Chapter Eleven
The warm wind swirled around her, cooling her flushed skin. The sun hovered just above the tree line, promising the day would not swelter on forever. She didn’t know how the animals at the wild-horse sanctuary survived the blistering heat day after day.
“What about that one?” Xavier asked their guide, pointing to a shaggy tan foal in the distance that stood almost completely beneath its mother.
Jaime shielded her eyes with her hand and followed Xavier’s gaze. The foal seemed smaller than others, its black mane and tail just growing in. The most remarkable thing was the black zebra stripes circling both of the horses’ legs. Jaime slicked back her hair, glad she’d pulled it into a ponytail.
“Isn’t she gorgeous?” Helen responded, the smile evident in her voice. The older woman leaned against the faded blue pickup and sighed. “She was quite the surprise, the last foal born this spring. We give most of the mares an injection to keep the population in check, but it’s only as effective as human birth control.”
“But if the horses here at the sanctuary are wild, why change their breeding patterns?” Jaime had been enthralled by the horses since she’d seen the wooden sign announcing the sanctuary. Like stepping back in time, she understood why so many films had borrowed the location as a set for Westerns.
“Whenever the economy tanks, the horse market does the same. We’d love to let the horses breed at will, but if they foal more horses than we can sell as yearlings, we’re left with the expense of caring for them. We don’t have the funds or the space for ever-expanding herds.”
Xavier knelt on the dusty ground, adjusting his camera before firing off a few quick shots. He tilted the camera and examined the shots on the display. “What are the stripes on their legs?”
“Sorraia markings. Spanish conquistadors brought the horses from Portugal to the Americas in the 1500s. The dun coloring and dark dorsal stripe from mane to tail is another distinguishing characteristic. They’re living relics of a time gone by. Not many of them are left.”
“Are they friendly, or should I change lenses?” Xavier turned to face the women, the lowering sun glinting off the sunglasses perched atop his head.
“They’re as used to people as any of the other herds, but if I drive up towards that ridge, they’ll move right towards you.”
Xavier smiled wide, but Jaime’s stomach twisted. “Is that safe?” she asked. “Won’t they stampede him?”
Helen chuckled and adjusted her tan cowboy hat. “They’ll run like the dickens off the ridge, but that will probably be the end to the excitement. They’re very comfortable here, but they don’t like the sound or smell of a truck.”
Jaime’s gaze volleyed between the serene and powerful horses, the pick-up behind her and Xavier alone in the middle. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“It’s brilliant.” Xavier made up the ground between them and reached into his camera bag. “Experiences like these make the most amazing photographs.”
He slung his camera bag over her shoulder, the thick strap wider than her tank top.
“No way am I standing in the middle of running horses.” Her blood raced at the thought. They’d knock her over and trample her to death. Or worse, into a coma where she’d have to listen to how stupid she’d been from her family for months on end.
“You’re getting in the truck, with this.” He handed her a small point-and-shoot camera and gave her a fleeting kiss on the forehead. “You take my picture getting the shot. That way if people don’t believe I took it, I’ll have proof.”
“Why wouldn’t someone believe you?” She watched as he adjusted the settings on his camera, wanting to snatch it from his hands.
“Because I can afford to buy a shot and say it was mine. And that takes all the fun out of it.” His it’s-happened-before smile halted her protests. If he wasn’t scared out of his skin, she shouldn’t be.
But her pulse refused to slow to logic. “Well, don’t die or anything. I’ll never hear the end of it if you ruin Allison’s wedding.”
“J’aime, we both know the wedding would go on. I’m a replaceable cog in her wedding machine. Trent wouldn’t dare postpone anything.” He spoke without looking at her, finding the viewfinder and camera display more interesting.
She laid her hand on his arm, the muscles and sinew moving as he made adjustments on the camera. “I’m serious here, don’t get hurt. Maybe you could take pictures from on top of the truck.”
He slowly turned his head to hers, his dusty green gaze enveloping her. “I’ll be fine. I don’t have some kind of death wish. I have plans for tonight.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he grinned.
He pulled a black metal tube from the camera bag, then lengthened it into a monopod. Jaime wondered if he could use it to defend himself if the horses got too close.
Helen started the truck and two of the horses looked up, wrinkling their noses as they sniffed the air. “I’ll move these ones towards you, and then circle back and try to bring that small band under the trees towards the water with the rest of the herd.”
Xavier nodded and walked away.
