Usual Disclaimer
I don't own the characters of Bodie and Doyle, or any others from the TV series. They belong to Mark One Productions and Brian Clemens.
I borrow them to write fiction for my own (and hopefully your) pleasure, with no financial gain to myself or anyone else.
Yee-Ha Cowboy
It was a scorcher of a day; at least 82F with no sign of a cloud in the sparkling blue sky. Doyle brought his horse to a stop by Hatchet Pond, and waited while the animal drank deeply. He'd borrowed her from a friend who ran a riding school, and gone hacking through the New Forest. He'd ridden for three hours without meeting another person. Occasionally he caught sight of a car or van as it crossed the open expanse of heath land, and had observed some of the many ponies and cattle while he'd ambled through the woodlands. The only other signs of life were walkers and cyclists, and the occasional group of schoolchildren orienteering in the forest.
Now, packed lunch eaten and horse safely tethered in the shade, its head deep in a nosebag, Doyle decided to rest until the heat of the day dissipated. Idly he toed off his shoes, and pulled a blanket from his duffle bag. He spread the sheet out under the trees, and lay down. Sheltered from the unrelenting heat, he stared up and watched the dappled sunlight as it flickered and filtered through the heavy green canopy. He thought briefly about reading the book he'd packed, but decided it was too much effort to get up again. He closed his eyes and dozed, warmed by the sun, and a sense of wellbeing, away from the stresses and strains of work.
He woke with a start, slightly disoriented. He checked his watch, noting he'd been asleep for an hour. The sun was still high in the sky, and it seemed hotter than ever. Doyle stood up and folded away the blanket and wriggled his feet back in his shoes. He took the nosebag off the horse, and led the animal to the pond.
"C'mon Hetty, drink up girl." The horse nickered as Doyle gently stroked her neck.
"Another female under the Doyle spell," came a familiar voice.
Bodie strode into view, dressed head to foot in army camouflage. His hair was plastered with sweat, his face dirty and sheened with moisture. He carried a heavy backpack, binoculars and a map. Doyle looked up at his friend
"Saw you and your lot ages ago," he said.
Bodie looked hurt.
"Oh. We're supposed to be undetectable until we leap out and kill you," he replied.
Doyle laughed.
"You make so much noise mate. The forest is so quiet. Anyway Hetty kept spooking back at the ridge. None of the school groups were near, so I guessed it must have been you."
Bodie hunkered down and began rummaging through the backpack. He brought out a bar of chocolate and began to unwrap it.
Doyle looked on askance.
"Chocolate? In this weather?"
"Keeps me energy levels up. Hard work lugging this lot around, especially in this heat."
"Yeah. Well, you wanted to play soldiers," replied Doyle. "A long weekend and you sign up for war games. Couldn't believe it when you told me. Wasn't going to stay in town in this heat. Thought I might as well get back to nature." He jerked a thumb behind him. "Who are they anyway?"
Bodie waved his arm around.
"Them? I'm a guest of a marine regiment – Special Boat Service – I know Major Anderson quite well, he knew I wanted to keep my hand in so to speak; a weekend off, you go for a ride on Dobbin . . ."
"Hetty," corrected Doyle.
". . . and I get to yomp around the New Forest. Mind you," Bodie said, "didn't realise it was going to be such bloody hard work."
Doyle looked at his perspiring friend.
"Need a shower when you get back to yer tent then."
Bodie wrinkled his nose.
"Yeah, the facilities are a bit basic. Not the luxury I'm used to," he said, his CI5 flat suddenly seeming far more comfortable.
"Not as good as m'cottage, either," remarked Doyle.
"Cottage! You've got a cottage? Jammy bastard. Where is it?" Bodie was intrigued.
"Shower, large bath, garden, nice kitchen, all the comforts of home," said Doyle apparently oblivious to Bodie. "Got a lasagne, salad and apple crumble waiting for me when I get back too."
Bodie narrowed his eyes.
"How come? Frozen meal for one?"
Doyle feigned a coy expression.
"I have er, a house guest coming down, who offered to take care of my needs," he replied.
Bodie grinned.
"Bet it's not only your stomach she's taking care of either. Not too hot for a bit of fun and games then?"
Doyle assumed a faintly bored expression.
"Oh, I don't know. She's bringing a friend. I s'pose I'll get the scrabble out."
Bodie looked distinctly out of sorts.
"Hah! You could have mentioned this before I agreed to haul my arse over hill and dale. We could have had a great weekend. Birds, decent pubs, good food – and you could have left Dobbin at home."
"Hetty," replied Doyle patiently.
"Hmph! Stupid name for a horse."
"Are you gonna moan all afternoon?" enquired Doyle. "'Cos I'm gonna finish my ride. You," he said pointedly "should get back to playing with your mates." He mounted Hetty effortlessly and slipped his feet in the stirrups.
"Blimey, it's baking," he said as he rode out from the shade. Bodie followed, shoulders slumped.
"Where are you staying?" he asked plaintively.
Doyle turned round in the saddle.
"Brockenhurst. Poppy Cottage. 7pm – and shower first!" He coaxed Hetty into a canter and left Bodie, hot and sweating, but happy at the prospect of a good meal.
Doyle rode across the forest back towards Brockenhurst. The heat was oppressive and he had the beginning of a headache. He dug around his bag for his sun glasses. Slowing Hetty to a sedate walk, he dropped the reins loosely on her neck, and let her wander across the heath land while he pulled his T shirt over his head. He casually wiped the garment across his chest and stomach, before stuffing it into his duffle bag. Feeling cooler, he rode on, the breeze playing across his skin. Coming across a large expanse of open grass, he urged Hetty into a gallop, all the while revelling in the feel of the air cooling his body.
