***Annndd we're back! There was a lot of negotiations during this chapter...the muses were holding out like Albert Pujols. Grrr. But the story continues! It's a day for a lesson, or two. Some of them quite eye opening. Enjoy!***
You just keep thinkin' Butch. That's what you're good at.
– Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
-o-o-
"When I get paid, I always see the job through."
- The Good, the Bad and the Ugly
Marshall had a feeling that the oddities of the morning would only continue to mount for the rest of day, and he would likely spend the late hours staring at the dark ceiling of his room analyzing the day's events before he'd be able to sleep. A hushed commotion in the bunk house during the pre-dawn hours had had him curious, and that grew into suspicion by the time he sat down with hot coffee at breakfast. Carter and three other ranch hands had headed out under the cover of darkness without a word as to where they were going. Manuel and Tucky only had shrugs to match his own, and he didn't find Eliot until he nearly ran into the man coming around the side of the main barn after all the other wranglers had started on morning tasks. The southerner had the look of a man trying to cover his tracks and only offered a terse greeting to Marshall before swiftly ducking into the barn. Finally, after the morning seemed to have undergone a shift back to normal, he saw Brad.
The man strode out of the barn with countenance and posture broadcasting anger. He attempted to slam the barn door behind him, roughly kicked a cat out of his path and completed his Godzilla themed departure by ripping a childishly drawn rodeo poster off the fence and tearing it to pieces while stomping towards the main lodge. Rage and impatience; a combination which did not bode well for any in his path…or any left behind. Eliot had told him to grab Mary out of the barn and his senses went on high alert.
He didn't see her at first, the transition from sunlight to shade too quick for his pupils to accommodate, and he peered into the relatively dim interior for a moment while he listened; a retreating shuffle near the side doors, the whuff and grunt of a few horses…nothing more. The shadows formed edges, then developed color, and he spotted his partner standing motionless in the middle of the aisle as she stared across the stalls.
Chin and cheekbones in profile, she looked every bit a cowgirl-clad Sarmatian in her still contemplation of the far doors. Poised for battle or flight…whichever would guarantee victory at the end. He could tease her all he wanted for lack of skill and knowledge in the arena that currently surrounded her, but there was never an instant of doubt that she would rise to any challenge and battle ferociously despite perceived shortcomings. Admirable, in his eyes, but others – he thought of Brad's tantrum – should fear her for the very same reasons.
She startled unexpectedly at his greeting, a fleeting moment of self-protective cowering that set his teeth on edge. Another glimpse into a past that seemed to be drawn to the surface like reluctant maple sap here in the desert. Marshall worried. Worried her sharpness…her reason…would be trapped in those viscous remembrances clinging to open wounds, and he would be playing cowboy as she stood in the path of danger. The pain from knowing those consequences was still too fresh. He unconsciously rubbed a hand over his heart as he asked what happened.
Once again he was cut off at Reminiscence Pass, and Mary easily sidestepped both the issue and him as she teased him out of the barn. They walked into the sunlight and he quickly glanced around for Diane. Mary was right, she was likely keeping close tabs on him. He couldn't deny that Diane's interest was flattering; an attractive, interesting woman making eyes at him was never to be taken lightly, but Marshall knew he had to walk that fine line between casual player and full-time Lothario.
"I think your conclusion that your roommate is looking to deflower me may be a bit premature. Not all women subscribe to your practice of…accelerated mating habits." He stopped beside her as she launched herself into the saddle and set a steadying hand on her mount. She surprised him by laughing out loud…a full laugh that had him gazing up at her with a bit of awe.
"Words like 'deflower' are why you never get laid, Marshall." She cleared her throat and cocked an amused eyebrow. "I'd say she simply devours her mates, but her plans for you seem to involve a four course dinner.
He tried to counter the heat rising in his cheeks with a sneer, knowing she had seen the telltale color by the way she rolled her eyes while 'hupping' her horse into motion. "Watch your back," Mary called over her shoulder. "And shave your ass. Diane's really determined to get her hands on it."
"I don't have a hairy ass!" he called, then looked around quickly. No one. Thankfully. Her snort of amusement carried back to him and he slapped at the dirt on his jeans while he stomped after her. Damn woman. The day definitely had him off kilter, and it was time to get his head on straight.
