***The craziness of the holidays is nigh ended! And to celebrate, I give you a loooong chapter :) I hope it makes up for the delay.***
***It's time for our duo to get settled into ranch life. Some riding, some wrangling, and a whole lot of hot, sweaty...well, I guess you'll have to read! Who knows which way things are gonna roll...***
"You're a good-looking boy: you've big, broad shoulders. But he's a man. And it takes more than big, broad shoulders to make a man."
- High Noon
-o-o-
"If I can't touch you, I can touch your shirt and dream."
- Maverick
Marshall shifted his hips and quietly clicked his tongue as the horse shifted impatiently, yet precisely backwards in its efforts to clear the corral and head towards the open mesa. The short ride from barn to arena had been long enough for him to settle back into the saddle as if the last ten years had never happened. His boots pressed into the stirrups, heels down and pelvis tucked as he rocked the horse into forward motion, right hand loosely holding the reins while he adjusted his hat and jeans as Socrates cleared the barn doors. The formed, leather saddle creaked under his weight, and Marshall squeezed his thighs against the sides to check for any slippage with the horse's movement and breathing; testing gee and haw non-verbal commands as he tightened and released muscles not used for this purpose in too long. His lower back and quad adductors would burn by morning, reminders that he was sorely out of practice on horseback, and he was sure to have a hitch in his gait. Long legs and torso gave him advantage while riding long hours and rough terrain, but the summers spent at his uncle's ranch in Montana were too far past to do him much good now. Posture and balance were still second nature, but ten years took its toll on any body, and joints and muscles pressed into their fifth decade were going to protest this jaunt down memory lane.
He murmured encouragement and sweet nothings to the large, roan gelding as they lazily wandered around the side of the barn towards the largest arena. He was told that Socrates was a thinker. A horse that wasn't prone to startle or react adversely to just about anything, but occasionally needed some serious prodding to get moving when push came to shove...stubborn. Marshall had to smile at that as visions of a wild, blonde creature intruded on his thoughts. Stubborn, I can handle. The smile had morphed into a chuckle by the time they cleared the early morning shadow of the barn and the full heat of the sun fell onto the back of his neck.
Raising his face to the blue expanse of sky, Marshall let the relatively cool breeze filter up under the brim of his hat as he breathed in the familiar scents of fresh alfalfa, sawdust and lingering traces of burnt wood from the fire pit. Socrates snorted and tested the reins as Marshall let him have a bit more lead, and the tall man couldn't help but recall similar mornings riding out with his cousins for a long day's work. Short, flat-topped mesas morphed into jagged, snow covered peaks in his mind as he imagined the vast, rolling plains of the far north flying beneath the feet of their horses. The boys would let them run if the cattle had been herded ahead of time…chasing each other across never ending fields of tall grasses and flushing out startled families of pheasants they vowed to come back later to hunt. It was breathtaking every time, and Marshall could see why his uncle always said ranching was in the blood…timeless.
He heard his name shouted from behind and twisted in the saddle to see Tucky and Manuel trotting towards him. Reining in Socrates, Marshall let the wilds of Montana retreat back to memory as he was joined by the men. It was time to work.
The summer staffers had had barely enough time to dump their belongings in their small cabin rooms and scarf down hot huevos rancheros in the dining area before they were given a hasty tour of the main barn, tack room and equipment sheds. They picked up their equipment and saddled up in order to tour the rest of the ranch on hoof before the morning was halfway over. But first, the summer staff and permanent wranglers joined the half dozen ranch hands and stable boys in the main corral as they were given a verbal schedule of the days events with a quick rundown of rules, regs and codes of conduct that Marshall figured were likely mostly ignored. Paper work. Every office had it, and every office denizen found the quickest way around it.
He took careful inventory of the man flipping pages of a document while sitting on his own impatient horse. Tall, ruddy and build like a bulldozer, Carter Dubois reminded him more of Tuco than Blondie with his squinted frowns and quick, furtive movements. A man incapable of sitting still, Marshall could see that his horse was antsy because its rider was equally as twitchy. The man was observant, though, careful to make eye contact with each of the other men present, only glancing at the papers to occasionally check his place. He stared at Marshall for a long moment at one point, and the marshal stared back calmly…seemingly bored, then broke eye contact first to lean over and whisper to Tucky.
