CHAPTER NINE
Riggs
Sweat trickled down his back as he moved another hay bale into the stables. Aspen, his father’s Appaloosa stallion, nickered at him from the next stall. His bronze mane and neck were the only color on the white, black and gray spots covering the rest of him. Rigg’s favorite feature on the strong-minded animal.
Riggs had left Skylar’s apartment early this morning to care for his parent’s horses, but he really just wanted to lay in bed with her the rest of the day. A body like hers, and her incredible appetite for sex…he’d never had a better time with another woman. The thought of calling her tomorrow and get something scheduled excited him. He didn’t want to appear overly eager, otherwise he’d call the second he got home. His mind had already created a list of several places he wanted to take her. Probably horse riding, if she were the type.
“I don’t care what you say, you’re definitely a cowboy.” Roarke guzzled a bottle of water outside the stalls. “You know how to handle horses, and your twang gets thicker out here.”
“Are you going to actually work, or do you want this pitchfork shoved up your ass?”
“We just rode a whole hour in that heat.” His friend wiped his face with his gray T-shirt, now darker with sweat. “Besides, you’re the one who needs the arm workout. You’ve lightened up on the weights at the gym the last three sessions.”
“These horses can’t take care of themselves. My parents won’t be back from their cruise until the weekend.” The barn’s large open doors sat open to let in a cool breeze and air out the hay and manure smell. , His parents’ small ranch house nestled thirty yards up the hill with a gravel path right up to the wraparound porch painted red. His mother’s garden flourished in the morning sun, and her Texas bluebells were just blooming. Riggs’ old room was the second window on the right on the top floor. He’d climbed out of that window a time or two as a teenager.
“You’re such a boy scout.”
“Speaking of boy scout…” Roarke picked up a bag of feed, his arm muscles bulging. “What the hell is with Ben?”
“Don’t start.” Riggs downed his own water.
“No, I mean it. Something’s off.”
“Let it go, man.”
“Why? D’you know something I don’t?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know shit. The man keeps to himself. You should do the same.”
“You know better than anyone I’m not capable of that.”
“You’re like a sorority girl.”
Roarke punched his shoulder. A small one, without much force.
“Stop stalling.” Riggs snorted. “Get back to work.”
“Speaking of sorority girls, I hear you have a new, young client. What’s she like?”
He grabbed the bucket of manure, and hauled it outside. “Works harder than you.”
“Dick.” The big man filled up the feed bucket for Aspen and Laurel.
The painted mare poked her head out of the stall, sniffing around for a treat.
“Did you wake up on the wrong side of the barstool this morning?” Roarke prodded.
Riggs sighed. The cause could be from exhaustion after his stellar night with Skylar as much from the annoyance at his friend. Roarke was fun to hang out with, and razzed him just as well as the other Knights. But he was too damn nosy. Probably an old trick of the trade from his physical trainer days. “She’s an OR nurse. From Chicago. Lotta fun, cute and bubbly…”
“Cute and bubbly from Chicago? Does she have a sister?”
Riggs snorted, and held out a carrot for Laurel. “Yes, Wren, back in Chicago. Ironically, she’s more your type.”
“Ooh, angsty and hardcore? Can’t wait to meet her.” He stopped filling the last bucket. “How do you know her sister?”
“Long story.”
Roarke’s eyes widened. “You’re telling me you boned her sister?”
He scraped his hand down his face. “Hell, no. Wren’s a tattoo artist who lived here a while ago. She hung out with a few of my friends. I got a call from her asking to help her little sister get acclimated to DFW.”
His buddy smiled. “Acclimated.”
“Something about making her feel safe while she explored the city.”
“And did you?”
Holy hell, did I explore her. And I want a lot more, too.
He plopped his cowboy hat back on his head, and washed out the bucket.
“Damn right, you did.” Roarke chuckled.
He ignored his comment. Truth was, Skylar was the first client he really wanted to see again.
Soon.
Riggs strolled back through the stables to put away the tools. As he passed Laurel’s stall, she nipped at him. “Damn!” He glanced at his arm. Already red, and would become a nasty bruise later. “You get ornerier every day. Relax, girl. I promise they’re coming home soon.” He checked in her stall for anything that would’ve annoyed her, like a snake. All normal. Her water and feed bowls were full. “If you apologize, I’ll give you another carrot.” He held out his hand.
Laurel rubbed her nose along his palm.
Riggs stepped forward and patted her neck, which made the mare nuzzle into his shoulder. “That’s the apology I’m looking for.” He gave her another carrot.
“That’s all it takes, huh?” Roarke leaned against the doorframe. “A carrot? I’ll remember that for my next date.”
“If you’re bringing carrots for your clients, they’re gonna want their money back. What happened with your last one?”
“She moved to Colorado. Duane’s helping me reach out to new contacts, get my schedule filled up. I have an excursion with a regular in a few weeks in New York. Five-star hotel.”
“Nice. Leave the carrots at home.”
Roarke grabbed the hose and sprayed Riggs’ chest. Soaking the rest of his clothes that weren’t dripping with sweat. The water in the hose nearly scalded him from lying in the Texas sun.
He snatched up the pitchfork, and pretended to aim for his buddy’s ratty shoes, but his friend sprayed him in the face.
His cheeks instantly burned. The all too familiar heat from the Afghan desert showered his mind. Instead of hot water, that deadly day on mission splattering his face was fire. Debris.
Bloodied debris.
When he glanced at his hands, he wore his tactical gloves, his fingers gripping the mounted MK19 machine gun atop the Humvee, and squeezing the trigger, blasting a thousand rounds into the inferno. Only to be followed by the thumping of Blackhawk helicopter blades overhead, the ground below still ablaze, and clutching onto Murphy’s arms as he dangled out, his chest full of armor-piercing bullets, and his dead eyes staring back.
“Riggs!”
He blinked.
Hot water ran down his face as he knelt on a hay bale, and his lungs desperate for air. The helicopter blades that’d sounded so real was just his heartbeat thumping in his ears. Battering against his ribs.
“Are you okay? You just dropped like a spitball from the ceiling,” Roarke sounded concerned.
The water still poured out of the hose, lying on the ground.
Laurel pounded her hoof against the stall, her neighing a high pitched squeal.
Riggs shot up to calm her, using his soft strokes on her neck to time his own breaths. Down to a somewhat normal rhythm.
“I’m sorry, man.” His friend side-stepped him, careful to keep his distance. “I didn’t know the water was that hot.”
“I’m fine. Let’s clean up and get goin’.”
“You sure?”
Am I? What the fuck just happened?
“Yup.”