Wildcat (6 page)

Reutal picked up a bowl of blueberries and sprinkled them on top of the syrupy mess on his plate. “Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you, then, doesn’t it?”

“I believe I’ll leave that job for someone else.”

Reutal nodded at Drania. “She’d probably be happy to help, except I’m not sure she’s his type.”

“I’m not his type, either,” Sara said bluntly. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Yeah,” Zatlen said, “like who’s going to help me build up the fence around Danuban’s paddock?”

Reutal snorted a laugh. “Can’t keep him away from the cat, can you?”

The conversation had come right back to Jerden.
That
didn’t take long…
“I’m thinking it might be easier to leave him loose. With Jerden here, it’s not like he’s going to run off.” She paused, grimacing. “He’s probably already trampled my roses. I’m almost afraid to look.”

The main rose bed wasn’t directly beneath her window, but it was relatively close, and some of her oldest varieties were planted near the foundation. Destroying her roses was the one transgression that would be difficult to forgive. Horses may have been her livelihood and her passion, but roses kept her sane. Something about their scent and the way they responded to her care by producing such beauty affected her in a way that nothing else ever had. Gazing into the depths of a bloom while inhaling the intoxicating fragrance seemed to empty her mind, quieting the background noise of continuous thinking.

“I doubt it,” said Zatlen. “Too many thorns. He’d avoid them.” His words were dismissive, yet they contained a note of compassion.

Sara had seen the Tryosian sniffing the blossoms more than once, though whether they appealed to his masculine side or to his more feminine nature, she couldn’t have said. Maybe it didn’t matter. Either way, roses were good for the soul. “I sure hope you’re right. I’ve got some varieties that would be tough to replace.”

“I’d be more worried about what all of
his
animals are doing to your bed,” Reutal said. “You’ll have fleas all over the place.”

“I know.” Sara wasn’t sure she ever wanted to sleep in that bed again. The couch was sounding better all the time. If she slept there, at least Reutal couldn’t accuse her of messing around with Jerden while he was unconscious. “Vladen said something about treating the leopard for fleas. I’m just not sure I want to be the one to do it. Ulla seems to know Jerden’s pets pretty well. Maybe she can do it. Speaking of which, I need to call her back.”

The call proved unnecessary, however, for Ulla arrived just as Sara was finishing the after-breakfast cleanup and the others were heading out the door.

“Thought I’d come here first,” she said. “How is he?”

“Still out,” Sara replied.

“Still
gorgeous
,” Drania added with a sigh. “I hope he never leaves.”

Ulla snickered. “Don’t you have a boyfriend in Nimbaza?”

Drania’s ears twitched. “So what if I do? I’m not blind and I’m not dead. If you’d seen him come riding into the barn…”

“Ulla has seen him ride,” Sara admonished. “Though she probably
shouldn’t
have.” She paused, wiping her wet hands on a towel. “I was about to call you, Ulla. Jerden’s pets followed him here, and even that dratted stallion has his head stuck in the window. Don’t suppose you’d care to check the leopard for fleas, would you?”

“I could,” Ulla replied. “But I bet I won’t find any. Jerden takes really good care of his animals. I’ve seen him brushing them. Sometimes he’s at it for hours.”

Sara couldn’t help but feel relieved. “That’s one less thing to worry about.”

Reutal’s eyes danced with mischief. “Yes, and you can climb right in with him tonight without a care in the world.”

“Ha! Not with that leopard in there. It was bad enough with her sleeping on the floor last night. There won’t be room for me. We should probably turn him, though. Want to give me a hand, Ulla?”

“Sure.”

“The rest of you can head on out to the barn. I’ll be there in a little bit.”

Ulla followed Sara into the bedroom. Danuban no longer had his head in the window, but was grazing in the yard nearby. Cria had shifted slightly, almost as though making room for them to turn Jerden. “If we can get these cats off him, it shouldn’t be too hard. He’s like a wet rag.”

“Funny how they do that, isn’t it?” Ulla asked. “It’s really scary when they’re babies. You think they’re dead, but they aren’t.”

Sara nodded. “Yeah, that
would
be scary. They’re completely helpless, too. It’s a very odd trait—but useful, I suppose.”

Though Sara probably could’ve done it alone, she was glad Ulla was with her. The animals seemed to know her, except for the little terrier that barked in protest the moment they began.

“I’ve never seen that little yappy dog before,” Ulla said. “What is it, anyway? It looks like a rat.”

“She’s a Yorkie,” Sara replied with a chuckle. “You sound just like my father. He never
could
stand those little lap dogs.”

“Doesn’t seem like Jerden’s type, either. Somehow I can’t see her running up the mountainside with him.”