-o-o-
"Darlin', you need to relax. That poor animal is about to scrape you off on the fence if you fight him much longer." Eliot's slightly amused correction grated on her nerves and only served to make her grip the reins more tightly. Marshal balked and tossed his head, stepping backwards despite her chanted 'whoas' until Eliot grabbed the bridle. He whispered to the irritated gray until it stopped dancing around and both males seemed to share an inside joke. Mary looked to the heavens and fumed.
It wasn't enough that she was hot and sweaty despite the cooler day, or that she seemed to be the only one of the small group of women in the corral to be incapable of coaxing her horse to walk the simple obstacle course. No. She had to grit her teeth and listen to her partner blatantly flirt with Diane and Sophie while they pretended to need assistance.
Enjoying the role, are we, partner? The voice in her head whined petulantly and she snorted at the unexpected twinge of hurt. Was she honestly having a mental hissy fit about Marshall's attentions to some oversized farm girl and her wingman? Diane was of as much interest to him as Eliot was to her…wasn't she? Just part of the job. An ancillary character that made the some of the insufferable aspects of undercover work just slightly more palatable. It wasn't like he was kissing Diane in the dark. Her mind immediately relived some of the tactile residuals of said kiss and Mary reflexively pulled on the reins.
Marshal's abrupt right turn and her own inattention resulted in Eliot's sharp 'whoa!' and Mary's yelp as she slid sideways from her perch while scrabbling frantically for the saddlehorn. Her foot caught in the stirrups, gravity reached out a fiendish hand, and she landed flat on her back in the dirt with a strangled cough. The horse, to his credit, stood still after she hit the ground and looked down at her with a satisfied grin.
"Stu-pid…" she gasped out as her shocked diaphragm slowly relaxed, noting the incredibly deep blue of the sky for the first time while she glared at the offending beast. A silhouette quickly blocked her view.
"Sweetheart, I sure hope you're not planning on dying now." Eliot knelt down next to her and looked her over. "Payday is Friday and I'd hate to have to take funeral costs out."
"She okay?" Mary heard the concern in Marshall's voice as he trotted over, and tried to catch her breath before he got to them. No need to stress her partner with her own stupidity…even if he was to blame for the distraction. She braced her arms and levered into a sitting position with a grunt and an assist from Eliot. "Peachy," she croaked.
Marshall stopped a few feet away, indecision written on his face. She knew he wanted to assess her himself, but that degree of familiarity would be out of place in their current roles. Instead, he had to trust Eliot's administrations. After settling for giving her a quick, visual once over, she saw the corner of his mouth twitch.
"Don't you dare laugh, asshole," she warned, now pushing herself to her feet, refusing any help from Eliot even as she stumbled into the side of her horse.
"Never crossed my mind," Marshall lied, his smirk growing.
Mary's resulting glower slowly transformed into a sly grin that had her partner's eyes widen slightly in apprehension. They may not be able to outwardly insult one another, but there were other ways to play the game. Brushing her hair back and resetting her hat, Mary grimaced and held her hand to her ribs as she addressed Eliot.
"Wow," she caught her breath purposefully, "I may have bruised a few ribs." She tugged her shirt free of her jeans to expose her side. "Do you think they're broken?"
Eliot approached with a concerned frown and leaned down to run his hand over the smooth skin, rumbling an assessing 'hmmm…' Mary looked over the top of his head to catch Marshall's eye. Hand on his hips now, he rolled his eyes and mouthed 'pathetic' before turning to amble back to the girls. Mary's chuckle died on a flinch as Eliot's probing fingers actually did hit a tender spot. "Ow! Jesus, you don't need to poke it."
"Just bruised," he announced, pulling her shirt down and smiling kindly, fingers lingering on her hip. She smiled back reflexively, suddenly sure many a woman fell victim to that crooked grin and those appealing dimples…the man was southern sex on a stick. A cocktail she had experienced before; potent and smooth, it kept you up all night. And the hangover came with a drawl.
"Guess I need to get back on that ride, hmm?" she asked, not completely released from his spell.
Eliot reached over to gather Marshal's reins, leaning in until his arm brushed across her breasts. His breath was close to her ear as he chuckled agreement, and Mary shivered as she thought of…Marshall. What!
"Sweeney!" Mary barely registered the shout and resulting loss of Eliot's attention while her mind chewed on the Freudian slip. He turned away as she slowly climbed back onto the gray.