"A man who likes to hear his own voice." Marshall patted his mount's neck as the horse tossed his head.
Tucky chuckled. "There's always one"
"Dubois knows everything that goes on at this ranch," a new voice drawled from their left. Marshall and Tucky turned to see another of the seasoned wranglers sidle up along side them. The three men looked over to see Carter engaged in instructing the stable boys on their duties. "Making a list…checking it twice," the new guy continued. Smiling, he held out his hand to Marshall. "Eliot Sweeney."
Introductions were made around, and Eliot took the time that Carter was using to organize the younger crowd to update Marshall and Tucky. "It's not normally such a 'hurry up and wait' operation, but with the economy as it is, we're forced to overlap guest stays and new staffers this year. Unfortunately, than means you pretty much get tossed into the deep end if you're halfway competent." He looked the marshal and his companion over carefully. "Please don't tell me I'm going to have to play lifeguard with either of you?"
Marshall grinned widely. "A ranch is a ranch, and a horse is a horse."
"Of course," chimed in Tucky, and the other two men groaned. Eliot made a strange clicking sound and Tucky's horse danced nervously while Socrates' ears flattened back. Tucky swore softly as he calmed the now irritated bay while Eliot and Marshall chuckled.
"I had a very pretty lady tell me just yesterday that an animal that large shouldn't be that skittish," Eliot teased under Tucky's glare. "I guess she was right."
Marshall choked slightly on his own spit as Eliot quoted Mary's usual complaint about horses. So they had met. Studying Eliot out of the corner of his eye, Marshall felt an unwelcome twinge of uneasiness in his gut. The man was similar in build to Raphael, with an aura of physical grace and self assuredness that would only make him further attractive to the female of the species. Add in a slight southern drawl and an easy smile…he was a cowboy ripe for the picking. Maybe Stan should've inserted Mary into the office staff instead. Marshall wasn't sure who he should watch more carefully; Mary or Eliot.
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Mary had a blister. She discovered it last night when getting ready for bed, and the small, reddened wound irked her beyond the physical discomfort. The new boots were just that…new. Untried and stiff from the box the night before she donned them in the hotel room. After eight years of partnership, she should know better than to ignore Marshall's advice in things of practicality…hell, in most things, but she always thought that one of these days he'd be wrong. That she would be able to release doves, call the media and sing the song of victory in front of God and everyone and he would have to sit there with his mouth shut.
Her sunglasses prevented her fellow riders from witnessing the daggers she glared into her partner's back as the group made steady progress across the plateau after lunch. They all knew it was going to be hot, but she and seven other women decided to join the ranch hands for some cattle herding at one of the far pastures anyway. Mary wanted to see the lay of the land; try to get some idea of what ICE was dealing with when Taliswell grumbled about not being able to pinpoint holding areas and loading points. It was a vast landscape…and unforgiving. The sun beat straight down on their heads, all riders having willingly soaked bandanas in ice water and placed them under their hats before mounting up at the ranch, and Mary could see the rippled mirages hovering over arroyos and small watering holes. Not much wildlife to be seen in the midday heat, the native fauna smarter than the fools on horseback. The heat and the ride were making her feet swell, and her thoughts were again darkened towards her partner.
She alternated between silently cursing Marshall's knowledge of everything, and grumbling choice words about the other Marshal's propensity for sidestepping every pebble he didn't like in the trail. 'Relaxed in the saddle' was a phrase she was still waiting to become familiar with. She tried not to grab the saddle horn every ten seconds, tried to remember to use her knees to adjust her weight and her heels to encourage the horse, tried to manage the reins in something more gentle than a death grip…tried to calculate the time it would take the vultures to find Stan's body after she staked it out on the desert floor. And all the while she watched her partner sit on his horse as if he were born to it; chatting up the other women as he rode ahead or fell back to keep an eye on everyone without apparent effort. Wheeling, trotting and weaving through the masses with a skill that she could appreciate despite her equine ignorance. He reminded her of those riders in the myriad of epic movies he made her watch…endless scenes of sword fights, swooping dragons and chases on horseback where costumes rippled in flight. Mary wondered how he would look on a horse in a full out run. How his body would ride low and tight, concentration etched onto his face as he flew across the plain…intense.