Jaime’s breaths came in sharp pants. It took her a moment to rise above the fear and climb into the truck. She set the camera bag on the floorboards and turned to look out the open window. With the point-and-shoot camera, she zoomed in on Xavier and took a shot, praying it wasn’t about to become a before picture.
The truck jostled over the field and ambled up the hill. As they neared, the horses grew more anxious, slapping their tails and stomping their hooves. She turned towards Helen.
“You’re sure they won’t hurt him?” When they’d embarked on the photo safari of the sanctuary, she’d never guessed they’d find themselves doing anything remotely dangerous. It seemed too risky, and yet Helen smiled sweetly as if charging horses were no big deal.
“Honey, we do this almost every week. I guarantee there are horses in this band that want to head towards the water. They’re just waiting for the alpha mare to start that way. As soon as they decide we’re too close, they’ll head straight for the pond. With the afternoon light and the angle, he might end up with some amazing shots.”
Jaime nodded, wishing the older woman’s words calmed her fears. “I hate this.”
Helen smiled wide. “No, you’re just worried about him. He’ll be fine. And if he gets some good shots, he’ll be walking on air.”
“I hope so.” Jaime turned back to the window and swallowed, but the lump in her throat didn’t budge.
She expected the truck to leap towards the animals, but Helen kept inching along. Jaime snapped a few shots as they neared the tan foal with the striped legs they’d spied earlier.
She noticed most of the horses had similar markings, some lighter, some darker. As the truck approached, a large gray horse turned to face them. The animal curled its lip and snorted, and Jamie nearly jumped out of her own skin. The horse whinnied and took off down the hill.
The entire band of horses turned and followed. The beauty of the powerful animals thundering down the hill blurred into a cloud of dust and a storm of fear.
The wild river of animals rushed towards Xavier. The staccato of their pounding hooves shook the ground. The truck moved, but Jaime focused on Xavier, unable to breathe. Still as a statue, he faced the herd.
And smiled like a kid with a new bike.
She snapped a shot because he wanted her to, but her hands were shaking so badly she doubted it would come out. Time inched forward as the horses sped towards him. As they neared him, Jaime realized she was moving farther away.
“We can’t leave him,” she yelled at Helen, still keeping her gaze firmly locked on Xavier.
“We’re not, honey. We’re just bringing in his next wave.” The truck bumped and turned, putting Xavier behind them.
“Wait, go back!” Jaime turned in the seat, staring through the back window. She couldn’t see Xavier through the dust and horseflesh.
The truck stopped and Jaime reached for the door handle. Helen gripped her arm. “He’s fine. If you run out there you’ll spook the horses and there’s no telling how they’ll act. Listen, do you hear them now?”
Jaime closed her eyes to focus, realizing the thundering din had stopped. She forced a breath, two, and opened her eyes again. “I need to see that he’s okay.”
Helen nodded and steered the truck towards the half dozen horses standing beneath a rise of ash trees. A large black horse flew towards the water, the other horses quickly joining in the powerful rush.
The truck followed the flying manes and tails, jolting and bumping across the meadow. Jaime braced one hand on the door, the other on the dashboard as she tried to find Xavier in the fray.
The dull, heavy pounding of hooves slowed as the truck drove through the clouds of dust. The smell of warm earth, sweet grass and sweaty animal hung in the air. Everything seemed to vibrate with excitement, tightening her anxiety into hard knots in her belly.
Finally, she spied him, crouched low by the water, camera in hand. She tried to convince herself to relax, but so much adrenaline still coursed through her veins she felt as if the restlessness would never end. She’d never been so afraid, not when her car was stolen, not when her purse was snatched in Mexico City, not when her stepfather threatened to send her to Mexico permanently after a cheeky adolescent tirade.
She wanted to run to him, wrap her arms around him and keep him close. Make sure he was really unharmed. Keep him from ever trying something this ridiculous again.
But her feet stayed glued to the floorboards. If she did, if she let him in on the depths of what she felt for him, she’d be back in Oregon by lunchtime tomorrow.
He didn’t want love. He wanted a travel buddy.
She hadn’t wanted to love him, hadn’t planned on it and fought against it until her fear made her realize the truth. She was probably going to resort to phone sex, take an awkward trip to France before she had to admit he’d never be on the same page.
The uncomfortable stew of emotions threatened to boil over and her eyes grew heavy as her heart sank. But as Xavier stood and smiled at her, she put a lid on that pot. She’d save the pity party for another day.
