Page 28 of Walk on the Wilde Side
It's not a deep kiss, but it makes time stop, and suddenly, it's just Zander and me and his hands holding my face and the warm heat emanating from his naked torso. A soft knicker pulls us from the kiss. Arrow is at the entrance of the cave, looking bored.
Zander's blue gaze holds me in a trance for a moment longer, then I come to my senses. It's the last thing I need. I'm already far too confused and foolish when it comes to Zander Wilde, and now I've experienced his kiss, a kiss that is, according to so many girls at school, nothing short of legendary. I'm rarely in consensus with the other girls in school, but I have to give them this one. I'm sure it's a kiss I'll replay in my mind a million times before I finally free myself from the memory.
"We should get back," I say, my voice hoarse and my body still in recovery.
Zander nods and steps back. I can almost feel a gravitational type energy or inertia pull me toward him as he steps away. "All right. Let's ride back."
And that's the end of our little adventure, only there was nothing little about it.
thirteen
Zander
I walk Doc Holliday out of the barn. He's an ornery old horse who belongs to a neighbor. They're paying me to make him more broke to ride. He's not terrible. In fact, when he goes, he's pretty fucking awesome but then something will spook him or he'll just get tired of listening and he goes into bucking bronco mode.
Dad's been home from the hospital for two weeks. At first, he acted like an invalid, a frail old man who couldn't make himself a piece of toast and who would, no doubt, kick the bucket if he tried. The heart attack gave him enough of a scare to actually kick him off his cigars and beers … for two weeks. Today, he's hanging his arms over the railing of the round pen, wearing his black cowboy hat and boots and getting ready to bark out orders on what I'm doing wrong. He'll never admit that I'm a way better horseman than him, but I let him think he's won there, too. Being the winner is important to him but not at all important to me.
Doc is already snorting as I walk him into the round pen. I can feel the energy behind me. The horse is already feeling like a bronco, and I haven't sat on him yet.
Dad senses it, too. "That horse is ready to shoot you straight to the fucking moon." His laugh is always accompanied by a coughing fit. That's been happening for a long time, but it hasn't put him off his cigars. Just like his ticker almost giving out hasn't ended his love for steak and whiskey.
"You're quite the fucking cheering squad," I say as I climb up into the saddle. Doc snorts a few times then drops his head when I give him the cue with the bit. I squeeze my legs, and we move forward at a gentle walk. "Hey, you know what, you could help. I'm going to take him around, warm him up, and when I say so, give him a scare with that fallen branch over by the bench. But wait for my cue."
"Now what kind of dumbass bronco busting is that when the rider knows the horse is going to be spooked?"
"No, I'm saying wait for my cue to let you know that he's warmed up enough. Then use the branch to scare him, but don't tell me you're about to do it. And if you think you can do better old man, then why the fuck don't you sit in this saddle?"
"I ain't that stupid." He walks over to pick up the fallen branch. The leaves are dry and brittle enough to make a good crinkling sound when shaken. "Thought I told Ronan to get out here and clean all this debris up. I swear that kid is as lazy as a fat cat on a hot afternoon."
"Probably doesn't help that you boss him around like he's still a teen instead of a man moving in on thirty." I cluck my tongue to pick up to a trot.
Dad puts the branch on the ground next to his feet. He laughs. "That horse is already giving me the side eye. He knows something is up."
I take the horse around the pen three more times. Dust floats around us.
"He moves nice," Dad says. "Good looking animal, too. Too bad he's got the brain of a frightened baby deer."
"Just needs some exposure. I think Gary was riding him in an indoor arena and he was fine, but the second he got out into the big scary world it all went to shit. All right, any time you want." I cluck my tongue and push my leg against his side, and he picks up a lope.
Dad is waiting for us to get into a rhythm. He's holding the branch casually at his side. As we pass him, he raises it and gives it a shake. Doc hops straight up like a fucking scared rabbit. His back rounds, and he bounces me across the pen. He's snorting like a true wild bronco, but I stay on, and after a couple of ass-slamming, back-jamming trips around the pen, he settles back into his lope, pretending that the last few seconds never happened.
Dad claps. There's another clap with his. I look over my shoulder. It's Nev. She still has the same effect she's always had on me whenever I see her. The adrenaline I'm feeling now isn't from the horse. I haven't seen Nev since we ran into each other at the Gold Rush. I've avoided going into the sandwich shop because I'm worried I'll say something that will anger her. Mostly something about the stupid asshole she's dating.
Jameson and I have been working hard to get the job finished. Hoffman avoids us, and we avoid him. If we stick to the game plan, we'll be wheeling our equipment out of there in a few months. I made a promise to Jameson that I'd keep my mouth shut and my temper under lock and key so we could finish the job and get paid. My biggest worry is the getting paid part. Chug hasn't returned to the site, but the fact that he knows Hoffman is enough to send up some big, fucking flares.
"Look who's here, Z, my guardian angel. And she brought me a sandwich." Dad frowns at the sandwich. "Where's the roast beef?"
"It's vegetarian," Nev says in a way that tells him "no argument." She's taken on her grandmother's authoritative nature with the man who took orders from no one. No one, that is, except El Honey and now, apparently, her granddaughter.
"I suppose I could give it a try," Dad says glumly. "See, why live long if you're stuck eating vegetables and drinking water? Wanna come in for a glass of juice? That's all I've got."
"Please," I scoff. "No one believes your little goody-two-shoes act, Dad. I found the bottle of bourbon you hid in the microwave."
"Just had a splash in my coffee," he explains to a scowling Nev.
Dad looks back at me. "She's even cute angry. Still don't understand why you two didn't pair up. Sometimes the tension between ya is thicker than the plaque in my arteries."
It's a statement that catches both of us off guard. Dad never paid attention to anything we did, and he certainly never tuned into any of our feelings or emotions. He was always too busy taking care of his own needs to think about us. It's true that I always held a big slice of my heart for Nev, but did Dad actually pick up on it? Lately, he was full of fucking surprises.
