AN: Thanks to all for reading and reviewing! An enormous chunk of this chapter was accidentally deleted, and subsequently rewritten into (what I perceive as) an inferior version. Denny and Shirley are yet to arrive, but they will in the next chapter.

-...-...-

The poorly-insulated cottage was freezing in the early morning hours, and Liz had to wake at sunrise for a long day at work. She laid in the fetal position, with Red's nude form curled protectively around her, cocooning her in his warmth. When her alarm went off, she stirred only enough to swat at the snooze button. Red tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her flush against his chest as he groaned at the offensive interruption.

Liz's first waking thought was that she should have stayed at her home in the city, where she could have slept for another hour and a half. One of the farm's three cottages was occupied by two live-in stable hands, and she had given them Alistair's phone number to call in case of an emergency. In that hazy morning moment, she couldn't even recall why she'd decided to spend the night there in the first place.

Liz's second thought was that Red was a terrible influence. She'd spent half of her life hurtling face-first towards a career that no one falls into accidentally, but right there, in his arms, she couldn't have possibly cared any less about it. If Red didn't relinquish his hold the second time her alarm had sounded, she could have happily thrown it all away.

Okay, maybe not ALL of it...

... Which brought Liz to her third thought: She was woefully hyperbolic when sleep-deprived. Thank goodness that she didn't have any children.

-...-...-

At the end of her sixteen-hour workday, figuring out Ruger's western saddle, with its weird girth (or cinch or whatever cowboys called it) was truly the last thing Liz wanted to do. She dragged herself into the trailer and opened the tack trunk to examine its contents, hoping that she had been worried for nothing. She looped her forearm under the saddle's tree, gripping the horn with her other hand to lift it up, and with a throaty groan, she dropped it back into place again. Denny's ostentatious, chrome-adorned saddle had to weigh about fifty pounds.

Maybe she would have given it a try anyway, if Red had been there to help, but he wasn't. Alistair's warning echoed in her head, that Denny would be angry if he found out that his stallion had been ridden English style.

IF he found out.

Liz was planning to use the indoor arena, anyway. No one would ever know, right? And lucky for her, with all of the horses in for the night, even Hudson wouldn't be able to see her sneaking in to grab his saddle. Decision made, Liz slipped Ruger's bridle over her shoulder, grabbed his tote of grooming supplies, and snuck over to grab her favorite saddle.

She groomed both Ruger and Zonkey before slipping Hudson's saddle pad and then saddle onto the dapple grey mount. After tightening the girth, Liz stepped back to see how he looked. She walked a slow circle around him, examining his appearance from every angle. Something wasn't right.

The gap between the pommel and Ruger's withers was too large, and the tree was too narrow. Using it would put him at risk for blisters or soreness. Liz could have kicked herself. Denny's Andalusian was built much thicker than her Arabian. It was so obvious that even Zonkey seemed to be giving her a judgmental side-eye.

Well, fine, but she wasn't ready to fold just yet. Ruger let out a sigh as she slipped Hudson's saddle off of him. Eager to dispose of the evidence of her failure, she returned the saddle to the tack room, and by the time she returned, she had made a decision.

She'd just ride him bareback, of course.

Ruger eyed her suspiciously as she slipped the bridle over his head and the bit into his mouth, but he made no fuss over it. Just like Alistair said, Zonkey happily followed as she lead his friend from the stall.

It wasn't until she arrived at the indoor arena that she realized that mounting might be difficult without stirrups. After an unnecesary look around to be absolutely certain that no one would witness the graceless act, she dropped the reins, grabbed onto Ruger's withers, and scramble-climbed atop his back. He stood perfectly still for her, and Liz gratefully patted his shoulder. "Okay, that wasn't so bad, was it? You're a good boy."

She was also suddenly grateful for the Andalusian's low and wide withers, which suggested that her crotch was unlikely to be bruised. Red would probably appreciate that too.

After warming up with walking and some light trotting (or jogging?), she urged him into a canter (er, lope?). Liz's hair whipped back and streamed behind her as the cold air nipped her cheeks into a rosy pink. Within a short twenty minutes, she felt her quads and calves burning from the extra work demanded by riding bareback, but she didn't mind.

The arena's extra-wide door screeched as it suddenly slid open, spooking Ruger into a frenzied sideways leap. Liz grabbed onto his mane, nearly unseated. "Lizzie, are you okay?" Red called out to her. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to spook him."

Still trembling from the scare, Liz steered the stallion in his direction. "I'm fine. It's fine."

"You're not even wearing a helmet. You could have been killed!"

"I never wear my helmet," she replied.

"I know, but you should. I wish you would."

Liz eyed him, taking a deep breath as she calmed herself down, knowing it wasn't worth the argument. "Did you need something?"

