Disclaimer: I'm gonna huuuummmp this car, I'm gonna huuuuuump this tree, I'm gonna huuuuuump this Gundam…Which by the way, doesn't belong to me.
Fiery Repercussions (Chapter 2)
With one quick stroke of her jackknife, Relena cut the twine. The bale split open easily. Snapping the knife closed, she shoved it into her pocket, then forked loose hay into the manger. Dust swirled in the air, and the interior of the old barn smelled musty and dry.
Though it was evening, no breeze whispered through the open doors and only faint rays fro a cloud-covered sun filtered past the grime and cobwebs of the few circular windows cut high in the hayloft.
The air was still, heavy with the threat of rain. She hoped the summer shower would break quickly and give relief to the parched ranch land. The ground was cracked and hard. And it was only the middle of August.
She was already feeding the horses and cattle hay she'd cut barely a month before.
Frowning, she heard the familiar sound of thudding hooves. Tails up and unfurling like silky flags, several of the younger horses raced into the barn. Behind the colts, the brood mares plodded at a slower pace.
"Hungry?" Relena asked as several dark heads poked through the far side of the manger. A gray coal bared his teeth and nipped at a rival as the horses shoved for position. "Hey, slow down, there's enough for everybody." She chuckled as she forked more hay, shaking it along the long trough that served all the Barton horses.
Once the Barton horses were fed, she tossed hay into a manger on the other side of the barn and grinned widely as three more horses plunged their heads into the manger. Their warm breath stirred the hay as they nuzzled deep, searching for oats. "In a minute," Relena said, admiring the stallion and two mares. These were her horses, and her heart swelled with pride at the sight of them. She owned several – six in all – but these three were her pride and joy, the mainstay of her small herd. "Hasn't anyone told you patience is a virtue?" She petted the velvet-soft nose of Brigadier, the stallion. A deep chestnut with a crooked white blaze and liquid eyes, he was spirited and feisty – and one of the best quarter horses in the state. At least in Relena's opinion.
The two mares were gentler and shorter, one a blood bay, the other black. Both were with foal, and their bellies had started to protrude roundly. These three horses were the center of Relena's dreams. She'd work long hours, saved her money and even delayed finishing college to pay for them, one at a time. But the herd was growing, she thought fondly, eyeing Ebony's rounded sides, and finally Relena was through school. She reached across the manger and patted Brigadier's sleek neck.
His red ears pricked forward then back, and he tossed his head, his man flying and his dark eyes glinting.
"Okay, okay, I get the message." Grinning, Relena poured oats for her horses and heard contented knickers and heavy grinding of back teeth.
Rain began to pepper the tin roof, echoing through the barn in a quickening tempo. "At last," Relena murmured. She jabbed a pitchfork into a nearby bale, tugged off her gloves and tossed them onto the lid of the oat barrel. Stretching, she turned for the house. But she stopped dead in her tracks.
In the doorway, the shoulders of his denim jacket soaked, his wet brown hair plastered to his head, stood a man she barely recognized as Trowa Barton. She hadn't seen him for so long – not since that awful day. Though his face was familiar, it had changed, the features even more strikingly handsome. His hair was the same coat of chocolate brown, shorter than she remembered, but still thick as he pushed a wet lock off his forehead.
"Trowa?" she whispered, almost disbelieving. Her heart began to slam against her ribs. Her father and Martha, the cook, had both speculated that Trowa might return to the ranch after his uncle's death, but Relena hadn't dared think he would show up.
He crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder in the doorway. Behind him rain spilled from the gutters and showered the ground in sheets. The smell of fresh water meeting dusty earth filled the air. "It's been a long time, Relena," he finally said.
Swallowing against a hard lump in her throat, she walked forward several steps. The horses snorted behind her and shifted restlessly, as if they, too, could feel the sudden electricity charging the air. "Yes, it has been a long time," she agreed, her voice as dry as the earth had been only a half hour before.