“Probably not.” Sara gathered up Jerden’s hair and spread it out on the pillow. “How do they
ever
keep this long, curly hair from getting all matted up?”

Ulla smiled. “Mom loves combing Dad’s hair. She likes the way it makes him purr.”

Sara let that remark pass. It seemed too… intimate, aside from the fact that it didn’t answer her question. “At least he isn’t tossing and turning all the time. With him lying so still, it should stay fairly neat.”

“If it doesn’t, you just have to start at the ends and work your way up.”

“Like combing a horse’s tail?”

Ulla nodded.

“Speaking of horses, you need to go get Akira saddled for your lesson.”

“Sure thing,” Ulla said brightly. “Let me know if you need any help with this lot.” She gave the Yorkie a pat on the head and left, closing the door behind her.

Shaking her head, Sara glanced around what had once been her bedroom—a room that had become a zoo overnight. Every one of the cats and dogs was gazing at her, their eyes steady and calm, almost as if they had a message to convey.

This, too, shall pass…

Sara didn’t doubt that for a moment. As she smoothed the covers over Jerden’s shoulder, the warmth of his body crept into her psyche, creating waves of contentment. The leopard seemed to sense something similar, yawning as she lounged onto her back, licking her paw in a languid manner. The Yorkie curled up in the bend of Jerden’s knee, and the calico cat sat perched like a sentinel on his hip. Her own bobtailed cats, Kate and Allie, were nestled between Jerden and Cria. “You traitors,” she muttered. The rest of the menagerie surrounded him, pinning him beneath the blankets. He couldn’t have fallen out of bed if he tried.

With a reluctant sigh, Sara propped the back door open when she left for the stable. Allowing animals—and probably a lot of insects—to come and go from her house at will went against her better judgment, but she couldn’t see that she had much choice. Nevertheless, she had a sneaking suspicion that a house full of fleas would turn out to be the least of her worries.

Fearing the worst, Sara pulled on her leather gloves and rounded the house with her pruners and hoe in hand. Fortunately, though she found hoofprints between the climbing Don Juan and the Joseph’s Coat, the stallion’s legs showed no evidence of scratches, and the plants were undamaged. If he’d trampled the Burgundian or the cabbage roses—varieties which were every bit as ancient as the Andalusian breed itself—she and the stallion would’ve had words. She sighed with relief, grateful for whatever whim had dictated that she not plant any roses directly beneath her window and also for Danuban’s relatively dainty feet. “You are one lucky fellow, Danny boy.”

Without even raising his head, the stallion glanced at her and continued grazing on the strip of short turf between the rose beds.

“Going to do double duty as a lawn mower?”

Danuban shook his head and snorted.

Sara snipped the dead blooms off the nearest bush. “It
is
rather beneath you. By the way, Vladen assures me that Jerden will recover. Just wish I knew what was wrong with him.” Cocking her head, she fixed a quizzical gaze on the horse. “You probably know exactly what’s ailing him, don’t you? Too bad you couldn’t have taken him somewhere else—though if you had, you wouldn’t be here, either. Would you?”

Danuban apparently thought the answer was obvious because he ignored her question and kept right on nibbling at the grass.

“Yeah, right,” she muttered. “Shut up and get on with your chores, Sara.” Truth be told, she didn’t consider tending the roses to be a chore. Roses were therapy.

After she’d finished the pruning, she picked up her hoe. Cultivating around the bushes was a relatively simple task, which was fortunate because she could scarcely keep her eyes off the stallion.

She had nearly finished weeding the last bed when a gray leaf caught her eye. Picking it up, she turned it over in her hand, noting with relief that the edges were smooth, rather than serrated. She’d been fooled by that one before. “Not juluva weed, thank God. You don’t need to be eating any of
that
stuff.”

Danuban edged closer, and as she bent to pull another weed, he nudged her in the butt, driving her onto her knees. “Thanks a lot, buddy.” Ignoring her attempt to push him away, he nudged her again. “Oh, so now you want to be friendly, do you? Okay, fine, but you are
not
coming in the house.”

Still kneeling, she turned to face him. His dark, intelligent eyes gazed at her through a forelock so long and thick it nearly reached the tip of his nose. His ears pricked toward her as she trailed her fingers through his hair, unable to avoid comparing it to Jerden’s. “Your hair is very pretty, but his is softer and curlier.” Raising his head, Danuban nipped at her cropped locks. “And, yes, both of you have more hair than I do.”

There was a reason for that. Throughout her childhood, Sara’s hair had been practically orange and completely unmanageable, and though braids might’ve controlled the frizziness, she had never been able to endure the ridicule of her classmates long enough to make it past the “clown” stage. As an adult, her unruly hair had darkened to a coppery tint, but since shorter hair suited her lifestyle, she saw no point straightening it or letting it grow. She left the long, romantic locks to her horses.

