I pull the car over to the side of the road and sit there for a few minutes, the engine idling. White smoke blooms out of my mouth, the windshield fogging over until I can barely see the road. Leaning forward, I wipe the sleeve of my jacket across the windshield in a circle, staring out at the dark corral that stretches before me. Turning off the ignition, I hop out of the car and slam the door, hugging my jacket tight across my body as I run for the stable at the side of the corral. Pulling open the large wooden door, I slip in and tug it tightly shut behind me, closing my eyes and breathing deeply as the warmth of the stable surrounds me. Horses nicker in nearby stalls as I pass them, heading for the last stall on the right. I stand at the door and stare up at Lady, the beautiful strawberry-blonde colored horse Daddy bought me when I was twelve. The horse he’d been riding when he was killed. I stare up at the majestic creature, coherent thought leaving my body as I stretch out my fingers to the horse’s soft muzzle. Lady whinnies and tosses her mane back, stamping her foot, her eyes large and wild. She’s tossing Dad to the ground, preparing to bolt…
I snatch my hand back, breathing hard as I stare at my horse. The poor creature is terrified, clearly traumatized by the memory of the hunting dogs. “It’s okay,” I murmur quietly as Lady inches closer. I gingerly stretch out my fingers once more until the horse’s nose bumps against them. Gently stroking the soft hair that covers Lady’s muzzle, I allow my thoughts to drift away once more.
“Let go, sweetie. I’ll catch you.”
I squeal with delight as Daddy swings me up into the air and catches me back in his large arms. I hug him tight as he lowers me to the ground and kneels in the grass in front of me.
“I love you, buttercup.” He smiles, gently stroking the long hair out of my face before presenting a long-stemmed pink rose from behind his back. “Happy birthday,” he says as I beam and take the rose.
“Thank you, Daddy.” I flash him a grin.
“How old are you, seventeen? Eighteen?” he teases.
“I’m ten, Daddy.” I laugh. I love it when my daddy makes jokes. Of course he knows how old I am; I’ve been talking of nothing but this birthday for months.
“Ten?” Daddy’s eyebrows rise into his hairline in mock surprise. “I guess you just need to stop growing then, don’t you?” He grins as he tickles my tummy, and I shriek with laughter.
“Come on, you two.” We glance up at my momma, Heather, calling out from the back porch as she unties her white apron with a smile. “It’s time for cake.”
“Cake!” Daddy exclaims, scrambling to his feet, almost as excited as me.
I giggle as I watch Daddy run to the porch and swing Momma around in a circle, planting a wet kiss on her lips. Despite being married for almost twenty years, they’re still clearly so much in love. I hope one day I’ll find a man to love me as much as my daddy. Unfortunately, the next winter proved to be too brutal for my fragile mother, who contracted a particularly nasty case of pneumonia. I hold Daddy’s hand tightly as I watch the plain wooden casket be lowered into the ground.
“It’s just us now,” he says gruffly, wiping away the tears of myself and my younger sister, Natalie.
I snap back to reality as a car’s headlights pass by outside the stable. Wiping away a few errant tears, I slip into the stall with Lady and pull a small cot out from beneath a bench. Dragging it beneath an alcove, I kick my sneakers off and lie back on it, pulling a warm, fleece blanket out of a drawer beside the cot. Tugging the blanket up to my chin, I allow the familiar smell of the stable to lull me into a sense of security. As the lonely tears dry on my cheeks, I finally fall asleep, dreaming of happier days.
“Well, how the hell was I supposed to know she didn’t like nicknames?” I yell as I glare up at Keets.
I’d been sitting on the couch, nursing a cold beer against my balls when Keets burst into the small house, proverbial guns blazing. The pain had somewhat eased in my undercarriage, but not to my wounded pride.
“Sometimes, your mind astounds me,” Keets says, shaking his head as he adjusts his glasses. “What made you think it was okay to call her kitten?”
“I don’t know,” I reply, my voice lowering to normal once more as I adjust the front of my jeans and swallow a mouthful of beer from the bottle I hold. “She was acting like a wildcat. I just thought it’d be funny.”
“Well, it wasn’t.” Keets sighs, dropping down on the opposite couch and propping his feet up on the coffee table, crossing his ankles.
“Make yourself at home,” I mutter, glancing at his dirty boots.
“Look,” Keets says, pointedly ignoring me. “Shan’s had a hard time, okay? A damn hard time. So cut her some slack.”
“Slack?” I echo in disbelief. “The crazy bitch kicked me in the balls, and you want me to pat her on the head and give her a cookie?”
“You fucked up her bar and didn’t turn up for your first shift,” Keets replies hotly, sitting up straight and dropping his feet to the ground. “You’re lucky your ass isn’t in jail right now!”
“I know,” I agree quietly. I’d been a jackass, and truth be told, I probably deserved to have my balls kicked up into my body until they disappeared. I never should have kissed her. And she never should have responded. I cross my legs as I feel my cock harden in memory of her soft lips. What is it about her that has me tied up in knots? She’s not even pretty, in the conventional sort of way. She’s too short, too skinny. And she has curly fucking hair. What grown woman willingly has curly hair? Certainly none I’ve ever known. They’re all about sleek, straight locks, long legs and ample curves.
“Don’t,” Keets warns.
I glance up, noting the frown on my friend’s face. “What?” I ask, innocently enough.
“Whatever it is you’re thinking, don’t do it,” Keets says. “She’s not for you.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I snap, lifting the bottle to my lips and downing the rest of my beer.
“Shannon,” Keets answers, standing so quickly he almost knocks the coffee table over. “She doesn’t need your crap,” he continues in a low voice. “Just keep it in your pants around her, all right?”
I stare at him. Has he completely lost his mind? I’m not interested in Shannon . . . am I? “You’ve got it,” I say, touching the rim of the empty bottle to my temple in a brief salute.
“Look, I’m sorry, all right?” Keets apologizes, raking his hand through his short hair. “I just don’t wanna see her get hurt.”
“And you think I’d hurt her,” I reply. It’s not a question.
“Of course not,” Keets says, avoiding eye contact. “Listen, we’ll talk about this later, yeah? Get some sleep.”
“Sure,” I agree, silently willing my friend to look at me. As if reading my mind, Keets raises his eyes and stares at me for so long I start to shift uncomfortably. “No more beer,” Keets orders, narrowing his eyes as his gaze moves to the empty bottle in my hand.
“What are you, my father?” I throw my head back as I laugh at my own joke. Keets doesn’t laugh. “Okay, okay,” I say, raising one hand in surrender as the other places the empty bottle on the coffee table. I rise to my feet and eye Keets. “No beer,” I finally agree.