As she met his green, green eyes, painful memories crowded her mind. As vivid as the storm clouds hovering over the surrounding mountains, as fresh as the rain pelting the roof, the pain of his rejection flashed through her thoughts.
So many times she'd hoped she might meet him and not even mention the past – pretend total indifference to the wretched nights she'd lain awake, wounded to her very soul. But now that he was here, standing in front of her, she couldn't find one thread of that mantle of pride she'd sworn she'd wear. "I — I never thought I'd see you again."
"No?" His expression was wry, his tone disbelieving. "Haven't you heard? I own the place."
"Yes, I know, but –," Words failed her. Silence stretched heavily between them. "I – I knew it was possible, but it's just been so long." So damned long.
"I came back to straighten out a few things," he stated flatly, indifference masking his features. "I'll be here a couple of weeks I thought I'd better tell someone I was here. I can't find your father or the cook, what's her name?"
"Martha Falls."
"Right. Anyway, you're the first person I've run into."
A little hurt tugged at her heart. Deep inside, she'd hoped he had been searching for her. She forced an even smile, though she couldn't help staring at his face, a face she'd loved so fiercely. Whatever scars had once discolored his skin were gone – faded to invisibility. Though he seemed changed, it was his callousness and age that caused the difference more than any surgery. But he was still handsome and earthy, she had to admit – and sensual in a way she hadn't remembered. "Most of the hands have gone into town," she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. It's Friday night."
He raised one of his eyebrows skeptically. "So who's holding down the fort?"
"You're looking at her."
"You?" He held her gaze for a second before glancing at his watch and frowning. "I figured you might have a date later."
Damn him. "I do," she replied, a little goaded.
If the thought of her going out bothered him at all, he managed to hide it. What did you expect after seven years? She asked herself.
"A date with a hot bath and a good book." She found her work jacket on a hook near the door and slid her arms through the sleeves.
"That's not what I meant."
"I know," she admitted, trying to compose herself. Why after all these years did her heart race at the sight of him? She dusted her hands and thought about the reason he'd come back: his uncle's estate. "I'm sorry about Mark."
"Me too."
"He didn't want a funeral –,"
Waving off her explanation, he shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I just came back to tie up a few loose ends, that's all. Where's your father? I thought he was running things."
"He is. He, uh, had business in town."
"But he's coming back?"
"Of course."
"When he gets back, tell him I want to see him. I'll be up at the house." He glanced through the rain toward the weathered two-story farmhouse across the yard.
Relena's gaze followed his.
With its high-pitched roof, dormers and broad front porch, the old house had stood in the same spot for nearly a hundred years. It had been updated since the turn of the century – two bathrooms, central heat and electricity had been added – but it still appeared as it had when it was built by Trowa's great-great-grandfather.
Trowa cleared his throat then looked at her again, his eyes studying her face. She felt his gaze sliding from her straight red-blond hair past sky-blue eyes and a freckle-dusted nose to the sharp point of her chin. She wondered how he saw her – if she looked as he'd remembered. If he even cared.
"You know," she whispered, clinging to her rapidly escaping courage and feeling her fists curling into tight balls as she thought about the past, "I've waited all this time to ask you this one question."
His head jerked up. "Shoot."
"Why?" She stood dry-eyed in front of him, her chin tilted upward, her eyes searching his face – a face she'd loved with all her youthful heart, "Why wouldn't you talk to me?"
A muscle jumped angrily in his jaw. "Didn't seem the thing to do."
"But you could have called or something –," She lifted her hands helplessly and hated the gesture. Despite the fact that seeing him again opened old wounds, she could let him see that she was still vulnerable to him in any way.
Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, he crossed the weathered barn floor, eyeing the munching horses, the hayloft now full of new-mown hay, and the bins and barrels of oats, wheat and corn. "By the time I thought about it, there was no point," he said. Then his gaze softened a little and he studied the rusted bit of an old bridle hanging on the wall. He ran his fingers slowly along the time-hardened leather reins. "I thought by now you'd be married with five kids."
