The first rays of the morning sun filtered through the curtains and fell on the beauty that lay beside Mataus.

Bathed in the light she glistened like an angel, her blonde tresses a golden halo surrounding alabaster skin, so soft and smooth it begged for his touch. Pale blonde lashes caressed her cheeks in sleep and her plump pink lips were slightly parted. Mataus leaned down to brush his lips to hers, but before he could taste the sweetness of her mouth he found himself standing in the dark. He was in the country. The smell of hay and horses permeated the air. No moon lit the sky, only a sprinkling of stars. In the faint light he could make out the shape of a barn and a house in the distance, fenced pastures and a gravel drive.

Mataus walked along the gravel road toward the house. A sense of foreboding clawed at his aura. As he grew closer, the outline of a large truck parked in the driveway came into view. A shadow crept around the vehicle.

Evil, a hatred so pure it almost brought him to his knees shot to his mind. An explosion. Flames. A maniacal laugh.

Mataus woke with a start. Sweat drenched his body. For three nights now he had dreamed of the angel in his bed, but this was the first time he had sensed danger surrounding her. Fuck! He threw the covers off and sat on the edge of the bed, swiping his hands down his face.

He needed a shower to think. Heaving himself off the bed he staggered to the bathroom and turned the spray on as hot as he could stand it. As the pounding water eased his taut muscles flashes of his dream ran through his head. He closed his eyes and the woman appeared in front of him, so vibrant and real, he wanted to reach out and touch her. In his heart, he knew she was the key. The missing essence that would blend with his aura and complete his soul.

Switching off the water, Mataus scrubbed a towel over his skin and walked to the sink. Naked, he ran the electric razor over his face, brushing his teeth at the same time. A heavy swipe of deodorant, to combat the New Orleans heat, then a splash of cologne and he was set for the day.

Sauntering into the bedroom he threw on a pair of well-worn jeans and a T-shirt that said, You’re never too old to have invisible friends. Barefoot, he headed for the kitchen and some chicory coffee and a beignet.

As soon as Mataus had a little caffeine in his system he knew what he needed to do. He had to call his cousin Harley. Not only was she spiritually gifted like him, but Harley was psychometric, she sensed things from objects or people she touched. She was a bomb disposal expert, owning Socorro, the premier bomb disposal company in the United States, perhaps the world.

With a punch of a button, speed dial connected the call. The phone rang several times before she answered. A breathless, laughing voice said, “Hola, primo. Coma esta?” another laugh and a muttered “Cut it out Beau-ray, can’t you see I’m on the phone?”  Mataus could hear Beau grumble, “It’s not the red phone.”

He laughed. “Am I calling at a bad time?”

“Never, mijo. I am so glad to hear from you. Que pasa?”

“Something’s on the horizon and I’m not sure what. It got me thinking about you, so I thought I’d call and check in.”

“Okay, you’ve got my interest piqued now. What have you been dreaming, mystic man? Something wicked this way comes?”

“Shit, prima, I wish I knew. That’s the problem. I had a really bizarre dream last night. All I know is something important is going to happen, but I sense danger too.”

“Danger for you, primo? Do I need to come over there and kick some ass?”

“I don’t know. I think the danger is to the woman I saw and I may need you.”

“Need me? Whatever for?”

“I think I saw someone plant a bomb in her truck.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? That was some dream, mijo. Who is this woman?”

“That’s the problem, prima, I don’t know.”

“So you had a dream about some strange woman you’ve never met?”

“Si, I’ve been dreaming about her for days, but this is the first time I saw the man and the bomb.”

“Hmm, you’ve been dreaming about her for days huh? Just what kind of dreams, primo?” she asked with a teasing lilt.

Mataus felt his cock rise in his jeans, and laughed. “Until today, wonderful, intimate dreams. I think she is the one, Harley.”

Harley sighed. “Oh, Matty, that’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you, it’s about time you found someone to love you like you deserve.”

“Yeah, well, that’s all well and good, but first I have to find her, and then it appears I have to make sure she doesn’t get blown up!”

“Shit, good point. Anything I can do to help?”

“You could come visit me and bring my godson. I miss that little pisser. I could use some hand holding and some moral support.”

