Ichabod had awoken an hour before dawn and been unable to get back to sleep, which was common for him. Not wanting to be alone with the bitter thoughts about Katrina and the secrets she'd made a career of keeping from him, he got up, pulled on his coat and boots, and went for a walk to clear his head.
He still found it soothing, getting out into the world, seeing the sights. He'd always loved to travel and explore, even by simply taking a different route home, and nothing had changed. He meandered through the woods, absently noting the early birdsong and watching the light change from inky blue-black to the pastel warmth of sunrise. He spotted some sort of raptor taking off from a branch almost directly overhead - Ichabod swore he could feel the downdraft as the powerful wings beat the still morning air, and he glimpsed the white tip on the bird's tail feathers before it vanished from sight between the trees.
The whinny surprised him; he instantly turned towards the familiar sound to see that the trees had given way to a paddock whose occupant was cantering across the grass to investigate him.
Back in his time, horses had been everything. They pulled stagecoaches and mail coaches, milk carts and supply wagons. He had galloped into battle on horseback, spent any manner of happy, simple times in the stables with his horse, seen the utter respect and partnership the Native Americans shared with their beloved horses.
Until the black stallion came racing across the field to him, he hadn't realized just how much he missed being around horses.
The stallion was magnificent. He was a well-bred animal - perhaps one of the Thoroughbreds that was being developed for racing purposes when he left England, Ichabod thought, scrutinizing the stallion's long legs and powerful shoulder muscles. His coat shone in the early morning light with a sheen that was metallic blue, speaking of good grooming and exemplary care.
The horse stared him down for a moment, head lifted, an eye rolling a little. Ichabod relaxed his stern posture slightly, shifting his weight so he was almost side-on to the horse. In turn the stallion responded to the friendly gesture, ears flicking forward and stretching his head out to Ichabod. He raised his hand, letting him catch his scent, then gently ran the same hand down the silken neck and inhaled the familiar, grassy scent of horse.
He hadn't felt this homesick in a long time. He recalled the horse from his own time - Dash, a pretty bay mare with four white socks, an eager jumper who made the idiotic tradition of fox hunting bearable by carrying him boldly over any obstacle and every terrain. During the war, he'd had a charger - a big, dense, bull of a gelding called Landslide, who had none of Dash's intelligence but a heart like a lion.
"That's unusual for Strike." Commented a voice behind him, making Ichabod jump. He turned to find a tall man appraising him with eyes somewhere between brown and black, broad shoulders hunched in a decidedly guarded posture. His hair was even darker than his eyes, in contrast with his pale skin that bore only the barest hint of a winter tan.
Despite the flat tone of the man's voice and his lack of welcome, Ichabod found it hard to distrust him when the stallion trotted over to him, hanging his head over the fence and whickering a soft greeting. The man lifted a hand and rested his palm against the ebon cheek, and Ichabod noted the natural ease with which he handled the horse.
"What is unusual?" He questioned, lifting an eyebrow, not offering his name since the courtesy had not been extended to him.
"He doesn't usually have anything to do with strangers." Replied the man shortly, and Ichabod wondered if the stallion was the only one. The stranger turned his full attention to the horse and gently but capable removed a twig from his long mane. Ichabod straightened up and spoke a touch more formally. "I apologize for intruding upon your land. My mare is... some distance away. I had not realized until I saw your stallion just how far, how much I miss her company, and that.. it is not likely that I will see her again."
There was so much more than Dash he wouldn't see again.
The dark-haired man's stern expression softened, almost imperceptibly, and he nodded once in acknowledgement, Ichabod clearly having passed some unwritten test. He gestured to the stallion. There was the barest hint of friendliness in his voice as he gestured to the stallion, shifting the obviously sore subject away from Ichabod's past. "His name's Midnight Strike. Best jumping prospect I have right now, solid on the flat, smart over the jumps."
"He is a Thoroughbred, is he not?"