"So did I."
"What happened?" He regarded her with genuine perplexity, and she felt some of her old anger simmer again.
"The man I wanted to marry left town without saying a word."
He didn't move. The rain beat steadily on the roof, breaking the silence that stretched yawningly between them.
Relena forced the issue. Though quaking inside, she sensed this might be her only chance to find out what had happened. "You wouldn't see me in the hospital," she accused, her voice surprisingly calm, "wouldn't take my calls and returned all my letters unopened."
His jaw hardened. He dropped the reins but didn't say a word. One horse nickered and Relena glanched toward the manger.
The way she saw it, Trowa's silence was as damning as if he'd said he hadn't cared. She drew on all her courage. "Before I knew what was happening, my dad told me you'd taken off for Los Angeles."
He almost smiled, his eyes narrowing. "I couldn't keep the plastic surgeon waiting."
"Without saying goodbye?" she asked, bewildered and wounded all over again. "After everything we'd planned?"
"We didn't plan anything, Relena."
The wind shifted. Rain poured through the open door. "But you'd asked me to marry you, move to L.A. –,"
"I never said a word about marriage," he cut in, his voice harsh. "Think about it. You were the one who wanted to tie me down."
Relena nearly gasped. "I didn't –,"
"Sure you did. You kept trying to convince me that I should stay here, with you, on this damned ranch." Standing at his full height, using its advantage to stare down at her and drill her with his piercing emerald gaze, he added, "I had no intention of staying."
"I loved you," she said boldly, the words ringing in the barn. "I might have been naïve, but I did love you, Trowa."
Trowa's muscles tensed, the skin over his features stretching taut. "We were two kids experimenting, Relena – finding out about our bodies and sex. Love had nothing to do with it."
"You don't believe that!" she cried, feeling as if he'd slapped her. "You couldn't!"
"Time has a way of making the past crystal clear, don't you think?"
Relena's chin wobbled, but she forced her head up proudly. He wiped the rain from his hair, and she saw his hand, the burns still visible. Suddenly she understood. "You were afraid to see me," she whispered, her eyes widening with realization as they clashed with his again.
His face was unreadable and stony. "Think what you want."
She walked towards him, her steps quickening as she closed the distance. "That's it, isn't it? You were afraid that because of your scars –,"
"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe what happened between us just wasn't that important?"
"No!"
"Relena, Relena…you were always a dreamer."
His words hit hard and stung, like the cut of a whip. As if to protect herself, she stumbled backward, wrapped her arms around her waist and leaned against one cobweb-draped wall. "What happened to you, Trowa?" she murmured, staring at the bitter man whom she had once treasured. "Just what the hell happened to you?"
"I got burned." Hiking his collar up, he turned and strode through the slanting rain. Ducking his head, he marched across the gravel yard, his boots echoing loudly as he disappeared into the house.
Relena stared after him, her heart thudding painfully. Dropping onto the haw-strewn floor, she buried her face in her hands. For years she'd imagined running into him again, hopping deep in her heart that there might be some little spark in his eyes – a hint that he still care. And even if he didn't love her again, she'd told herself, she could be content knowing that he, too, felt a special warmth at the thought that she had been his first love.
She'd been practical, not harboring any fanciful dreams that one day they could fall in love again. But she'd hoped that after an initial strained meeting, she and Trowa would eventually become close – not as lovers, but as friends.
It had been a stupid, childish dream. She knew that now. Trowa had changed so much.
Surprised that her hands were wet, that she'd actually shed tears for a man who had turned into such a soulless bastard, she sniffed loudly, wiped her eyes and tossed her hair over her shoulder. Never again, she told herself bitterly. These were the last tears she would ever shed for Trowa Barton!
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