“You got it, primo. I’ll cook up a batch of gumbo and we’ll be there for dinner.”

“You’re bringing me food? You are an angel. See you tonight.”

“Adios, amigo, see you later.”

When he hung up the phone, Mataus felt better. He would find his mystery woman, it was his destiny, and Harley would make sure he kept her safe.

* * * *

Cara “Mo” Konklin groaned as she reached for a mug from the cabinet in the kitchen. Her back ached like the devil this morning, rain was coming. She always knew, better than any weather man. Mo fixed her coffee and downed a couple of ibuprophen. The doctors at the V.A. gave her prescriptions for narcotics and muscle relaxers, but she tried not to take them. She didn’t want to become dependent on drugs and she didn’t like the way they made her feel. So, for the most part, she toughed it out with just over the counter medication.

Today would be a long day. She had a new group of kids coming to join her riding program. Mighty Mo’s was her baby. The only baby she’d ever have thanks to the accident in Iraq that crushed her pelvis. When she’d been medically discharged from the Army, depression had ridden her hard.

Mo had been a diesel mechanic in the Army. A freak accident in the motor pool had ended her career and her dreams of a husband and family. A young Private had been driving an armored vehicle and swerved to miss a dog. He’d hit the back of the Humvee she was working on, crushing her between the big vehicle and a cement wall.

Fractured pelvis, herniated discs in her back, one ovary lost, her spleen removed, lacerations to her liver, she was lucky to be alive. However, the doctors said she would never be able to have a child. Too much scar tissue on her fallopian tubes and only one ovary. Her chances were about the same as getting run over by a motorcycle in church. And if she did get pregnant, they doubted she could carry the child to term.

In civilian life Mo had been a barrel racer. Number one on the circuit. Now, she could barely ride. Sitting on a horse caused her agonizing pain. She owned a cattle and horse ranch, but couldn’t ride the herd. What the fuck was she supposed to do with her life? Sit in the ranch house and do the books?

That was when the idea for Mighty Mo’s had come to her. It had taken two years of research, grant proposals, endless meetings, and red-tape, but the program was finally up and running. Under-privileged children from the city could come to Prairieville and learn to ride horses, enjoy time on the ranch and commune with nature. Although she was closer to Baton Rouge, children came from New Orleans too.

Mo got to mother all the children she could handle now. Even if she couldn’t keep them. Their stories often broke her heart, but she took solace in the fact that she brought them joy and the freedom of riding, even if it was only for a brief respite.

A knock and the swing of the back door occurred simultaneously, as Shannon popped her head in the door. “Morning, boss lady. You got coffee made?”

“Of course, grab a cup and a chair. Are we ready for the rambling rascals?”

“All set. Jimmy and Bill volunteered to help out today. I’ve already got the horses fed so they’ll be done eating before the kids arrive.”

“Great. How many are coming today?”

“Ten.”

“What’s the age group?”

“These are little nippers, six to eight.”

Mo smiled, she loved the little ones, they were always so enthusiastic. “We’ll have our hands full.”

“Don’t you know it.”

“I don’t know if four of us is enough for a group that large, of kids so young. Do you think we could round up a few more volunteers?”

“I’ll give Angela and Bonnie a call and see if they can help out.”

“Good idea.” Mo put her cup in the dishwasher and tidied up the kitchen while Shannon made the calls.

“The girls are in,” she said as she ended her calls.

“Thank you, Jesus. Let’s head to the barn and get started.” A glance at the clock showed they had an hour before the kids would arrive.

“You are a slave driver, you know that?” Shannon grumbled.

Mo punched her in the shoulder. “You should have seen my Drill Sergeant, if you think I’m a slave driver,” she teased.

“No thanks! You’re Drill Sergeant enough for me.”

“Saddle up, soldier!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Don’t you ‘sir’ me, I work for a living.”

They both laughed at the running joke and headed for the barn. The modern twenty-five stall stable couldn’t really be called a barn in the old-fashioned sense of the word. It was a hurricane proof, concrete and steel building, with built-in heating and cooling systems for the animals. Wide, steel re-enforced doors opened on both ends, one into the enclosed riding pen, and one to the driveway. Inside, a concrete center aisle separated the stalls on both sides. The stalls were lined with wood shavings, creating a wonderfully clean smell when you entered the barn. No expense had been spared in creating the perfect environment for Mo’s horses. She had an electronic surveillance system, automatic waterers, climate control, the best feed, equipment and vet care.