His laughter broke into her reverie, and she looked over to see that Diane had worked her way beside Marshall to engage him in conversation. Mary gently urged her own horse in the same direction, slightly surprised he obeyed her commands.
"…oh, really? What do they say about part-time wranglers?" Marshall was asking teasingly.
Diane winked at him. "That they're always looking for a woman to help them earn their spurs."
Mary's eyebrows climbed towards the brim of her hat as Marshall gave Diane a long, slow look with his reply, "And what if I already have my spurs?"
Diane chuckled, then stretched her shoulders back with a hum. "Well, then, it's a good thing I brought my chaps."
Marshall touched the brim of his hat as he conceded with a broad smile. Mary's snort of disbelief went unheard by Diane as the woman 'hupped' to her horse and rode forward to likely brag of impending conquest to Gina. The sound did not escape her partner, however, and he slowed to wait for her to catch up.
"Why do I have a feeling you actually do have spurs?" Mary asked quietly, shaking her head in disgust.
Marshall just waggled his eyebrows at her before answering in the same low tone, "Did you see any sign of Sheryl this morning?"
The spacing between horses was generous due to the open area of desert they currently trekked through. Eliot and Manuel rode towards the front, and Mary knew another ranch hand had just recently fallen back to take the rear. Currently, all the other riders talked between themselves.
"I saw her after breakfast in the main lodge. Said 'hello.' Brief conversation and nothing seemed amiss." Mary cleared her throat. "No fresh bruises I could see."
Mary felt Marshall's gaze upon her as they rode in silence for a few minutes. She studied a hawk as it lazily rode the afternoon thermals while hunting for prey. Silent and relentless. It suddenly folded its wings back and dove towards the ground.
"Who beat you?" he asked, and somehow, the question was not completely unexpected.
She stared down at her horse's mane, a haphazard arrangement of hair falling to both sides of his neck. Mary reached forward to flip a few pieces across at random as she considered her answer…or whether to answer at all.
"It's a shorter list of who didn't," she heard herself reply, distanced from the topic and in no mood to elaborate. This heat was driving them all a little mad, it seemed. She listened to the clop of hooves against the packed dirt for a few minutes before chancing a glance in Marshall's direction. He delivered a slow, kind smile before releasing her from the serious topic.
"I do own spurs…two pair, actually," Marshall drawled in a normal tone, returning his gaze to the group. "They were my grandfather's." His Aviator tinted gaze came to rest upon her again and Mary felt her breath catch for some reason. "I also have chaps." Mary saw herself hesitate in the mirrored lenses, then grabbed the olive branch of normal he offered.
"And I have a Glock strapped to my ankle," she growled, baring her teeth in semblance of a smile.
The damn man winked at her as he leaned over to slap Marshal on the haunches. The horse danced into a brief trot and she turned all her attention to remaining in the saddle, hoping her mount interpreted her long string of curses as praise and encouragement.
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"Home, home on the range…" One of the younger wranglers warbled the now well overused song as he wandered back through the small group of women tending the horses amidst a sparse stand of trees. Mary thought his name was Nate, and she was sure he should be next in line for branding. No one should be that chipper while wading through cow shit in this heat. She wondered if he kept something stronger than water in his canteen…wondered if he'd share.
Nearly two hours of spotting, riding and herding had found them all – bovine, equine and human – finally settling into organized activities at the outlying Two Sisters barn. A well irrigated valley about five miles from the main ranch, the small stands of trees and yucca plants provided much appreciated shade for horses and riders alike. Though a smaller barn, the corral attached was much larger than the one at the main ranch, needed to encompass the head of cattle currently lowing and wandering through the dusty enclosure as they jostled for water and food.