Marshall watched Brad motion the wrangler over with an impatient wave as he approached the corral. The man had a stranger in tow; work clothes and a large tackle box with an electrician's logo on the side announcing his purpose. Keeping one eye on the women in front of him, Marshall tuned into the conversation by the fence.
"Eliot, grab a truck and head out to Redpoint barn. Apparently we aren't quite up to code." He jerked a thumb at the man beside him. "Keep an eye on him." The abrupt handoff complete, Brad turned to stalk back towards the main lodge. His mood had apparently not improved with the morning.
The men left standing at the fence quickly introduced themselves, then Eliot turned to glance questioningly at Marshall with a jerk of his chin towards Mary. "You got this?"
Marshall watched Mary lead her horse in a slow turn with a scowl on her face. She was distracted, but at least she was seated securely in the saddle. He reassured Eliot with a smile. "I'm pretty sure I'm not the one getting the short end of the stick." He got a rude salute in return before the men ambled off.
"So, Marshall," Diane reclaimed his attention. "How about leaving the youngsters in charge and joining us for a trail ride before lunch?" The invitation was benign, the sparkle in her eye was not. She rode around him slowly as the other women began to urge their horses towards the road, Mary forgotten at the far end of the arena.
"The invitation and all of its connotations are much appreciated," he said as he reached up to capture her mount's bridle and led them out of the corral, "but I have a feeling that if I leave Mary alone the youngsters may not survive until the dinner bell."
Diane pouted. Marshall smiled. "Do you really want to bunk with her if her day gets any worse?" His point made, he watched the resigned redhead and her friends ride down the road a few minutes later, their laughter floating back along with a few sassy waves. He was only allowed to indulge in the attention for a moment.
"When you're done pretending they're actually attracted to you, get the hell over here and show me how to make this idiot horse turn left." Mary had obviously left flirtatious by the wayside in favor of surly. He glanced around for any curious ears before sauntering back in her direction, but all the activity seemed to be concentrated in the stables across the way.
"The horse, as with most creatures that are subjected to your attentions, expects a certain level of consideration that it does not know you are unable to offer." He bit the inside of his lip in amusement as he approached. Her glare had darkened to a glower.
"Shut your hole and fix this damn animal," she warned.
He reached her and steadied Marshal, slapping Mary's hands away from the reins. "First, you've got these knotted too high. There's too much tension on his mouth and he thinks you want him to do too many things at once." Mary sat back in the saddle and looked dubious. "It's a little like walking into a hot zone with civilians inside knowing you've also got a sniper in the balcony. Hard to decide what takes precedence."
She grunted understanding. "I'm making him nervous."
"You make everyone nervous." He dodged her swing and the horse shied away causing her to grab the saddlehorn.
"Second," he drawled. "You need to stop making sudden movements…like that. I could expound upon the finer workings of the equine nervous system - "
"Please don't," she begged.
" – but suffice it to say that they are finely attuned to their rider's subtle cues. Especially a horse like this who's been conditioned by skilled riders. He's a professional…you're a rookie. You know how that feels in the field."
"Except I don't have a loaded gun and a propensity to let off flyers," she countered.
"Really?" he asked, eyebrow cocked. "And I suppose the big guy just decided to dump you on your ass earlier for no reason?"
She opened her mouth to reply, then snapped it shut, and he was almost sure there was a hint of a blush. "Fine," she huffed, subdued. "I know the drill. I just can't get him to follow the course, and there were too many people around."
Marshall returned the reins to her with a grin, squeezing her knee quickly in encouragement before stepping away. "Take him through again, slowly. I'll help you with the cues. Just like Des Moines."
Mary couldn't help but chuckle, shaking her head as she shot him a look. "I hardly think a game of blindfolded mini-golf is a valid comparison here."
"Who won the championship?" He teased, climbing up to sit atop the corral's fence. "I have a trophy if you've forgotten."
"It's a sickness, Marshall," she replied, lining the horse up with the course's starting posts. "You need help."