And
to
Jerden.

There was no denying that his hair was romantic, whether he behaved in a romantic manner or not. He could’ve easily passed for a swashbuckling pirate, a poet, or an ancient warrior. Like Danuban, Jerden was beautiful without even trying.

Sara, on the other hand, saw herself as a tall, plain woman with fiery hair and not even the volatile personality to go along with it. Everything around her was beautiful—the horses, the roses, and the lush, green landscape—but she was simply their unlovely caretaker. She told herself it didn’t matter, but the twinge of regret near her heart said otherwise.

Giving Danuban a quick pat on the nose, she got to her feet. Once her task was complete, she went to the arena for Ulla’s lesson.

Ulla was already in the arena, warming up. A dappled gray Arab gelding with a silvery mane and tail, Akira was one of the first horses Sara had bred, and he’d won ribbons for her in many a show. Though past his prime, he made an excellent lesson horse—responsive, willing, and tolerant of novice riders.

Sara leaned over the rail. “How’s he going for you today?”

“Fine,” Ulla replied as they trotted by. “I think he likes me.”

“He’s always been a sweetie. I couldn’t bring myself to leave him behind when I came here from Earth. He’s almost like a son.”

The
only
kind
of
son
I’ll ever have.
Sara had never had a child of her own and probably never would. Bonnie, on the other hand, had seven. The disparity would’ve rankled if Bonnie’s road to happiness had been an easy one. She’d been used to the point that she’d sworn off men completely before she had no choice but to hire Lynx to help her on the farm. Pregnant and alone with a pen full of nasty enocks, Lynx had come to her rescue, albeit reluctantly.
Maybe
that’s what I’ll have to do to get a man… swear I wouldn’t take one if he was offered to me on a silver platter.

But
do
I
really
want
one?
She glanced toward the house. Jerden was right there in her bed—the closest thing to a platter she could imagine—though he
was
unconscious. Perhaps comatose men were the best kind. They were certainly less trouble.

Horses were better. Horses and roses. They gave back what you put into them. Men had a tendency to take what was offered and never give anything in return.

Not
all
of
them, surely…

Returning her attention to Ulla, she saw that Akira had taken the opportunity to get a little lazy and had his nose up in the air. “See if you can get him to round up a little. Wiggle the bit and give him more leg.”

She thought it odd to be giving such simple, basic instructions when Danuban was trained in classical dressage—even the airs above the ground. She’d waited all her life to have a horse capable of the spectacular leaps that the war horses of old had been trained to do. She still recalled the colors and movements as she’d watched the Lipizzaner stallions performing at the Spanish Riding School in Vienna—a tradition that dated back at least fifteen hundred years. Even as a child, their precision and power had given her chills.

Now she was here on a new world, working to establish similar traditions on a planet halfway across the galaxy, populated with alien beings and life forms not nearly as beautiful as horses. Horses were Earth’s gift to the galaxy. Nowhere else had such a creature evolved that evoked the same sense of romance and beauty. There were horses on Statzeel, but even they had their origins on Earth. She marveled at how easily they adapted to new planets, adjusting to riders and handlers who weren’t even human—though she was at a loss to explain why she thought it would matter to them.

She glanced toward the house where Danuban still grazed, never straying far from her bedroom window, occasionally sticking his head inside as though checking up on the Zetithian. The way he had bonded with Jerden was uncanny, though Andalusians were known to be selective. She would have been fascinated by the phenomenon if only it hadn’t irked her that the horse she’d waited a lifetime for had chosen someone else.

Studying Akira’s movements, she called out more instructions to Ulla. Reminding herself that Danuban had seemed friendlier helped to soothe her, though the slight hurt remained. She ought to sell the stallion to Jerden and start over. Or pay him stud fees. It was a workable situation, except for that feeling of being denied, left out—no,
ruled
out—because she was somehow undeserving or inferior. Judged and found lacking, like the first-round elimination in a horse show, as though her best was simply not good enough. Men had always made her feel that way, and now a horse was doing it.

Blanking out these thoughts, she went on with the lesson, fine-tuning Ulla’s seat, hand position, and subsequently Akira’s performance.

Afterward, she went on with her day—fixing lunch, riding the young horses, making dinner—all the while listening to the chatter of those around her and trying not to think about what would happen that night. She sat out on the porch until darkness began to fall and a storm rolled in from the east, forcing her indoors. Danuban should be safe in his stall, not standing out in the rain, but he refused to budge. Sara could catch him now—the fact that he wore a halter helped—but he wasn’t leaving Jerden without a fight, and fighting was the last thing she felt like doing.

