She used to think that she'd find better than Dallas Winston. Used to picture some dark haired, tall man who went to work in his father's department store in ironed clothes and shiny shoes that smelled like what she imagined leather and polish would smell like. Instead, she got a slob, a boy, one who picks up odd jobs at the stables and comes home smelling like horse shit and whiskey.
She knows that he is home because his shoes are outside the door to their apartment. The soles are starting to come apart from the uppers and they are caked with mud and muck, smell to high heaven. She edges her way past them and bumps the door with her hip. It swings open with a shriek of rusty metal to reveal one of the two rooms that he calls his home.
There is a soup pan on the hot plate in the corner that is just starting to crust over, but Dally is no where to be seen. She sets her bag on the floor and picks her way over to the bedroom.
He's asleep, lying on his stomach across the bed on top of the sheets with only a pair of jeans on. She stops to admire his back-- muscled, tan and broad, perhaps the best thing about him, she thinks.
She runs a hand lightly down his spine and he wakes with a start, rolling over to look at her. The pattern of the lined blanket is imprinted on his cheek. It's almost endearing. "Jackie." He sighs, lying back and looking up at her. "Where've you been?"
"Around." She's been babysitting her little cousin, visiting from Omaha, but it's always better to leave some mystery about it. Leverage for the next time he fucks around on her. She'll tell him that he better watch it, she could get better than him. She used to believe it when she said it. Now she isn't sure.
"Mmm." His eyes drift close, then open again. He yawns. "I'm gonna go to the track," he mumbles. "Might let me ride something. You wanna come?"
She's caught off balance, a little. He's never asked before. The stables is a part of his life that he keeps private from her most of the time. She went once, saw him there. He didn't see her, and she'd suddenly felt like she was spying and left. It took her a couple days to shake off the feeling of being an intruder.
"Sure," she answers, finally. She's barely ever even seen a horse, or touched one. They didn't trot down the streets of Tulsa usually. Still, there's something mesmerizing about them.
He grins. "Good girl. You'll have fun." He heaves himself out of the bed and scrabbles around underneath it, emerging with a bottle of aspirin. He takes some, dry, and pulls on an old flannel button up. She mourns the loss of his beautiful back as she follows him out onto the street into the sunlight.
He's in a good mood; he catches her hand and grins at her again. An old high school friend waves at them from the other side of the street, and she imagines what they must look like-- a good couple, their blond hair golden in the sunlight, holding hands and strolling down the street. She smiles. Sometimes Dally is good.
----
When they get to the stables, he leaves her by the entrance to run in and find someone he knows that might let him ride one of the horses. She leans against the wall, ignoring the stares of some of the guys loitering on the sidewalk.
One isn't hiding where his gaze is going at all, raking it over her neck and breasts and down. He's just started to mosey over, arrogant smirk on his face, when Dally returns.
Dally gives the guy a look that makes him shrink into the sidewalk; he drops his eyes and backs away. She can't help but smirk. Sometimes Dally is nice for this, also.
"C'mon, babe," Dally says, pulling her into the building. "Jerry's gonna let me ride Twilight."
They pass the stalls where eyes glimmer in the darkness. She can hear the snorting and the pawing and the crunching, the rustling of a hundred hooves. She is surrounded.
Finally, they stop near the end of the line of stalls. She can see the horse inside, bigger than she thought it would be. Taller than Dally. "Hold this," Dally orders, lifting a saddle off of a nail on the wall and shoving it into her hands. It is heavier than she expected; it creaks and smells of leather.
"Stand back," he says, opening the stall door and walking inside. There is a brief scuffle, but then he has the bit in the horse's mouth and leads it out, docile as anything. The eyes, though. The eyes seem wild.
She follows them a ways behind, a little jumpy, maybe. At the track, she is relieved to give Dally the saddle and retreat a safe distance to watch him saddle up the horse and swing onto its back. They start around the track slowly, all gliding muscle.
There's something fascinating about horses, she thinks. Graceful power-- muscles, hooves, long necks. They could kill you if they wanted, she guesses. Amazing that they don't. If she was that strong-- she wouldn't have the control. First person who wanted to put a bridle on her would be on the floor. The second, dead.
They're racing full out now. Dally is intent like she's never seen him; he bends over the horse's back, body coiled but delicately balanced. They go around once, twice, and then they're skidding to a halt in front of her.
"Wanna ride?" Dally asks.
"Oh." She eyes the pair, nervously. The horse is looking a little tired out-- probably better. "I don't know…"
"It's okay. He ain't wild. I'll be with you."
"You will?"
"Yeah. Hop on up."
She hesitates. "Could he hold us both?"
He laughs. "You're what? Ninety pounds? It's fine. Owner is some fat bastard, he rides him sometimes."
Still hesitating, until Dally lifts one eyebrow. A challenge. "Never mind," he says, playing like he's going to make the horse walk away. "Shoulda known you was too scared."
"Alright," she says, walking straight up to the horse. Not scared.
He's bigger up close. She touches the golden coat of hair; it is wet with sweat. Dally laughs and reaches out to help her up. She struggles ungracefully up, finally perching uncomfortably behind Dally, pressed up against his back. The horse snorts in disapproval, edging sideways underneath them. Its an odd sensation that makes her grab at Dally's arms.
He laughs. "You ready?" He doesn't wait for an answer, just kicks the horse into a walk.
She's just getting used to that when he makes it go faster somehow. She has to keep herself from burying her face in Dally's back-- she's not scared-- and so instead she fixes her eyes on it and narrows in her gaze to his shoulder blades.
They're going even faster, maybe not a full out gallop, but faster than she expected. She breathes in deep, holds onto Dally tight, and takes her eyes out into the soaring, jumping, tilting world. It speeds past in a breathtaking blur.
Dally yells something. She can't hear it, but she finds herself yelling back. She's not sure what she's saying, just that she's screaming and laughing and holding on tight. Dally laughs too, and they're laughing together, flying through dust motes and light.
She used to think she'd get better than Dallas Winston. Now she's not sure.