Mary took a deep breath and put effort into relaxing her shoulders and hips as she gently urged Marshal into the course. She let the horse have his lead, trying to only hint at direction with a knee and smooth movements on the reins. One barrel, two…Marshall's voice suggesting a shift in weight or a wider track from time to time the only interruption in her concentration. She thought she felt the horse relax beneath her by the time they made their second pass, a tactile expression of some trust, or at least a reluctant truce. Marshall made a show of clapping for her as she brought them out of the last gate and she tossed her head with a cocky grin.
"See? A little thigh action and they're putty in my hands," she teased.
He ignored the bait and crossed his arms in challenge. "Take it at a trot."
"What? Why? I just have to make it around the barrels for the points, right?"
Marshall shook his head slowly. "Accuracy and speed." He let her think for a minute. "Diane and Sophie both think they'll be the fastest, so don't worry about it too much. You can just go for the minimum points." The veiled insult hung in the air.
Mary knew the game. Saw the morsel of cheese in the trap and the twinkle in her partner's eye. She also remembered the too eager fantasies of a certain redhead voiced the night before. She'd be damned if Kansas was going to trump Jersey. Tossing a sneer in Marshall's direction, she wheeled the gray around to start the course again.
They weren't yet halfway through when Mary was nearly bounced out of the saddle, irritated and swearing as she was unable to match the rhythm of Marshal's trot. "Jesus! Whoa!...just, whoa!" The horse jostled to a stop. Her ass was going to hurt tomorrow. A dry chuckle from the fence grated on her nerves.
"I suppose you just want to ooze some Jedi-cowboy spooge all over that, too?" she dryly asked.
He raised his eyebrows. "So crude…but, yes, I do have a suggestion."
"Spill it, Tonto."
"In order to stay seated without abuse, you should practice what's called a 'posting trot.' It's a mirror image, in a way, of the horse's movement." He jumped down from the fence to walk towards her. "It's hard to describe, but I can show you…"
She had felt the heat creep up her neck into her face at his words, the hot tub discussion only too fresh in her mind, and quickly urged the horse back towards the beginning of the course. "No, no…that's okay. I know what it is. Let me just try it."
Marshall looked at her curiously. "You know it? Let me see you do it." His tone was decidedly skeptical. "And off the course. Just trot around the ring."
Mary turned the horse around with a muttered curse and sigh and gently kicked him into a slow trot. She had a moment of false confidence as the rhythmic gait seemed easily manageable, but it quickly turned to frustration and a flailing struggle to remain balanced as the mount sped up and his rider lurched sideways and grabbed at his mane.
"Don't drop the reins, Mare!" warned Marshall, himself trotting over to intervene. "Squeeze your knees together…drop down…slow him down…"
A minute later she was fuming silently as Marshall stood next to her trying not to laugh while the horse pawed at the dirt, once again denied his exercise. "That was most definitely not a posting trot," he said with a grin. "Let me just guide you through the motion a few times, give you the feel of it. It's more of a circular motion than straight up and down. Possibly even elliptical or ovoid - "
"Or a moot point if you keep talking." Mary set her jaw and stared him down.
Chastised, he tipped his hat at her and began to describe the rolling movements the rider would use to remain seated on the trotting horse. Counted out the straight-backed rise and fall that needed to accompany the slight forward thrust of the hips during the upward motion. Mary took the gray back out along the rail as she tried to follow his directions, murmuring her own count and mimicking his slightly comical motions as Marshall stood on solid ground. Her ultimate frustration closely matched that of the horse, and she again brought them to a stop.
"God dammit, Marshall," she barked, "I'm getting bruises where I shouldn't have bruises.
He winced. "I really just need to show you. Just hold on to the reins to keep him still."
She was too focused on the task at first to register the position of his hands as he reached up to grip her torso. One palm pressed to her abdomen, the other supporting the small of her back, he coaxed her through the movements. "Keep your back straight through the whole cycle. It's the hips that are going to absorb the front and back movement."
He slid his hand further down her back to press at the top of her pelvis, forcing the required tilt at the top of the rise, and her attention was suddenly drawn to a particularly non-bruised portion of her anatomy. Slow curls of heat were winding their way into her belly, following the lines of Marshall's long fingers as they curled just under her navel, and settling even lower. He was still encouraging her with smooth tones, but the words were no longer registering, and the cadence of his voice became seductive to her ear; coaxing her in a rhythm that needed little translation.