The wranglers had immediately hauled out equipment for the various duties they needed to perform before herding their human charges back to the Circle R within the next few hours. Always work to be done, Mary had decided, relating to the seemingly endless series of tasks. Receive the witness, transport the witness, get them their shots, tuck them into their new surroundings, then let them go only to have to check on them again and again. The only part she and Marshall didn't do was brand them. Maybe they should…reduce recidivism.
Another calf bawled and Mary shuddered as she turned her attention back to Marshal and his compatriots tethered under the trees. The wrangler's horses were taken into the barn, as they had done most of the work, but the women's horses were content to swat at flies and eat the grass proffered by Mother Nature while unsaddled and rubbed down by their less skilled riders. Marshall, Manuel and Eliot quickly determined which of the guests preferred to assist with doctoring and branding cattle while shuttling the others to tending horses and preparing dinner. It was a fairly even split, and now Eliot sauntered over to Mary and Cat, leaving Nate and a few other guests to the cooking.
"That's the happiest I've seen these horses in a while. Maybe I should line the wranglers up for you next?" he asked with a crooked grin.
Cat blushed and mumbled something about happy endings under her breath while Mary rolled her eyes. "You perform without complaint for three hours and I might consider the same reward." She reached up to adjust the wet bandana around her neck and tighten her ponytail. Even the shaded areas radiated heat.
Eliot chuckled and tipped his canteen towards her before taking a long drink, a few drops of water escaping his mouth to trickle down the sides of his neck. Mary couldn't help but watch their progress. They settled into the notch at the top of his sternum and she had to stop herself from reaching out to wipe them away. There is way too much testosterone around here, she decided, regretfully pulling her gaze back to his face as he wiped his mouth with his forearm.
"I'm pretty sure any comeback I have to that statement would be taken entirely the way I mean it, and I don't want to burn dinner." He reached over to stroke Marshal's neck as Mary chuckled with the innuendo, then made a gentlemanly offer of his elbow as he inclined his head towards the large circle of rocks around the bbq pit. "We really should go out for something other than bbq sometime."
Mary sighed theatrically as she tucked her arm into his and they picked their way over to the fire. "Well, so long as you're paying…"
=o=o=
Marshall helped release the last calf from the branding chute and stepped back to wipe his hands on his jeans and pull out a handkerchief for his neck and face. The heat was obscene in the corral with the branding oven and two dozen furry bodies. Little to no breeze interrupted the slow roasting process, and his brain was feeling just a bit fuzzy by the time they finished doctoring the last of the cattle. It had been a long time since he wrestled a tonnage of flailing hooves, and he added yet more muscle groups to the list of complainants for the next day.
The chatter amongst the ranch hands was useful, at least. Their rote skill at the tasks that took nearly all his concentration allowed for a lengthy time of conversation where he was content to just listen. Outside of instructing the guests, they had talked of past and present ranch issues, personnel likes and dislikes and, to his surprise, launched into a fairly heated discussion of what they thought was 'going on' with Carter and Brad.
"I'm telling you," a full-time wrangler insisted, "I heard Brad say his ship was coming in soon. He's looking to move on…and I don't think he's taking Dubois with 'em."
"Those two have been on the outs for about four months now," an older ranch hand piped in. "About the same time they've been doing construction out at Redpoint."
Marshall's ears perked up at the mention of the eastern outlying barn and corral. The ICE intel was fairly agreed that Redpoint was the holding location for the women being smuggled into and out of the States, but no surveillance had yet to prove their hypothesis. The terrain was rugged, a series of small canyons and dense brush coverage, and there was too little concrete evidence to garner a search warrant that deep into private property.
The older man rubbed his fingers together meaningfully. "It's all about the dough. Carter's always grousing about Brad's need to invest in everything under the sun, and he thinks the boss is in over his head."
"He told you that?" The disbelieving tone was clear, and the old man glared at the younger.