He arrived back at the stables some time later, and handed Hetty over. The horse neighed softly as he patted her neck. She moved her big head gently, and snuffled Doyle's hair. He pulled his crumpled T shirt back on, aware of a slight tingling as the cotton slipped over sun kissed shoulders.
He made his way back to Poppy Cottage, smiling as he saw a blue TR7 parked along the road. His guests had arrived. Digging around in his jeans, he found his door key and opened the door. A tantalising smell of herbs and garlic wafted down the hall, mixed with a subtle apple and cinnamon. Dinner smelt good. He walked into the kitchen, grinning at the sight of his guests.
"Hello ladies," he said.
At seven sharp the doorbell rang. Doyle, who had been banished from the kitchen, was lying on the sofa watching the news. Showered and comfortable in a clean T shirt and jeans, cut down to form long shorts, he got up and opened the door. Bodie stood there, looking as fresh as a daisy, his dark hair washed but still damp, shaved and with the dirt and grime gone from his face. He looked elegant and well to do. He was dressed casually in well cut, dark blue chinos and a paler blue shirt. He'd even gone as far as to leave a couple of buttons undone – a nod to the fact that the heat had lingered into the evening and the humidity hadn't lessened.
Bodie looked long and hard at his friend's attire. He said nothing, but raised an eyebrow; and swept his hand down his body; a gesture that left no one in any doubt as to his opinion on Doyle's choice of evening attire.
Doyle, who could read Bodie like a book, shrugged his shoulders.
"I'm cool and clean, and with friends!"
Doyle handed his friend a can of beer, the sides frosting slightly where it had sat in the fridge. The two men made their way through to the lounge, where a quiz programme had just begun on the TV. Doyle switched it off and sat back, taking a long drink from his beer.
"Found it alright then?"
Bodie looked around at the cottage. It was very 'olde worlde' and the owner had made it a cosy and friendly home.
"S'nice. Where d'you find it?"
"Friend of a friend, knew someone . . . you get the idea. He rents it out during the summer while he lives in Spain. Comes back in November, stays 'til March and goes off again."
"Alright for some innit?" said Bodie, "we're definitely in the wrong job."
Suddenly the door was flung open and a voice called out.
"Dinner is served."
"Sounded like Sal," said Bodie, sounding puzzled.
He followed Doyle through the house and out into the back garden. The sight that greeted him made him laugh out loud. Sally and Betty sat round the table, which was loaded with food. A large bowl of salad and a lasagne fresh from the oven sat on the table. A basket of garlic bread and two bottles of wine were also on show.
They ate and drank well into the night, the food as good as any fashionable restaurant. The apple crumble, served with a brandy cream was pronounced unbeatable, with Bodie managing three helpings.
As the night drew in, Bodie and Doyle loaded the crockery into the sink, while Sally and Betty made coffee. The ladies withdrew to the living room, while the partners finished off the drying up and putting away.
"What would you have done if I'd not come along?" asked Bodie.
Doyle grinned.
"Worn my poor sunburned little body out making sure both ladies were happy," he replied.
They joined the ladies in the living room for coffee and brandy. Doyle lay on the sofa, his head in Sally's lap, while Bodie sat on the floor by Betty. Conversation was varied, articulate and occasionally risqué.
"Guess you're not going back to yer tent then," said Doyle.
Bodie now with Betty on his lap regarded his partner through sleepy blue eyes.
"Not a chance mate. Too full, too tired, and anyway Betty won't let me, will you love."
Betty smiled up at him, and slipped her hand inside his shirt.
"No. I think you need a good night's sleep Bodie."
His eyes opened wide.
"I'm not that tired," he retorted.
Betty laughed delightedly.
"Well, thank goodness for that," she replied. "C'mon Bodie, time for bed."
They got up and bade Doyle and Sally goodnight. The tall man picked up Betty and carried her up the stairs. Doyle and Sally could hear muffled giggles and the occasional thud through the floor.
They moved out into the garden, and sat down, enjoying the balmy, late night air.
"Did you enjoy the ride?" asked Sally.
Doyle nodded.
"Yeah. It was very peaceful, but so hot. I got burnt," he answered. "And I'm stiff. Everything aches. Haven't been on a horse for a few months."
Sally laughed quietly. Her laugh reminded Doyle of velvet, chocolate and brandy.
"Oh honey, let's have a look at you," she said.
Doyle divested himself of his T shirt, and turned his back towards her.
"Wait a mo,"she said, disappearing into the kitchen. She returned a moment later with a bottle of moisturiser. She squeezed some on Doyle's back, and began to smooth the cream across his skin. He sat there with eyes closed. After a while he said.
"M'front caught the sun too." Sally gave another laugh.
"I don't think so love," she said. "Anyway if you're ache-y and stiff hadn't you best rest those old bones?"
Doyle swivelled round and put his arms around her shoulders. He drew her towards him and kissed her slowly and deeply.
"I could just lay there and let you have your wicked way with me. I've done enough riding for one day." He looked up at her hopefully, his eyes twinkling.
"You'd make a lousy cowboy Doyle – no stamina."
He laughed at the agent who was his sometime lover, and friend.
"Come on then, take me to bed and make a man of me."
Sally slapped her thigh and in a deep Texan drawl replied.
"Yee-ha Cowboy."