He wasn't sure at what moment instruction became more sensual than educational, but Marshall found himself pressing his hands more tightly against his partner's soft form as his words slowly faded away. Palms to fingers reached from hipbone to hipbone and he cradled the most intimate parts of her as he coaxed her movements. A slow, lazy rhythm that had him envisioning damp bodies sliding along each other while urgent moans filled the air. His hand settled lower onto her abdomen, his own body now tightening with urgency as he could feel her heat through her jeans, and he imagined he felt her thrust against his palm as he curled his other hand around the curve of her ass.
Mary brought her hand quickly to his, stilling any further movement, but trapping him against her zipper as she slowly settled back into her seat. "Marshall," she whispered, licking her lips and slowly bringing her eyes up to meet his, pupils similarly black with arousal. She felt slightly vulnerable in the saddle, offered to him in some way, and for a moment imagined herself straddling him as he explored her…pleased her. She leaned down towards him.
He wanted her. Wanted to drag her off that horse and have her wrap her legs around him while he gripped her ass and kissed her long and deep. But not now…not here. Pulling back slowly, he ran the fingers of one hand down along her inner thigh, watching the muscles bunch alluringly at his touch. "If there weren't eyes…" he explained, looking back at her to make sure she clearly understood his meaning.
Mary breathed deeply and tried to regain some semblance of reason as Marshall finally stopped torturing her with his touch, his hand now wrapped around her knee. There was no mistaking desire this time, no second guessing intentions. And her own reaction could no longer be ignored for what it was; she wanted Marshall.
"I think..." she swallowed and looked away as the words stuck in her throat. "I think it's time to stop thinking."
He stared at her silently until she again met his gaze. Blue eyes that reflected the sky somehow wary, expressing uncertainty that only encouraged her own resolve. "Marshall, I - "
"When we're done here, Mare." His voice was low and rough with emotion.
Any argument was forgotten as the voices of the returning riders reached them from the road, and Marshall stepped away from horse and rider to don his sunglasses and recover some of his wits. He watched Mary shade her eyes also, unwilling to offer a glimpse of vulnerability to any others.
"I have to run into town for some supplies tonight, and I'm going to stop by the hotel room to check on some of the satellite feeds and intel reports. I may need to call you, so keep your phone on you." He provided some focus for her. She nodded and gave him a tight smile before urging Marshal into motion in order to meet the returning riders.
"And, Mary?" he called to her with a grin before she had gone far. "You're going to get your ass kicked in those barrel races."
\/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/\/\
Dusk was best. The light of day carried clarity and purpose, and the chance of discovery was too great. The hunter could stalk…plot…but execution needed to wait until darkness began to creep into the sky. Wait too long and the night would set the prey on alert, instinct making them wary of shadows, reason making them cautious. It was then too late. The hour while lavender shadows faded to indigo was the time to strike. Simple anatomy was on his side; the eye unable to distinguish depth and color within the palette of blues, and his target was focused on attaining relative safety before nightfall, sure of surviving another day.
The man walked purposefully towards the door, close to the wall to disguise his silhouette. Another traveler returning to a temporary abode in a temporary town. He swiftly entered the motel room with the stolen key, closing the door behind him without turning on a light. He had time to wait. Time to adjust to the dark coolness of the room and peer curiously at the odd assortment of colored LEDs that decorated the desk and countertop. He was tempted. It would be easy to pocket some items of interest once he was done, but the risk was too great. Bring nothing…take nothing. The clothes on his back, the weapon in his pocket. He would leave with nothing more than another marker on a mental tally.
A chair in the corner sufficed for a perch as he silently sat and waited. Long enough to still his mind, but no so long he had to shift his weight. Parking lot lights flickered into full illumination outside the curtains and a shadow passed by the window. The man took a deep breath and lifted the weapon off his lap, the telltale sounds of a lock release bringing a small smile to his lips. They always come home.
He had only a moment after the door opened before the tall man silhouetted by the lights postured an alert; ambush quickly turning into an unfair duel. The hunter squeezed off two muffled shots and the man in the doorway fell immediately. A moment…two…and he was out of the chair towards the exit, carefully stepping over the fallen man's hat. Unexpected movement at his ankle and he looked down quickly.
Two more shots rang out into the night.
***Damn! Right when you think you've got a few things worked out... I'm thinking barrel races may be the furthest from many people's minds at this point. Please REVIEW! I love the love ;) ***