"Son, despite the glamour," he paused for the chuckles, "ranching is not the goose that lays the golden egg. Either you breed winners or you raise something the whole world wants to eat, but busting your ass showing greenhorns a good time will barely keep a place afloat. The boss is looking for a bigger piece of the pie, and Dubois knows he's not getting a slice."
"What's he investing in?" Marshall tossed the question out there as he concentrated on sorting ear tags. No one seemed to think his question was out of place.
"Don't know. Dubois' tight lipped there. Though given Brad's history, it's likely only partially legit."
"He was talking to some guys in the barn one day," the younger man straightened to wipe sweat off his brow. "Mexican. Didn't look like ranchers…but they sure looked like brothers." The statement was met with low murmurings about similar sightings. Finally, as the last cow was tagged and swatted on her way, the older wrangler sighed and shook his head.
"Somebody ought to tell Carter about Gary."
Marshall watched the guests wander towards the gate and waited until most were out of earshot before asking. "Who's Gary?"
The man stared at him for a moment, then jerked his chin towards the gate as he began to walk. Marshall followed. "Gary was…is…Brad's brother. They had a falling out of near biblical proportions about two years ago. The whole place was in a bit of an uproar until Whitehorse stepped in. About a week later, Gary disappeared. Poof. Gone. Left behind his wife and kids, even."
Marshall hmm-ed in acknowledgement. "You wanted to say, 'was Brad's brother.'"
Stopping at the gate to peer out towards the fire pit, the older man leaned against the fence for a moment before replying. "Gary wasn't the type of man to walk out on his family." A sigh and a shake of his head. "Bad blood breeds bad deeds." He pushed through the gate and Marshall followed slowly after as he considered the man's words. New Mexico was a big state, but somehow he didn't think Gary had gotten very far.
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Mary released a long, slow groan of pleasure-pain as she lowered herself into the bubbling delight of the hot tub, grateful for its warmth. Despite the lingering heat of the day radiating off the small pool deck, once the sun had slid below the horizon a diurnal breeze had coolly caressed the valley and dropped the temperature a good twenty degrees. By the time the women had tucked their horses away for the evening and grabbed a late snack in the dining room, most were chilled as they walked from the main lodge to the clusters of cabins a few hundred yards away. There was nearly a hive mind agreement towards gathering in the large hot tub near the cabins, and Mary was more than happy to join the impromptu party to nurse the various insults to the majority of her muscles.
She was greeted by the six other women already immersed neck deep in the riotous water, and Diane handed her a sweating beer from a near-by microbrewery. Finally, though Mary, an undercover perk. She could have a drink on duty. Smiling her thanks, Mary tipped the bottle in a toast as she relaxed back into the jets with sigh. Bliss. Large swaths of the night sky were visible through breaks in the pine trees, and Mary concentrated on sighting several constellations and the Milky Way before telling Marshall's voice in her head to 'shut up.' The beer and magic jets were satisfactory. She didn't need the subliminal astronomy lesson to improve upon the evening.
"So, Mary," a tall brunette named Sophie asked, interrupting her thoughts. "If you had to do one of the cowboys, which one would you pick?"
Mary choked slightly on a mouthful of pale ale before narrowing her eyes in Diane's direction. Diane held up a hand in surrender. "Don't look at me…I didn't start this witch hunt. Sophie's recently divorced. Got a little cowboy cock on her mind."
"Not a little one," teased another woman. "A full sized, rodeo worthy one." There was laughter all around and Mary had a sinking feeling the conversation was going anywhere but where she wanted to be.
"Shhh, Lisa, let Mary pick. You already put in your vote," Sophie scolded. All eyes were on her, and Mary raised her eyebrows speculatively.
"Can I pick more than one?" she asked with a grin. "There's still most of a week left."
"Oooo…musical cowboys," purred Diane. "I got in trouble for playing that game when I was sixteen. Tied them all to the chairs."
"Oh, god…that gives new meaning to the phrase 'posting trot,' doesn't it?" laughed Sophie, mimicking the up-and-down motion a rider assumed on a trotting horse. The other women joined in with some whistles and hoots.