“That was amazing!” He yelled while walking to her, his green eyes sparkling like a C student who’d aced a final. “The first group came straight at me, and the next one from the side. I know I got good shots, J’aime. Did you get any pictures?” He stopped beside the truck and leaned against the door.
Jaime raised her arm, noticing the camera dangling from a strap around her wrist. “A few.”
He smiled wide. “I know, it’s easy to get caught up in the moment. I had to force myself to focus on the shots I wanted instead of the power of the horses flying by me.”
She nodded, agreeing with him about more than the horses. She’d gotten completely caught up in the moment with him, but what she wanted was more than the moment. She couldn’t let the now blind her to what she needed in the future.
Xavier’s gaze moved past her, to Helen. “Is the foal for sale?”
“Not until she’s a yearling. We don’t separate the foals from their mare until then.”
“I don’t want to take her. I want her to stay here, to be free.”
Jaime’s heart swelled at his generosity. Which did nothing for her resolve to emotionally distance herself. Nothing at all.
“We’d love that.” Helen’s smile shone in her voice. “You’ll be able to name her and we’ll keep you updated on how she’s doing.”
“Perfect,” Xavier said, his warm green gaze locking with hers. “We can name her J’aime, because she deserves to be wild and free.”
…
“What is with you and ghosts?” Jaime’s fingers squeezed his arm, her short fingernails pressing into his skin.
“I didn’t know it was haunted, I swear.” The wooden floor of the former brothel creaked as he stepped forward. He looked down at the wide planks and noticed a pizza-box-sized square cut into the floor and a small sign stating Tunnel to the Flophouse. “Look, we can go back that way.”
Jaime shuddered beside him. “Don’t even think about it.”
“The brochure says there are tunnels to most of the buildings in downtown so men could come and go without gossip.” He glanced around at the large parlor, speckled with other visitors looking for a good time, or at least a good story. The building had been restored to look as it had a hundred years ago, except for one wall with glass display boxes showcasing modern sex toys. Tourists studied the displays of vintage underclothes and then meandered toward the lingerie-stuffed gift shop in the former dance hall.
He wanted Jaime in lingerie in the worst way.
“This place is freaky, not titillating. Talk about erotic museum fail.” She moved with him but kept glancing back towards the door.
“You should sit in the window. I’ll go out and take your picture.” He looked beyond the crushed velvet upholstered stools and walls dividing the bay windows into three tiny spaces. Talk about window shopping, men could walk along the street and take their pick.
“You sit in the window.” The way Jaime could yell in a whisper had him grinning.
He pressed a hand to his chest. “Are you saying you’re interested in my services? I’m sure we can work out some form of payment. A portrait of you on the bed, perhaps.”
“Keep dreaming.” She turned away from him and started when she saw the wall of sex toys. “That’s so not authentic.”
“Actually, erotic aids have been around for most of recorded history,” a woman said from behind them. They both turned to take in her matronly appearance. Her dyed-black hair was coiled tightly into a bun and she wore a period gray wool dress that must be stifling in the heat. “They used to be made from things like wood and bone, and I’m sure you’ll agree the modern equivalents are much cleaner and more satisfying.”
Jaime blushed at the words, which made Xavier like her all the more. “Did they always have a toy shop here?”
“Absolutely,” the woman replied. “You couldn’t exactly buy your wife a dildo from the mercantile. And if they had a mistress they didn’t want to burden with a child, buying French letters here was a way to preserve their wives feelings.”
Jaime furrowed her brow and the woman laid a pale hand on her arm. “Condoms, dear.” Jaime’s dark eyes widened as she began to understand.
The woman clasped her hands in front of her and smiled at them. “We haven’t raised our rates in a century. For five dollars, one of my girls can help you two explore for fifteen minutes.”
Xavier grinned at the innuendo and reached for his wallet. Jaime grasped his wrist and turned to face him, her dark eyes sparking with excitement and annoyance. “You’re kidding, right?”
He tugged his hand and wallet free, handing the madam her due. “You love these living history experiences, J’aime. You were a gold miner this morning and a rancher this afternoon, now you can see how they spent their evenings.”
Jaime opened her mouth to speak, make an argument. He could tell by the way she’d narrowed her eyes. She didn’t get a chance to start before their hostess pulled a small bell from the folds of her dress and rang it. Three of her girls emerged from the narrow staircase.
“This is Coyote Cate, Belle Watson and Kitty O’Leary. Y’all can take your pick. I pride myself in offering a variety to our patrons.” All of the women smiled, their cheeks tightening as if they were holding back the giggles.