His worry-turned-relief morphed into annoyance at the question. "No, not anymore. I came home and saw your car outside, but you were nowhere in sight. Would it have killed you to leave a note?"

"Only if not wearing a helmet didn't kill me first." Perhaps she should have apologized, but Liz wasn't in the mood.

Red couldn't help cracking a smile at her quick wit. "Ooooo, snarky."

Zonkey ambled over to him, and busied himself with digging into the large pockets of his overcoat. Finding them empty, he nudged Red's hand. "Are you telling me to pet you or to get you a treat?"

They were awfully cute together, Liz thought. "He probably wants both. You should pet him. Um, well, I guess we'll be finished up in here soon." She steered the stallion back towards the perimeter of the arena, and cued him into a canter. With Zonkey in tow, Red followed Liz halfway, coming to a stop in the center. He spun in a slow circle as he kept his shoulders squared towards her.

"Mind if I stay and watch?" he asked.

Liz sighed, knowing that he wouldn't accept 'no' for an answer. "Okay."

"I'm a little jealous, actually," he pouted, lips pursed.

Jealous? "Oh? Why's that?"

"I thought I was the only one you rode bareback." He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye.

"Keep whining and next time, I'll ride you hard and put you away DRY instead of wet."

Red gasped. "Whoa whoa whoa! Hold your horses!"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Ruger came to an abrupt, hoof-skidding halt, but inertia prevented Liz from doing the same. Launched forward without the stability of stirrups, she just barely managed to grab his mane in time to stay on. Rather than sitting back up again, she gathered the reins (which had become looped around her mount's ears), and gently wrapped her arms around the stallion's neck, crooning apologies into his ear.

It took Red several seconds to understand what he had just done. From the corner of her eye, Liz saw him approaching, but chose to ignore him. "Lizzie, sweetheart, I'm so sorry."

She briefly looked up to scowl at him, and then urged Ruger to go on. "You're here because of your concerns for my safety, and yet you alone have twice caused me to nearly fall."

"I know, and I'm sorry. Still, if you're thrown, no matter the cause, a helmet could save your life. I wish you'd reconsider."

Zonkey chose that moment to use Red's suit to scratch an itch on his muzzle, rubbing his face up and down Red's body, leaning against him so heavily that he nearly fell over.

Liz had to crack a smile. "Right. Well, if wishes were horses, beggars would ride."

Red saw an opportunity to humor her, and eagerly chased it. "I should have already known, when I bought it for you, that you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink."

Without missing a beat, Liz replied, "Enough with the helmet! You're just beating a dead horse."

He paused for a moment, in search of an appropriate reply. "It must be difficult to love a horse of a different color, like myself."

"No, RED, not usually. Don't worry, I won't be sending you off to pasture anytime soon."

Oh, she's good, he thought. "Pasture? Good. I'd much rather you retire me to stud."

"Look at you, turning horseplay back into foreplay again."

"Horses for courses, sweetheart. That's what I know. Now, about getting my turn.." Red trailed off suggestively.

"Are you asking me to hop on you now? The cart goes BEHIND the horse, dear, and not in front."

Red dramatically threw an arm across Zonkey's back. "Okay, I can't think of another. You win!"

She cued Ruger back down to a walk, ready to cool down. "Really? I could have gone all night."

Combing his fingers through Zonkey's spiky mane, Red looked up at her and winked. "Now, you're speaking my language..."

-...-...-...-

Lying in bed, the night felt backwards to Liz, somehow. Typically, after making love, she would quickly fall asleep, while Red slipped away to read and sip from a tumbler of scotch.

This time, woefully awake, she played the big spoon, idly combing her fingers through Red's chest hair as he almost immediately fell asleep. Liz fitted her forehead into the notch between his shoulderblades, intentionally syncing her breath with his, in hopes that it may lull her to sleep.

It didn't.

It wasn't long before she came to the conclusion that something needed to be worked out in her mind. Something nameless and faceless was sadisticly holding her hostage, and it was definitely about Red. It just had to be.

Something had been off about him lately. He was oddly... anticipatory? Nervous? Perhaps he was planning something, but if so, Liz could find nothing to suggest whether the plans were good or bad. She wondered if it was somehow tied with Denny's visit. That was the most obvious possibility, but without knowing why, it was tenuous at best. She swallowed the urge to wake him and ask, having learned long ago that Red never reveals anything until he's ready.

In the past, every time that Liz had found herself in a similar situation with Red, she couldn't help hoping that he was planning to propose to her. Of course, it always ended with a disappointed blow to her pride. Predictably, her mind went there once again.

Try as she might, her sleepless ruminations revealed little.