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Hunter’s Crossing

BY

Nya Rawlyns

EXCERPT

 

 

Hannah’s Choice:
The older woman stood and wrapped an arm about her shoulders, gently guiding her toward the screen door. “Gut. Let’s get you to the arena. Hans is waiting for you.”
Hans was waiting for…? Huh?
“Uh, um. Hans? Waiting for what?”
“Your first lesson. He wanted to start with his most promising student today. Best hurry, dear.” Deadpan, she intoned, “Hans doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Oh hell, no! 
She clocked Mach Five on the run to the tack room. Scooping up a beater saddle—an old, frayed Wintec that she knew fit D-Mae—she threw an almost clean square saddle pad over top, and the longest girth she could find. The bridle hung shiny clean because it was a von Freund rule: always, always, swipe it with a damp cloth after every ride, making sure the bit was pristine. At least one thing in her tack arsenal was spotless.
AnnaLise had called down for Juan to groom D-Mae and pick her feet, so the mare was ready to go as she skidded into the barn. Juan gave her a thumbs-up and took the saddle and pad, making short work of tacking up. The mare looked bored until Juan unclipped the crossties and led her toward the arena. Hannah followed more slowly, collecting her thoughts. Usually a ‘damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead’ type—thanks to her eventing days—she’d gotten into the habit, under Dietrich’s patient tutelage, of taking a moment to visualize what she hoped to accomplish.
Normally that visualization ran along the lines of a square halt at ‘X’, perhaps followed by ‘deep into the corner’—but beyond that? Mostly ‘please God, don’t let me make a fool of myself again’ sufficed.
She entered the barn and stopped dead.
Hans stood there, flipping his dressage whip. If he’d looked stern and unforgiving before, now he’d added a few layers of menace to the overall effect. How someone so blonde and devastatingly handsome could look dark and dangerous would forever be one of those unsolved mysteries. Hannah got a mental flash of the evil henchman twirling his mustache as the heroine lay struggling on the railroad tracks and figured today was a good day to die.
So much for frigging visualization techniques. Thanks bunches, Dietrich.
“Komm hier, Fräulein. Bitte … come here.” He pointed to a hallowed spot next to him.
She was wondering if she had to take a knee or curtsey. After all, it wasn’t often you got German dressage royalty to give you your first lesson on your first dressage horse on the first day of the rest of your life.
She took a huge breath—stretching Jess’ too-tight tank top just short of seam-busting—preparing for the hundred-meter dive for the oyster. Hans’ pupils expanded, ringed in deep sapphire, the dark sandy eyebrows prominent, a single line drawn tight. Clearly she had his undivided. What wasn’t clear was undivided what…
Okay, enough with the foreplay.
Hannah strode forward, all alpha mare, intent on invading his personal space as she entered the Ninth Circle of Hell.

*****

The Sweet Scent of Alfalfa:

AnnaLise sagely said, “You and Michael. Of them all, I am proudest of you two. My wild ones.”   
Blushing, Jess filled the tumblers with ice from the small fridge behind the desk and sloshed a generous dollop of Grey Goose over the cubes. Sighing with pleasure, AnnaLise extracted two and ran the cubes around her face and neck. Jess chugged her vodka and followed suit, stroking the rapidly melting handful of ice along the top of her sports bra. She eased the cup lower to access her cleavage.
Both women looked up in surprise at the sound of a strangled gasp. Andy stood in the doorway, face stained a painful crimson, his eyes locked on Jess.
Grinning wickedly, Jess turned to face Andy squarely, still dragging the ice along her neck and chest.  
“Did you want something cold, Andy?”
Andy blinked, clearly not sure how to respond. Silence hung heavy in the turgid air as the man’s face morphed from embarrassment to lust. He’d had the hots for her ever since he’d started delivering hay to the equestrian center three years before. But he’d hung back, never quite ready to approach her, just like some moonstruck teenage kid. What he might not know was how much she’d envisioned making hay with his luscious muscular body.
Then Rick showed up at her day job, all drop-dead gorgeous and sweep ‘er off her feet. Mr. Possessive and Needy had gobbled up all her free time for almost two years, much to Anna’s dismay. When the choices boiled down to horses or him, it had been a no-brainer. 
Lately she’d been wracking her brain to figure out a way to get Andy into a proper frame of mind. To say he was painfully shy would not be putting too fine a point on it.
He was mid-forties, single—and if his smokin’ hot laser stare was any indication… What the hell was he waiting for? The ice cube weeped over her super-heated flesh, leaving droplets to wander over the soft mounds. Andy’s gaze remained riveted on her chest as he mindlessly rubbed his palms over sweat-soaked jeans.
AnnaLise decided a rescue was in order. “I’ve got your check right here, Andy.”  She ripped the check from the ledger and handed it to him—or at least she tried but the stricken man refused to budge, rooted to the spot with blind panic and desire warring for supremacy. Jess was afraid he’d keel over in a faint soon.
AnnaLise said, “Jess, get Andy something to drink. He looks overheated.”
Jess grinned. Overheated indeed, and it had nothing to do with the temperature outside. If ever there was a time to push the man’s buttons, now certainly seemed like the perfect opportunity. With a glance at AnnaLise—who winked suggestively before ducking her head to stifle the laughter threatening to bubble out—she bent suggestively toward the mini-fridge on the tack room floor, her riding pants snugging tight on her rounded butt. She could almost feel the heat pouring off his body, like a tsunami of desperate need.
She felt a little guilty for toying with him so mercilessly. Normally it wasn’t her style. She much preferred honest and direct, though that approach managed to get most guys headed in the other direction faster than her mare bolting out of the starter box on a cross-country course.
How could a man who looked that delicious be such a klutz when it came to making the first move? Part of the problem was that he only came around the farm a few times a year, mostly like today, delivering hay that he made off his fields down in South Jersey. She got that he lived far enough away to make it awkward to get together—that and the fact that he couldn’t get two consecutive sentences strung together around her.
Damn, why am I making excuses for him? What’s Michael always saying … fish or cut bait?
AnnaLise offered to find something from the house, unable to keep the mirth out of her voice. Jess heard the door close, leaving her with one simmering hunk of lust. She grabbed a bottle of Poland Spring water from the cooler and stretched catlike, the sports bra tightening uncomfortably over her damp skin.
While she’d been postering and day-dreaming about how to change want to do, the man had moved into the tack room and positioned himself by the desk only a few feet from her. As her gaze swept from his Doc Marten’s along the length of leg and slim hips, she couldn’t help noticing the telltale bulge and her own flush as heat spread from her groin up her neck, leaving the tips of her ears flaming hot.

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