Xavier took in the women, their different body types adorned with similar period black dresses with red ruffles, black hats with red feathers atop their old-fashioned, curled hairdos. Talk about over the top.
“Would you mind if I took a picture?” He pulled the camera from his bag and removed the lens cap.
“Of course,” replied Coyote Cate, who had to be seventy if she was a day, as she gathered the other women close.
They gave cheeky grins and he took a few shots, then turned the camera on Jaime’s crossed-arms pose. She snapped her hand out and caught the camera by the lens.
“Knock it off.”
He met her dark gaze and spoke to her in French. “J’aime, this was part of the life, an element of the culture no different than the room at the hotel that is still made up like when it was a flophouse.”
“Honey, I don’t know what you said, but I could listen to it all day.” Kitty O’Leary waggled her penciled-on brows at him. “Where you from, sugar?”
“He’s from a little place called exasperating.” Jaime shook her head and eyed the women. “No matter what language he speaks, he only says what he thinks you want to hear. Now, which one of you has worked here the longest?”
“I’ve been here every summer since Maggie remodeled the place.” Coyote Cate swished her skirts, showing off her red petticoat. “My grandmother actually worked here until she bought the farm we still live on. She always said working here was much easier than farm life.”
Xavier laughed, never imaging the tour would come with a comedy routine. The bell rang again and Belle and Kitty did their best to hurry in the madam’s direction.
“The ladies here have always had a talent for separating a man from his money.” Cate rustled her skirts as she spoke, flashing the red petticoat. “Gentlemen would come in for a drink from the bar, a hand of cards―never poker, that was only allowed at the saloon―maybe even a bit of music. The player piano provided music whenever our ladies were requested for a dance.”
“Was that an extra charge?” Jaime ran her hand over the chipped keys of the piano.
“Our ladies were paid for their time. You might be surprised how much of that time was spent simply being a companion. The miners were a lonely sort, and much of the time they wanted someone to talk to.”
Coyote Cate led them upstairs and through a few of the small bedchambers, some lavishly decorated to provide a feminine touch to the men living in the bare flophouse, other’s sparse and businesslike.
He snapped pictures as they went, hoping to catch some backscatter with the flash. Even if he only had one shot with floating ghost orbs, watching Jaime shudder when she saw it was worth it. Why not have a little fun with dust particles?
“You might have better luck catching her in the Master’s Suite.” Coyote Cate winked at him.
“I could use all the help I can get.” Xavier moved past a puzzled Jaime, following their guide to the ornate door at the end of the hall.
“I don’t like how this is going down,” Jaime said from behind him. “I don’t want to actually see the ghost of the madam who founded this place.”
Cate slipped a skeleton key into the door and unlocked it. She put the key into a pocket on her skirt and turned to face him. “She’s afraid, isn’t she?”
“Terrified.” He grinned, counting to two before she contradicted him.
“I’m not afraid, I’m just smart. We had our tour. There’s no need to be heading into rooms that are kept locked.” Jaime wrapped her fingers around his upper arm.
“Matilda likes her privacy, so we don’t often introduce her to guests.” Cate turned back to the door and opened it.
Jaime’s grip tightened as she whispered, “I think we’re in a horror movie.”
Her hand on his arm nearly vibrated with anxiety, her palm growing damp against his bare skin. Behind him, he could hear her sharp, panting breaths.
“I don’t like this,” she whispered again. “Let’s leave.”
Reaching his hand back, he molded his fingers to the soft curve of her hip. She stepped so close not even a ghost could come between them. He liked that she found his presence comforting, that he could protect her, even if it was only from her imagination.
Cate stepped into a blackened room. “Matilda, you have visitors,” she called out as she entered.
He moved to follow, Jaime squeezing his arm tighter with each step.
“This is insane.” Her hissed whisper tickled the back of his neck.
Once they were inside the room, Cate moved back to the door. “She doesn’t think the light flatters her, but hopefully your flash can catch her good side.”
“You’re not going to open a window or turn on a lamp?” Jaime spoke so fast he was amazed Cate understood her words.
“It’s better this way. You’ll see.” She stepped back into the hall and closed the door behind her, leaving them in total blackness.
Jaime squeaked what he guessed would be a scream in someone less terrified. She released his arm, only to wrap her arms around his torso and squeeze like a boa constrictor.
“It’s going to be fine.” The metallic scrape and click of the key turning in the lock made him wince.