ve gathered that I’m not renowned for sanity myself.” He pushed his

fingers back from Thomas’s temple, into his hair. He smiled. “As for Robert—yeah, you’re right. It’s a mess, and it’s not over. But technically, for tonight at least, he…gave me to you.”

Hard help can be good to find.

Trust Me If You Dare © 2010 LB Gregg Romano & Albright, Book 2 Feisty New Yorker Caesar Romano has a knack for getting into a jam, and this week is no exception. When his pregnancy-hormone-buzzed business partner sweet talks him into working a solo gig for his famous ex, Caesar attracts the worst kind of attention. It’s only the beginning. Hit on by a lusty German, stalked by the paparazzi, victim of an unexpected airbag attack—and desperate for some part-time help—Ce’s running out of time, staff and patience. But what’s really got him poised to run? A looming brunch with his sexy lover’s esteemed family. PI Dan Albright is a man of many gifts: investigation, security, sex talk and driving Caesar nuts in and out of the bedroom. Hired to protect an outrageous soap star from a deranged personal assistant, Dan’s got his hands full refereeing rival actors, locating one four-foot-eleven woman…and convincing Ce that he’s playing for keeps. Hey, nobody ever said taking a relationship to the next level was a waltz in the park. Warning: This book includes bad driving, a naughty German, dirty words, heated glances, mutual masturbation, oral sex, an evil scout, a memorable ride, and a fabulously affordable tuxedo. May cause unexpected bursts of laughter.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Trust Me If You Dare: It was boiling hot on the sidewalk, but Dan’s shirt managed to look crisp. He wore a handsome pair of black loafers today, no biker boots, and except for the fact that he was remarkably good-looking, he was just another New Yorker. Jeans and a tailored Egyptian cotton button-down, sleeves rolled sexily to the elbow. He’d done something to his hair in the last few minutes—smoothed it. He moved in a loose gait, ambling down the sidewalk. The frenetic pace of only a few minutes ago…where had that gone? He had slipped into some new character. Such a chameleon, my man Dan. Who was he really? I kept the easy pace. It felt good to stretch my legs. “Have you ever been to Zippos?” Dan pressed the button at the crosswalk and we waited for the light. “Costume Emporium? Sure. They rent for Halloween.” “Yeah. They also offer large-scale rentals for local theatres—and they rent to the TV studios. They build some costumes, they tailor and they have a line in with some of the soaps. Like Days. Kendal worked for Zippos.” Zippos was one of those landmarks in New York City that you could easily pass without ever noticing. Behind the tacky street-level storefront crouched a massive red brick warehouse. The faded paint

of last century’s advertising still showed on the red brick bordering the alley. Giant second- and third-story windows faced the street. Inside, the entire building was overstuffed with dusty costumes and worn theatrical supplies. “I remember the magnet. That’s neat and tidy.” And only three blocks from her apartment. “She must have been thrilled to land that job with Gun.” Some people do enjoy the notoriety that surrounded celebrities. Even minor ones. Not that there was anything minor about Gunter—to be fair, it would have been fun to be his assistant, although one would have their hands pretty full. Especially if one was gay and young and good-looking. Gun would be all over that. He’d dig the power play. Those flashy, long-lashed eyes would coax and wink and flutter—and then bam he’d be bending you over the nearest furnishing. I had no trouble imagining Gunter chasing some frantic secretary around the desk. A male secretary. Someone like Stephen Taylor. He was the right combination of prim, dapper, adoring and stupid. Gunter would definitely hit that. Dan’s voice called me from my musing. “Estelle got Kendal the job.” “You said.” Estelle Rosenstein, the woman with big teeth, big jewelry, a crass laugh and a brutal handshake. She was a top agent in New York and a force of nature. Estelle had found Stephen his job too. That was her job, I guess, to find other people jobs. I glanced at Dan. She’d hooked Detective Dan up with the residents of Chez Gay as well. “Lot of that going around. Kendal must have felt like the shop girl who hit the big time.” “By all accounts she did. Until last weekend when she went loco.” We arrived. The plain sign on the door announced that Zippos had wheeled and dealed in costume and fripperies since 1981.The year I was born. Almost thirty years of selling fat suits and top hats. That had to wear. “Here’s the drill. You’re a fussy costume designer—” “Oh, please.” “And I’m Dan Green.” I couldn’t help it. I smiled. “Again with the Green?” “Always.” Dan’s finger touched my wrist and a bolt of lightning scrambled my thoughts. His voice was husky. “You used to like Dan Green.” I very much liked Dan Green. “Somewhat.” “I think he turns you on.” He flashed that dimple. “Okay, I’ll walk in behind you. Kendal is staying here, or she hooked up with someone here. You said uniform. Zippo’s or NBC. Those are the most likely places she could grab a uniform—I doubt she whipped it together—or stole it. It’s a good time to check, before she comes back.” Which was why he’d driven like a bat out of hell. “You can say you’re here to see the facility. Say that you want to make a donation.”

I stepped back. “Lie? I’m not sure—” “Just ask them to see the back. Tell them whatever you want. You need three hundred top hats or something.” “Well…I…do need a tux.” At the very least, I could get measured. Maybe try one on. That would ease the shame of missing work. This was Poppy’s fault after all. I looked dubiously at the silver lamé draping the storefront and wondered if they even had a black tux for rent. My money was on something colorful and theatrical—something retro with spats. Or spots. “Tux.” Dan’s smile softened. “That’s a good idea.” He took his sunglasses off, tucked them into the placket of his shirt, and his dark-chocolate gaze rested on my mouth. For the first time all day, he focused on my lips, licking his own, and my stomach flipped over the right way. “I can’t wait to see you in black tie. Gold cuff links. The whole shebang. Shiny shoes. Bow tie. Jesus. Do you have any silk boxers? We should get you some. Let me get you some.” He moved closer and his index finger stroked my neck. The heat of the sidewalk was forgotten. Smog? Sweat? Carsick? Huh? Dan’s finger circled lazily on my skin, and I was lost. His voice grew unreasonably husky. “What will they say, Ce, when we dance together? I want to do that. I want to hold you in my arms, in front of the entire damn world. Would you do that? Would you dance with me?” Enthralled, I could only nod like an idiot, but the thought—he was just so beautifully comfortable with us. His lips brushed my ear. “Just the two of us? I’d like that. I’d like it a lot.” “Yeah. Me too, actually.” “You’ll let me lead?” I swallowed. “Maybe.” “Always.” He grinned, and his hand cupped my neck for just a moment. He winked and his dimple was so deep I wanted to fall inside his smile and never find my way out. He just…unhinged some locked door inside me…and then he stepped back and checked his fucking watch. “So, make this thing at Zippo’s count. Give me enough time to poke around and see if Kendal’s shacking up there. Easy breezy.” “Lemon squeezie,” I croaked, desperate to stop my dick from hardening anymore while I stood like a lovesick puppy on the sidewalk.