As soon as she entered the barn, whinnies and wickers of hello echoed from the stalls, with all her four legged friends vying for her attention. Mo walked down the aisle, giving each horse a pat or a scratch behind the ears, before she pulled the first horse from the stall to begin her grooming. She didn’t need anybody feeling left out and acting up because they were mad at her.

She started with Cherry, a dapple gray mare who was one of her favorites. A sweetheart, if a bit of an attention whore.  Mo hooked her up to the crossties in the center aisle and Cherry lipped at her ponytail, pulling several strands over her shoulder.

“Cut it out, I don’t want horse spit in my hair, you big goof,” Mo chastised.

Shannon, who was working on a big gelding, Mighty Wheel, on the crossties behind her, laughed.

“Everyone loves your hair. Even the horses,” she said.

“Ha, ha. Funny girl.”

“Not my fault. If you are going to have that gorgeous mane that hangs down to your ass and drives men crazy, you have to expect them to notice.”

“What men? I haven’t been on a date in a year.”

“Only because you never leave this ranch.”

“I do so. I go to Baton Rouge and New Orleans all the time.”

“Only to go to DCFS. Do you expect to find many good men there? I think not.”

“Whatever.”

“You know there is more to life than Mighty Mo’s.”

“I know. I just don’t have time for anything else right now,”

“Denial is a river in Egypt.”

“Smart ass.”

“I just care about you. Mike and I are going to a new club in New Orleans on Saturday, why don’t you come along?”

“I don’t want to be a third wheel on a date with you and your husband.”

“You won’t be a third wheel. We’re meeting some friends there. It will be a whole group of us. Please come.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Okay, I guess that’s the best I’m gonna get, so I’ll leave it at that, but please think about it.”

“I will, I promise.”

The barn doors opened and Jimmy and Bill walked in. “Howdy, ladies,” Jimmy called. “Point us to some horses, we’re ready to work.”

From then on the day passed in a flurry of activity. The kids had a wonderful time and so did Mo. She went to bed tired, but happy.

* * * *

 

Mataus sat in his studio and stared at the painting on the canvas in front of him. He didn’t paint portraits. Ever. He was famous for his landscapes of Louisiana, but this painting had just flowed from him. It was her. The woman of his dreams.

Maybe you couldn’t call it a portrait, exactly. A swirling backdrop of midnight black, dotted with sparkling stars, highlighted the dreamlike figure of a woman. Her features were unclear, except for her eyes, which blazed a brilliant cobalt blue, and a magnificent waterfall of flaxen hair that fell to her waist. Dressed in a gossamer gown, that appeared to blow against her in the wind, revealing the pale pink buds of her nipples and her long slim legs. Dainty bare feet with unpainted toenails looked poised to run, as she looked over her shoulder. Her aura glowed around her, deep red, yellow-green, green, blue, gold, and all surrounded in white. The colors told him a story, his woman was strong willed, a survivor, passionate, balanced, sensitive, intuitive, and possessed a pure soul.

He’d done the painting in acrylic, needing to finish it today and not wanting to take the time for oil paints to dry. Wiping his hands on his paint stained jeans he sat back on the stool and stretched the muscles in his back. This painting he would never sell. It was his. Pulled from his mind and soul, a piece of his heart. Even now he wanted to hang it above his bed, so it would be the first thing he saw in the morning and the last thing he saw at night.

He shook his head; he was in love with a woman he hadn’t even met. No wonder the whole world thought he was crazy.

He heard the squeak of the screen door and then a solid knock followed by a shouted, “Yoo hoo!” as the front door slid open. Harley, Beau and Landry had arrived. “Where you at primo?” Harley called as Mataus stepped from the studio into the living room. “Ah, there you are, I should have known you’d be working,” she said. “What masterpiece are you painting now?”

“Put that pot in the kitchen and come see,” he said. Harley set the Gumbo on the island in the kitchen and holding tightly to the rambunctious Landry’s hand, the three of them followed him into the studio.