Exhaustion had crept up on her, gradually sending her thoughts toward sleep—and her bed, which was now filled with animals—and Jerden. A shower and a change into a nightgown must’ve given his pets a clue, for Cria raised her head as Sara entered the room. The big cat rose to her feet, jumping as lightly from the bed to the floor as any house cat. The dogs followed suit and were soon joined by the remaining cats. A moment later, she heard them crunching on the food she’d put out for them—food which they’d previously ignored. A quiver ran up her spine, the bizarre nature of their behavior overridden by the notion that they seemed to be changing shifts—she would sleep with him at night while the animals stood watch over him by day.

Turning him onto his back, as the light from the bedside lamp illuminated the planes of his face, Sara could see no change in him, no lifting of the stupor into which he had fallen. That he truly was a beautiful man was easy to see, yet she knew that beauty wasn’t everything. Pulling back the covers, she checked for fleas at the foot of the bed and didn’t find a single one. When she climbed in beside him, she turned away from him, refusing to succumb to the temptation of the previous night. Turning out the light, she settled in to sleep, doing her best to shake the notion that she had simply been biding the hours of the day until she could lie with him that night.

“Don’t be silly,” she admonished herself. “Just go to sleep.” Perhaps he would wake up in the morning and go home, taking his menagerie with him. Life would return to normal. What were the odds that Danuban would let him go home and not follow him? As she closed her eyes, she knew it wouldn’t help for Jerden to leave. What was normal before had already changed, perhaps irrevocably.

***

As always, with the increase in his respiratory drive, Jerden’s sense of smell was the first to return. Though his brain took longer than usual to process the scent, even before he could feel her warmth, he knew she was there.
Sara
Shield
. Her own unique essence mingled with a floral fragrance that was still hers and hers alone. Unmistakable, yet given her attitude toward him—or lack thereof—he thought it strange that she should be so close, the merest breath away.

Muscular control reawakened slowly, and his keen hearing detected her breathing and that of something else. A purring sigh confirmed his suspicions. Cria was still with him. One other thing hadn’t changed. Sara’s scent held no trace of desire, and even though sleep would have kept it at low ebb, he should have been able to detect it.

Opening his eyes, the light from the crescent moon was more than enough to reveal that he was in her bed. Thinking back, he recalled being put there after that last wild ride. He’d been ill—or insane—but whatever had incapacitated him was gone now. He was able to move, to breathe, to feel. Sara lay facing away from him on the far side of the mattress, their bodies in no contact whatsoever. Clearly, she was only there in case he required care or assistance, not to take advantage of the fact that there was a man in her bed. She probably felt safe, thinking he wouldn’t awaken until morning. Turning carefully in the direction of Cria’s purr so as not to disturb Sara, he saw the leopard lying on the floor nearby. She looked up at him, her yellow eyes glowing in the darkness as he reached down to stroke her broad head.

“We should go now,” he whispered.

The big cat yawned and eased her head back down on her front paws as if to say,
No, not now… I’m resting—and you should too.

“I’ve rested enough.” He didn’t want to be there when Sara woke up. Her lack of desire should have been comforting, but it wasn’t. It hurt.

A stray thought made him cock his head, searching his mind for traces of the nightmares that had plagued him. They weren’t there.

Had he been healed? But if so, of what? Madness? Frowning, he inhaled deeply and rolled onto his back, his eyes open wide as he gazed at the dark ceiling above him. A breeze wafted in through the open window, and he heard a sound he knew well.
Danuban.
He knew the name now; he’d heard Sara say it the night she’d found him on her porch. It fit him—regal, proud, distinctive. Glancing toward the sound, he saw the stallion’s head, silhouetted against the pale moonlight. If he went out and mounted the horse now, would Danuban take him home? Was that why he was there, waiting?

Then Jerden realized that it hadn’t been a nightmare that had awakened him. Nor had it been the earsplitting neigh that had so often snatched him from the hell of his dreams. It was something else entirely.

The
scent
of
despair.

Animals didn’t feel that emotion, at least, he’d never associated it with them. Sara was the only possible source.
She
feels
despair
in
her
dreams?
He hadn’t picked it up when she’d been awake. Perhaps it only visited her at night.
Like
my
nightmares.
He didn’t envy her. His own dreams were filled with guilt, regret, and impotent anger… but not the depths of pain that now emanated from Sara.

Audrey’s death had affected him in ways he could have expected under the circumstances. She had been murdered because of her relationship with him. Knowing that his own greed and arrogance had played a part in the tragedy made matters even worse. If he’d remained on Terra Minor and not gone to Rhylos—never sold himself in a brothel—he would never have met Audrey, and perhaps she would still be alive. He had these demons to plague him night and day, and he knew their source.