Ann Major - Marry A Man Who Will Dance

“Scaredy-cat.” He laughed. As she gasped, he sprang up on Buttercup’s back, urging the mare forward with his toes into a springing trot.

“Get off her,” she whispered.

“I won, remember.”

Soon he had Buttercup cantering round and round in a perfect circle. They were so beautiful, Roque with his black hair and Buttercup with her black mane streaming in the wind as they danced in that sea of tall grasses.

Even before Roque stood up and went dangerously faster, Ritz was trembling with a mixture of fright and wonder.

“Don’t,” she pleaded silently.

But he stretched both his arms out like wings.

“No…no…” Even as she begged, her heart thrummed, and her spirit sang along with those thudding hoofs.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes.”

Roque’s wickedness and wildness made him seem like a god, who was connected by spirit and blood to the mare he rode, connected to the endless sea of purple grasses, to the darkening sky itself, to the whole universe—connected even to her. She’d felt the same thing last night, only now her feelings were stronger.

Buttercup galloped so fast, Roque did indeed seem to fly. When Caleb spread his own arms like wings and ran after his brother, she did the same thing. The three of them soared on their make-believe wings, running round and round, both flying and dancing.

Caleb and she ran after him until they collapsed in laughter, breathing hard. Ritz put her hand over her heart as the galloping horse and the bad Blackstone boy flew away. She began to laugh, forgetting all sense of ownership when Roque turned, and she realized he was galloping back to her.

“He’s magical,” she whispered. “He’s like a centaur.”

Buttercup slowed and Roque sat down again and smiled down. A stillness descended upon her when he came close and held out his hand to his brother.

“Do you want to fly?”

Caleb shook his head.

“I do!” she cried in an eager voice that did not belong to her.

Roque gave her a long look. Then he leaned down. This time when he extended his hand toward her, she grabbed it.

Sweet heat flicked through her veins like summer lightning. Oh, what had gotten into her? Was it his wildness? His badness?

Caleb shrieked with joy and ran up to them. Kneeling, he cupped his dirt-encrusted hands. As bravely as Jet, Ritz put her foot in his fingers and sprang up in front of Roque. His warm hands circled her waist, burning her skin through her thin blouse.

When he urged Buttercup into a trot, she forgot all about hating him.

Never had cantering been such a glorious experience. It was like dancing. A chemistry flowed between the three of them. They weren’t just a boy and a girl and a horse. They belonged to an ancient world and a primitive time that was truer than anything modern, a paradisiacal time before man had been expelled from the kingdom of nature.

He stood up and then helped her to stand, too. When she teetered, crying out to him, he steadied her until she got her balance. Soon she was holding her arms out just as he had. Slowly his thrilling hands at her waist fell away. Then he extended his arms behind hers, and they were flying together, racing in that endless magical pasture, the thudding rhythmic hooves singing in her blood.

For a few brief moments there was no high game fence, no feud. It was just Roque and her and the magic between them. Then a black pickup sped toward them on the caliche road, belching angry white fantails of dust.

For a few brief moments longer, horse and riders were free, and the range was as wild and open as their hearts. Ritz’s hair blew against Roque’s dark face, so that she felt herself part of him as well as part of the sky.

Then the truck braked. Benny Blackstone hopped out, shaking his fists and cursing when he saw Caleb running toward the galloping riders with his arms outstretched. Not that Ritz really heard Ben.

Buttercup’s hoofs were thudding, and she felt too wonderful. Even when Roque turned Buttercup, so that they seemed to charge the truck and Caleb, she was only vaguely aware of his father.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Ben leaned inside the cab and pull his Winchester off the gun rack behind the driver’s seat.

“Caleb—” Ben shouted. “Sunny—”

Caleb stopped, but Buttercup kept galloping at him, Benny raised the rifle to his chest.

Caleb yelled when his father aimed at Roque, “No! Daddy! No!”

Roque let out an Indian war whoop and charged faster.

The Winchester cracked. And still Roque charged.

Almost carelessly Benny ejected the empty shell and raised the rifle again. The gun popped a second time, bouncing rocks in front of Buttercup. The mare reeled. With a scream, Ritz tumbled backward into Roque.

He grabbed her, rocking precariously, grabbing wildly at the air. Buttercup reared.

“Dios,” he muttered as her forelegs came down with a thud.

Ritz’s heart was pounding when he slipped. Still, holding her, he shielded her somehow. His body struck the rocks first. She fell on top of him, crushing him against the ground. Something inside her knee popped. When she tried to stand up, she couldn’t.

Mad with fear, Buttercup circled them frantically, got too near and stepped on Roque’s arm.

The bone snapped, but Roque didn’t utter a sound. He lay in a broken heap like a doll thrown down by an angry child, his dark face as white as bone.

“Sunny!” Benny shouted. “Are you crazy? He was trying to kill you! How many times do I have to tell you to stay away from him?”

Caleb ran to Roque. “You shot him—deliberately! There’s…there’s blood on the dark grass.” Caleb drew back a hand, wet with the stuff, and began to cry.

Ritz knelt over Roque and choked on a sob. “Roque! He’s not moving.”

Through her sobs Ritz heard Caleb’s muted pleadings. His father stalked toward them, his Winchester lowered now, his expression grim.

“Move, kids.” Benny sank to his knees and examined Roque. When he was done, he stroked Roque’s black hair for a long moment. “He’ll be all right.” His voice was strange, hoarse. “Take more than a fall to kill a devil like him. Broken arm. Let’s hope it’ll teach him a lesson. He shouldn’t have charged me. Run get a blanket, Sunny.”

When Caleb loped off, Benny fiddled with his radio, shaking it and cursing. In a few minutes Caleb was leaping back through the tall grasses with the blanket. His father took it and threw it over Roque.

“You’d better git,” he said to Ritz.

“My knee—”

“Damn. I can’t get anybody on the radio. I’m going to have to call the ambulance from the house. Can you stay here with him until I get back? I’ll phone your parents and tell them what’s happened. If he comes to, don’t let him move—”

Her eyes widened. “You can’t call my daddy! When you come back…if you’ll just put me on Buttercup and leave the gate open….”

He shook his head. “I’m liable for you. You stay here. Roque’s just crazy enough to hurt himself if he comes to alone and is disoriented in the dark.”

She looked at Roque’s crumpled body and then at the black sky. Then she rubbed her burning eyes and nodded. “Daddy’s going to be so mad.”

Benny stood up. “Come on, Sunny.”

“I want to stay with Roque, too!”

“This wouldn’t have happened, if you’d stay away from him.”

Benny Blackstone seized Caleb by his collar and pulled him, his boots scuffling across the rocks, all the way to the truck. They roared away in geysers of white dust.

Ritz swallowed a hard lump in her throat. Roque lay so still. He was very white, and his hair spilled like rich black chocolate across the rocks and grass.

“Roque?” Leaning closer, she caught his scent, which was musky, and clean, all male. “Roque!” she yelled.