"Mm." Whoever this man was, he wasn't one of many words, unless, apparently, he had something to say about his horse. But at last he looked Ichabod in the eye, and stepping away from the black stallion a hand was extended. "I'm Ben." He finally introduced himself, and Ichabod was relieved to shake the proffered hand and return to the rules of etiquette as he knew them. "Ichabod Crane. Nice to meet you."
"If you've got some time on your hands, feel free to come back to the barn with us." Ben haltered the stallion, bringing the leather head harness smoothly over the horse's ears and buckling it under the chin with the ease of obvious practice. He produced a lead rope from a coat pocket and once it was safely clipped to the halter, Ichabod opened the gate so he could lead the stallion out. He noticed how Ben's sharp eyes watched him stay within Strike's line of sight, and waited until the stallion's powerful hindquarters were out of reach before closing it again.
"I'd enjoy that. It's been too long since I was around horses." Admitted Ichabod, sensing that this taciturn man would if nothing else, understand his bond with horses. He was right.
"This stable is wondrous." Breathed Ichabod, staring in wonder at the decorated arches over the entrance, the script edged with horseshoes reading 'Blue Hill Stables', everything glowing in mahogany wood. "My fiance and I are managing the place while the owner's in Australia." Explained Ben, while a half-dozen eager equine faces peered out over half-doors, each looking as well-tended to as Strike. Ichabod felt himself slip into bone-deep familiar routine as he approached the closest stall and allowed the chestnut gelding inside to sniff him. A cheery female voice called out from further down the aisle.
"Hey Ben, if you're ready to work him, I'll tack up Wolfgang." A young African American woman rounded the corner with a pair of dogs at her heels who immediately bounded over, tails wagging, to sniff Ichabod. "Good morning, Madam. My apologizes at disturbing you at such an early hour." Ichabod apologized, taking in the girl's hay-dusted curly hair and warm brown eyes. Like Ben, he understood immediately that her world revolved around horses, though her demeanor was a lot less guarded and obviously friendlier than Ben's. He wondered, briefly, what their relationship was. With her dark skin and his light, not a blood tie, though they - of course. Ben himself had given him the answer - my fiance and I.
She waved a hand and smiled easily. "No problem, we're up with the dawn around here." Ichabod knelt to pat the eager dogs, offering a few friendly words to each - a bouncy liver-spot Dalmatian and an older crossbred, golden-furred but for her grey muzzle.
"This is my fiance, Carole." Ben confirmed Ichabod's earlier realization, and his gruff expression lightened upon her in a way Ichabod suspected it rarely did. "Carole, this is Ichabod Crane. Strike made friends with him this morning."
She raised both eyebrows as she stepped forward to shake Ichabod's hand. She had a certain grip that spoke of hard, honest work. "Strike did, really? He doesn't usually make friends with anybody." Her gaze flickered to Ben for a moment with a small smile, and though he didn't notice since he was cross-tying his stallion, Ichabod did. He suspected from her reaction (and Ben himself) that Ben was typically no more outgoing than his horse.
"Hang on a second, and I'll give you the grand tour." Carole picked up a bucket of grooming supplies to hand to Ben, smiling warmly at him when their fingers brushed and his gaze turned to her, then softened further, a faint smile edging his expression - as if forgetting for the moment that Ichabod was there, and that the world was larger than just the two of them.
The simple intimacy struck Ichabod even harder than missing his old life had earlier. He tried, desperately, to recall a time when he and Katrina had ever looked at one another like Carole and Ben. There were times when he found it hard to reconcile what had been real between them. How many secrets had made a wall between them he hadn't even been aware of at the time?
But maybe it was just the undeniably beautiful contrast of Carole's darker skin against Ben's light tone, and the parallel it drew for Ichabod that he wasn't quite ready to face yet. In his own time - though such relationships between different races certainly had happened, they weren't able to occur in the public eye. That was why he hadn't immediately figured out the relationship between this pair.