The conversation degraded into a discussion of which wrangler boasted the largest post, and Mary began to feel slightly overheated as a certain cowboy was voted most likely to get laid by group consensus.
"C'mon, Mary," Diane wheedled. "You have to admit the man is sporting an impressive package. So much so, even a blind woman could see he dresses to the left."
"Is that what I was seeing?" asked Sophie with false enlightenment. "I just figured he was smuggling a ferret…or two." The group burst into laughter yet again.
Mary squeezed her eyes shut as she tossed back the last of her cold beer. Her brain insisted on running recklessly with the rest of the libidinous crowd, and visions of her partner's long, lean legs and form fitting jeans seared themselves onto her synapses. Just pretend they're talking about Eliot, she chanted to herself.
"Oh, I noticed," Mary finally replied, winking at Sophie. "First, you'll have to wrestle him away from Diane. She was chatting him up on the trail today." Ball back in another court.
The group teased Diane mercilessly for a few minutes before the redhead again got the upper hand. "Mmmm…what Marshall could do to me," she began with a throaty growl. "I'd let him lay me out under the stars…work some magic with those long, long fingers. God…I bet he could reach places that needed reaching. And then..." she paused to tip her beer at the others, "I'd strip him and lick every inch of lean muscle. Get him good and ready before I'd finally get my hands on that ass. Oh, baby…I'd howl louder than the coyotes with all that wrangler in me."
Mary closed her mouth with a snap as she realized she had been staring. Blood was pooling in areas already too warm, and she really needed to get some air as her hormones were methodically strangling nearly every rational thought she had. Pulse pounding as her mind entertained scenarios involving her partner she had never before imagined, Mary pushed herself out of the tub to sit on the side and grab a towel as the rest of the women continued to encourage Diane. Sophie finally asked her where she was headed when she stood to pull on her cover-up.
"I don't know about the rest of you," Mary said, sliding her feet into flipflops, "but I need more cold drinks. Anyone else?" The others declined, and Mary escaped into the shadows of the pines surrounding the pool on weak knees and decidedly inappropriate thoughts.
=o=o=
The women's merriment carried through the clear desert air, the night breeze directing the sound towards the main barn and the two occupants sweating through the final chores of the evening. Marshall grunted as he tossed the small bale of hay in front of a stall, almost finished setting up the morning buffet for the now sleepy equines nestled in their clean beds. Of course he would draw mucking and prep duty the first night he was there, and he groaned while stretching his back and listening to the distant chatter of the ladies. He almost wondered what they were carrying on about. Almost. Having met the most outspoken members of the guests, and knowing his partner all too well, Marshall had a feeling the discussion provoking such a ribald response would not bode well for any male that got too close. No…his mother hadn't raised any stupid boys.
"Are your ears burning?" he asked Eliot as the other man exited a stall a few doors down and glanced towards the cabins through the dark.
Eliot chuckled. "Well now, I'm pretty sure a whole different set of parts would be on fire if I could hear what those ladies are talking about. They tend to get a bit…cheeky after a hard ride. Start telling stories about cowboys and rodeo rides that'll make Hugh Hefner blush."
Marshall snorted his own amusement, having heard the stories Mary could tell. "Gotta blow of steam as well as the rest of us, I suppose." He grabbed his shirt off the low wall and wiped his face, both he and Eliot having had stripped down to tanks with the exertion. Eliot grabbed a couple of water bottles from the small fridge near the barn doors. Tossed one to Marshall as he drank his own.
"Gives the boys a lot of opportunity for "private lessons" I suppose?" Marshall asked, curious as to the response of the wranglers to the randy women.
Eliot smiled and tsked, "Flirting and fluffing is encouraged, makes the guest feel attended to and relaxed, but anything beyond that is frowned upon. This ain't the Mustang Ranch."
The men shared a laugh, then turned as they heard footsteps enter the barn from the other end of the hallway. "Let fluffing commence," murmured Eliot.
