Lindsay McKenna - Out Rider

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SLOAN COULDN’T KEEP his gaze off Dev as they sat near the roaring waterfall that fell over a hundred feet into a pool. They sat on the grass and ate their midmorning snack. The horses were both trained to ground tie and knew they had to stand where they were placed. Bella had eagerly lapped up the water and now sat next to Dev, who was on a bank, her long legs hanging over it. She had taken off her baseball cap, and her black hair was shining like a raven’s wing beneath the sunlight. It was cold at nine thousand feet where the waterfall sat but they were bundled in their brown down-and-nylon jackets.

Sloan sat about four feet above Dev on the slope of the rocky cliff. Below them, the dark green pool of water was in constant motion from the falls. Sometimes, when the breeze changed, some of the mist would come their way, but it didn’t soak them. The sunlight was bright and blinding. Sloan absorbed the heat, liking it against the chill of the morning temperature. In May, he knew too well that even if one moment there could be sun, the mountains made their own weather. Clouds could swiftly gather, dark and heavy with snow and rain, and dump on the eastern slope.

Dev was nibbling on a protein bar and had her canteen open near her right hand. He covertly watched some of the black strands of her hair lift and play in the breeze. Her hands were long and artistic looking. Sloan wanted to ask Dev if she was an artist, too. He wondered about her time in the military, about getting wounded by the IED. From his own experience, those events branded a person forever. He wondered how jumpy she really was because it hadn’t shown up—yet. Though remembering that split-second terror in her eyes a day ago, Sloan wondered if it was connected to the PTSD from the blast. Right now Dev didn’t appear anxious. But then, he thought as he looked around in appreciation of the area, the Tetons usually encouraged a person to let down their guard and relax. Nature had that effect on tense, overstressed human beings, he’d observed.

“Tell me more about your parents,” Sloan urged her, figuring it was a safe enough topic. He saw Dev give Bella the last of her protein bar and rest her hand on her dog’s back. Clearly, she loved her Lab. Sloan found himself wondering what it would be like to feel Dev’s hand stroking him like it was stroking Bella. Whatever sizzled and popped between him and Dev was not only alive but more intense every time he found himself around her. And Sloan had never felt this kind of connection with a woman before. It reminded him of a pot on a stove, getting ready to boil at any given moment. Something was bubbling between them.

Dev turned. “It’s a story light and dark,” she said with a shrug. “My parents met in the Air Force. My mom was a captain and a pilot of C-130 transports. My father was a captain in the maintenance section on those types of aircraft. They fell in love and stayed in the military for seven years. When my mom, Lily, got pregnant with me, she got out. She was thirty when she had me.” Dev smiled fondly. Then, her brows drew down a little and her voice lowered. “My father, Pete, had a problem with alcohol. While he was in the military, it was a hidden secret from my mom. She was always flying and not at home that much.” She plucked a couple strands of grass, moving them between her fingers as she spoke. “My mother was more than ready to get out of the military. Once she had me, she was hired by a regional airline and she flies with them to this day. My father, however, didn’t adjust well to civilian life.”

“What happened?” Sloan asked.

“Well, as a kid growing up, I didn’t understand he was an alcoholic. My mother didn’t get it until I was a year old. She found him hiding whiskey bottles all over their house, stashing them away. I think, looking back on it, my father needed the rigidity and boundaries that the military naturally provided in order to keep his drinking halfway under control, and to still be able to fully do the work he did.”

“Did your father come from parents who were alcoholics?” Sloan wondered.

“Yes. But my mother didn’t find out until she discovered his secret. I remember growing up with them yelling and screaming at one another. My father refused to stop drinking. My mother, because of her airline shifts, wasn’t at home to raise me. I had a lot of babysitters and maybe that was a good thing.” Dev allowed the torn, twisted strands of grass to drop from her fingers and fall to the nearby rocks.

“Why do you say that?”

“My father resented me being in their lives.” She gave Sloan a sad smile. “I didn’t know why my father didn’t like me...or love me... I just felt as a child he didn’t want me underfoot or around. He had a job with a metal manufacturer in Casper and had shift work. When he had a night shift, he had to babysit me during the day and he really hated that.”

Sloan frowned. “How do you know that?”

Dev picked more strands of grass because it soothed her. She twisted the long lengths between her fingers, staring down at them because she didn’t have the courage to see the look that was probably in Sloan’s eyes. Why was she telling him this? She’d never told anyone about it before. No one knew. Why him? Compressing her lips, Dev said, “I remember him telling me to stay in my room, not to dare going outside. At that time, I was seven years old, and I loved being outdoors. I used to sneak out through my bedroom window and run in the fields while he was drinking. When he drank, he’d fall sleep on the couch, and that’s when I’d get out of the house and escape outdoors.”

“You were seven?”

Dev heard the growl in Sloan’s voice and looked over at him. His eyes were banked with censure and anger. She knew it wasn’t aimed at her but at her irresponsible father. “Yes.” Hitching one shoulder upward she said, “Don’t worry, I grew up fast. My mother would be gone three or four days at a time, depending upon where she was flying. My father would sleep six or eight hours when drunk. We had a dog, Ghost, and I’d go out with her. She was a white husky with blue eyes. She was so beautiful. She was like my teddy bear growing up, and always protective and caring of me. We’d go out into the meadow and just go explore for hours. When I got hungry, I’d walk home and go to the kitchen and make myself a sandwich.”

“Did your father know you did this?” Sloan tried to remove the anger from his voice.

“No. I never told him. I had his drunk schedule down pat and knew when I could do it and get away with it. I never told my mother, either, because if I did, they’d start screaming and yelling at one another. I couldn’t stand their anger. Whenever they’d fight, I’d run to my room and Ghost would come and lie on my bed with me and give me a doggy hug.”

Shaking his head, Sloan said, “I’m really sorry you had to live through that. Did your father ever hurt your mother or you?”

Dev felt a powerful sense of protection wash over her and understood now that it was coming from him. Maybe she could equate it to the doggy hugs that Ghost always gave her when she was feeling isolated and alone. “He never laid a hand on me or Mom, thank God. When I was old enough to realize he was an alcoholic, I ruthlessly researched the disease and what it meant. I wanted to understand why he was the way he was. Why—” and Dev choked up a little, avoiding Sloan’s intense stare “—he couldn’t love me. He never hugged me or kissed me or told me he loved me. He just didn’t have it in him. Frankly, after I grew up and matured a little, I saw why he couldn’t. My father couldn’t even love himself. So how could he reach out to love me?”

“But your parents are still together?”

“Yeah. Figure it out. I can’t. I don’t know why my mom never left my father.”