They left Ben to grooming the black stallion, and Carole introduced Ichabod to the half-dozen horses stabled in the small but well-designed barn. To Ichabod's practiced eyes, these animals were finely trained athletes - as were their trainers. Ben invited him to stay to watch Strike's workout, during which Carole also rode, on a steady, serious dapple grey jumper. Ichabod was enjoying himself, watching not only the horses in motion but their riders. Ben was an instinctive rider, who almost seemed to speak the horse's own language in the way he communicated with them. Carole's riding style was a little less subtle, but no less practiced and effective. The two dogs lay on either side of Ichabod, the female with her head on his foot, the Dalmatian with his tail wagging happily. After taking the horses one at a time over a pretty tricky set of jumps, Ichabod helped untack and cool off the animals before noticing how late in the morning it had gotten. Worried Abbie would come looking for him, he excused himself. Ben and Carole both invited him back.
"You can come most mornings, if you want." Offered Ben in his no-nonsense manner. "Could use an extra set of hands around here."
Carole nodded in enthusiastic agreement. "Our last stablehand's just taken maternity leave. You'd be doing us a big favour, and the money's not bad - the owner of this place allocated a good fund."
For once, the decision was clear-cut. Ichabod not only needed a source of income in this modern day - he knew he couldn't simply keep allowing Abbie to cover his expenses - but he'd honestly enjoyed being around horses again. He accepted, though was mindful to warn that there might be mornings he could not make it. Neither party minded his stipulation, and Ichabod bade the couple good day and headed back to the cabin.
"There you are!" Abbie was pacing on the small front porch, glaring at him reproachfully. "Crane, the reason I got you this-" She held up a small white rectangle with obvious frustration and Crane wondered if he ought to duck, in case she threw it at him"-is so that we can keep in touch! It's no good to you or to me if you leave it here!"
"My sincere apologies Lieutenant-" Abbie wasn't finished with him. Stepping closer - closer than he really cared for comfort, close enough to spell the sweet coconut scent of her perfume and see the pulse drumming in her elegant neck, the one he'd sometimes dreamed about running his fingers down... no, that was FAR from an appropriate line of thought - she pushed the cell phone forcefully into one of his jacket pockets. The way her fingertips grazed the very top of his hipbone, even through two layers of fabric, made his heart skip a beat. "Keep. This. With. You." She growled at him, and he bowed his head contritely. "I will, in future, Lieutenant." He murmured. Abbie's expression softened.
"I was worried about you." She admitted, and way her dark eyes filled with concern did not aid his heart rate in returning to normal. "I got here and I couldn't find you... I worried that something had happened."
His willpower crumbled. She was still standing too close, momentarily overwhelming his sense of decency, filling his senses with her uniquely Abbie ambiance. He reached out and pulled her gently into a hug. He let out a breath he didn't recall holding when she didn't resist - when her slim arms wound just above his waist, her face pressed into his chest, like she belonged in his embrace. "Nothing happened. I'm here. I'll always be here." He whispered to the top of her head, feeling the sweetness of the moment so keenly it made his heart ache, a physical pain within him.
He shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be holding her, and enjoying the way she clutched him back with such determination, he shouldn't be letting his imagination stray to places they has so business straying to.
But it felt so inherently right in that moment, he couldn't bear to let her go.
A/N - It always delights me when I get a story where my review count overtakes my follow count - makes me feel as if I have as many people commenting who fave even though of course technically many of you guys are reviewing more than one chapter :) Which, by the way, I wholly appreciate! Feedback is the predominant reason that keeps me writing so if you want to drop me some motivation, leave me a review :)
Horse terminology for those unfamiliar with it:
Bay - Colour. Dark brown, black points.
Chestnut - Colour. Reddish-brown, no black hairs at all.
Cross-ties - Two ropes attached to either side of a halter to hold them still during grooming
Gelding - Male horse, castrated.
Halter - a head collar with no bit used to leading a horse.
Mare - Female horse
Stallion - Male horse, has not been castrated.