Kit Ehrman - At Risk

She tilted her head back and gazed at the night sky. The line of her neck was immediately stimulating. Long, taught lines. Creamy smooth skin. Form and function blended in such a way that could only be viewed as sexual by an adult male.

"It's turned out to be a nice evening, hasn't it?" she said.

I imagined what it would be like to slide my hand into that sweater of hers. "Um-hum."

"I can't believe how many stars you can see out here. It's beautiful." When I didn't respond, she turned to look at me, and I thought it was a damn good thing she couldn't read my mind.

"Um-hum, beautiful," I mumbled.

She looked at me strangely, and I figured she wouldn't need to be a mind-reader if I kept acting like an idiot.

I cleared my throat. "Have you eaten?"

She nodded. "The food's delicious. How often does Foxdale have these parties?"

"Several times a year. The next one'll be in June, at the start of the four-day A-rated show. Then there's a Halloween party for boarders and students. That one's a blast. It's held in conjunction with a fun-day horse show for the kids. They wear costumes and compete in silly games. Then there's the Christmas party. The boarders' committee plans and organizes that one."

"Very impressive. It must be a lot of work for you."

"Yeah, but it's fun." I ran my fingers through my hair.

We were standing close, the goings-on around us oblivious, at least, to me. Mrs. Hill chose that moment to walk over and say hello. I didn't hear her at first.

"… Stephen?"

I turned around. "Mrs. Hill?"

"Stephen… this is Mr. Ambrose. Mr. Ambrose," she said with a look of amusement in her eyes that I think only I noticed, "Stephen Cline."

Wow. The man himself, and after all this time.

"Hello, Stephen." Ambrose held out his hand, and I shook it. "I've heard a great deal about you from Mrs. Hill. According to her, you're the driving force behind Foxdale's recent success. Well done, young man."

"Eh… thank you, sir."

He took a puff from his cigar and uninhibitedly looked me up and down. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-one, sir."

He grunted. "I don't mind telling you I'm pleased with how the farm is prospering just now. When my wife decided to have it built, I thought it a foolish idea. I continued to think so for a long time, but when she passed away, I held onto it in honor of her memory. Now, it is no longer a burden but an enterprise I don't mind having my name connected with."

I glanced at Mrs. Hill and wished I hadn't. She was grinning at me with what I could only read as motherly pride.

"Well done, young man." Ambrose clapped me on the shoulder.

"Thank you, sir."

He gave me a curt nod, glanced at Rachel, then put his hand on Mrs. Hill's shoulder and steered her toward the parking lot. I heard his voice clearly over the crowd. "Imagine, losing a tax write-off because of a twenty-one-year-old kid."

When I looked back at Rachel, I realized I'd forgotten to introduce her. I apologized.

"That's all right." Her eyes twinkled with humor. "You were too busy being run over."

I snagged one of the servers, got a beer for myself and wine for Rachel-served in a plastic cup, nonetheless-and said, hoping it didn't sound idiotic, "To the future."

"To the future." She hesitated before taking a sip. The Christmas lights reflected in her dark eyes, and I thought that maybe, just maybe, the future would be an improvement over the past.

We carried our drinks into the barn and checked out the inhabitants. I stopped at the second stall on the right. "This is Jake, one of my favorites."

Rachel grasped one of the bars on the stall door, and the gelding tentatively stretched his neck and nuzzled her fingers with his velvety black nose.

"Yep," I said. "He's as sweet and as docile as a lamb, but boy, can he jump. Jumps like a jackrabbit."

We drifted down one side of the aisle and up the other. Kids were running and squealing in the aisle across the way, turning the barn into a playground. Most of the horses were eating their hay, some were dozing, none seemed disturbed by the activity. When I was satisfied that they were fine with all the commotion, we crossed over to barn B and eventually stopped at her horse's stall. The gelding tilted his head to the side, the way they do when they think they're going to be fed, and tried his damnedest to look cute.

"You're embarrassing. You know that?" Rachel stretched her fingers between the bars and rubbed his nose. He pulled back in annoyance.

Just then, Marty, obviously a shade drunk, strolled into the barn with his arm slung around the shoulders of a tall blonde and a beer dangling from his hand. I had never seen her before, but I wasn't surprised. With Marty's dark good looks and outgoing personality, he was never alone for long. They came to an abrupt halt in front of us. The blonde swayed from the unexpected maneuver. I glanced at my drink and wondered if I'd be driving them home.

"So-o-o, there you are," Marty slurred. "Was wonderin' where you'd got to. Steve, this is Angie." He paused, and I noticed a mischievous glint in his eyes as he added, "Jessica's sister." He gestured with his hand and beer sloshed down his fingers. "Angie, Steve."

So Marty's new honey was his ex's sister. Damn, he didn't worry about anything. I tried to keep a straight face. "Nice to meet you."

Angie pushed a handful of bleached-blond hair out of her eyes and mumbled something indistinct. She was heavy into jewelry and makeup-unappealing to my eyes-but Marty never sweated the details. His only concern, as he frequently lectured me, was the main course. And actually, the main course looked pretty good. She was built a lot like her sister.

Marty gulped some beer, then licked his lips. "Yep, ol' Steve here's the main man. Our hero. Defender of horses everywhere. Yep. Got the crap-"

"Marty!" I cut him off. "Marty, this is Rachel… Rachel, Marty. He works here, too."

Marty looked her up and down with evident approval and swayed when he leaned forward to shake her hand. "Nice to meet you." He looked past her and winked at me.

I sighed inwardly. Marty, sober, was not the epitome of tact. Plastered, he was much worse. Pulling his girl along with him, he stepped over to me and hooked his free arm across my shoulders.

"Rachel," he said, "take good care of this guy. I'm happy to see there's life in him after all." He squeezed my shoulder, then let his arm drop to his side. "Come on, Ange." He guided her toward the exit. "See ya later," he yelled over his shoulder.

I leaned back against the stall door, thinking that Marty could be so embarrassing when Rachel said, "What was he going to say when you interrupted him?"

The overhead lights shone like silver in her dark hair. "What?"

"What did he mean by 'defender of horses?'"

Damn Marty and his big mouth. "Nothing," I mumbled. "It's just something silly he likes to say."

She frowned.

Rachel, I saw, was not a girl to put up with evasion. I wondered what I should tell her. If I should tell.

I sighed. "In February… some guys stole seven horses from the farm. I ran into them. That's what he was talking about." And damn him.

"Is that what happened to your face?" she said.

"Yes." It came out a whisper.

"It must have been horrible."

"It's history. No big deal." My voice sounded convincing enough, and it was over and done with, but not in the middle of the night. Not in my dreams. Annoyingly, I still dreamt about it. Dreamt about him. And in those dreams he was disturbingly real.

"You're strong," she said softly.

I snorted. If she only knew. There was compassion in her eyes, I thought, and understanding. We were standing close. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her against me.