Harley gasped when she saw the portrait. “Oh my God, Matty. That is…I don’t know what to say. I can’t even describe it. It’s amazing.”

“Damn, man. You’ve really outdone yourself this time,” Beau added.

“Wow, primo Matt, I like how the lady glows, that’s cool,” Landry piped.

Mataus ruffled Landry’s hair. “Thanks, Niño.”

“It’s her, right? The dream woman?” Harley asked.

“Yeah.”

“You painted this today? In one day?” Harley asked.

“Yeah.”

“That’s unbelievable.”

“I know. I don’t know how I did it. A painting like this should have taken me at least a week to finish.”

“Maybe it’s magic” she teased.

“At this point, I wouldn’t doubt it.” He laughed. “Let’s go heat up that gumbo. I’m starving.”

“I need to make the rice. I suppose you haven’t eaten all day.”

Mataus shrugged. “No, I never left the studio.”

“Can I paint primo, Matt?” Landry interjected.

“Sure, Niño.” Mataus grabbed a sketch pad and hunted up a box of water colors and a medium brush for Landry.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Harley asked.

“It’s just water colors,” Mataus said. “He can’t hurt anything. I need to encourage my Godson’s creativity.”

“Yeah, right. It will be just my luck he’ll get creative on my living room walls,” Harley muttered.

Mataus squatted down in front of Landry. “Now, there are rules to painting, little man.” Landry nodded. “Rule number one is, we only paint on paper. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Landry answered, smiling widely. He waited looking at Mataus solemnly. “What’s rule number two?”

“Don’t forget rule number one,” Mataus said tapping his nose.

Landry giggled. “Okay.”

“All right. Come on then. I want gumbo!”

Matt set Landry up on the floor in a corner of the kitchen, while Harley found a pot and started the rice. Crossing to the fridge, he pulled out some beers and passed them around. “I have sweet tea, is that okay for Landry?” he asked.

“I doubt he’ll want anything now,” Harley said. “He’s too fixated on painting. Do you want a drink, Landry?” she asked. The little boy had his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on drawing a purple tree. “Landry?” she enquired again.

“Huh? No, not thirsty.”

“See, I told you.” She laughed. Matt crossed to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Damn, it’s so good to see you, prima. Thank you for coming.”

“I’m sorry it’s been so long, Matty. It shouldn’t take a crisis to initiate a visit.”

“Hey, it’s okay. We both have busy lives. Speaking of, how are things going?”

“Everything is good. Socorro is doing well, Waco loves being in charge and I’m finally getting used to taking a backseat. Although, it’s hard sometimes. I hate seeing him put himself in danger, but now that I have hostages of fortune, I won’t put myself there anymore, if I can help it. Safeplace is awesome, even if I do find alligators swimming in my bathtub.” She laughed.

“What?”

“Landry,” she said. “He likes to let the baby alligators swim in my bathtub. Why did I have a little boy?”

“Because I have good strong genes,” Beau said.

“Yeah, real he-man sperm,” she teased.

“You bet, cher.” Beau preened.

“Anyway,” she dragged out the word. “Firepower Munitions is getting a reputation across the whole country as the place to go for custom weaponry.”

“I’m glad things are going well,” Mataus said.

“Enough stalling. Tell me about your lady,” Harley said.

“I don’t know what else to tell you, prima. All I have are the dreams.”

“But you only told me about the one dream. What happened in the other dreams?”

Mataus felt his cheeks warm. “Oh.” Harley nodded. “They were those kind of dreams, huh?”

“Harley.” Mataus drawled.

Beau was laughing his ass off. “Come on man, spill. I wanna hear about those dreams.”

“I am not telling you about those dreams,” Matt said. “Let’s just say they were intimate.”

“Spoilsport,” Beau muttered.

“Okay,” Harley said. “But, this lady is important, I can tell.”

“Yes, she is,” Matt said. “Very important. I think I love her.”

Harley’s mouth dropped open and Matt put a finger to her chin and pushed it closed. “You’re gonna catch flies,”

“Are you fucking serious? How can you say that? You’ve never even met her.”

“I just know, prima. I know her soul.”

“Well, shit!”