Mary had strode towards the main lodge with intent to visit the vending machines, but the quiet of the night beckoned her onto a more meandering path, and soon she found herself circling around the well lit barn. Surprisingly, there didn't seem to be anyone around, and she decided to investigate the nocturnal habits of the horses. Slightly slobbery four-legged animals were sure to erase any thoughts of the half naked two-legged variety. The thought died a whimpering death as she entered the barn to find the latter species standing before her. Tactical error.
"Evening, darlin'," Eliot greeting her with a crooked grin. "What can we help you with?"
Mary was pretty sure she should blink…at least to keep her eyeballs from falling out of her head while her brain called home to momma that she had just won the cowboy fantasy lottery. Two of them…half-dressed and sweaty…boots on with lopsided smiles. It didn't matter that one of them was a man she had worked beside for the last eight years, alfalfa fumes and mild heat stroke had apparently clogged her senses. They were…gorgeous. And talking to her. Jesus, Mary, shake it off! She took a deep breath and tuned in.
"Evening, boys. You two draw the short straw on KP duty?" she asked as she walked towards them, noting with some satisfaction that Marshall was staring at her legs.
"Just doing our jobs," answered Eliot. "Aren't you going to be missed at the party?"
Mary shrugged. "Needed some fresh air." Purposefully looked them both up and down. "Got tired of just talking about the scenery."
Marshall nudged Eliot. "Fact finding mission. Make sure those stories are true to life."
"Right," drawled Eliot, catching onto the game and winking at Mary. "Gotta take back a first hand account of real-life cowboy action." He looked back at Marshall. "You know, they like to get into a lot of detail. Rippling muscles…the fit of the jeans…"
Mary crossed her arms over her chest, cocking an eyebrow as two pairs of eyes snapped to her enhanced cleavage. "We're just trying to separate the trail horses from the stallions," she countered.
Eliot chuckled and held his hands about eight inches apart. "Oh, I know how you girls like to measure up the stallions."
Marshall hmm-ed and reached over to move one of Eliot's hands a few inches outward, then smiled at his partner. "Wouldn't want those details to be inaccurate." Mary's gaze dropped to the front of his jeans, then snapped back to his face before she blushed and narrowed her eyes.
"I think I'll just leave you boys to play with each other," she snapped, pivoting to leave the way she had come in a huff.
Marshall and Eliot laughed while they watched her walk away. "I like that one," said Eliot as he grabbed the shovel to start on the next stall. "That's a girl who only walks away to reload. She'll be back."
Eyeing the other man, Marshall hesitated before hoisting the next bale. "You have no idea," he mumbled quietly.
=o=o=
Mary was still grumbling under her breath ten minutes later while visiting the vending machines in hopes of cooling off from the encounter in the barn. She was decidedly off her game if she had allowed two sweaty idiots to rattle her with innuendo and crude gestures. She had actually stared at her partner's crotch. Had actually wondered, for just a moment, if the dimensions hinted at were…
"Jesus Christ and all the saints in a bucket," she hissed as she ran her fingers through her hair. Maybe it was just time to call it a night and get some sleep. Obviously the stress of wearing a different personality all day had damaged her common sense. Mary increased her pace towards the cabins.
Angry, low voices captured her attention as she passed the laundry room, and she slowed to listen. "Carter, please," Sheryl's voice carried the frustration of someone tired of arguing. "I already told Brad I've got nothing to do with it."
Mary eased off the sidewalk and into the dirt before creeping further along the side of the building. She kept one hand low and out in front of her to avoid running into any obstacles, and slowly positioned herself near the edge of the doorway leading to the washers. Carter's voice was difficult to hear, and Mary squinted as she turned all her attention to the room beyond. "…you think I'm…how stupid…" Dammit. She leaned a little closer.
A faint rustle behind her was the only warning she got before the hand clamped over her mouth.
***Oh, crap! Who else is lurking about in the dark? Flipflops and a swim suit are *not* an outfit you want to practice self defense in! Well..what do you think...Eliot or Marshall? And what about Diane? She's fairly relentless! Please let me know if you're still enjoying the story...click on the REVIEW button! (Eliot says 'click the button, darlin''). :D ***