The Bavarian Hunter, a gast haus owned by friends, is as easily familiar to all of us as our own homes. Veronica glances around at the nine of them, sitting on the huge open deck next to a blazing fire. Surrounded by the glow of good friends, good wine and wonderful conversation, she basks in contentment, sprawled lazily, belly down, on a long wooden bench, happy that all is well with the world.
It is sheer irony that her world is poised on a cusp, completely unknown to her.
She turns her face away from the heat of the fire, glancing out at the horses. Indigo’s white blaze glows eerily from the middle of the grassy field, the rest of his black body disappearing into the shadows, liquid eyes reflecting golden in the shimmering firelight. Watching him approach as if sensing her thoughts he ducks his big head low to the bars, back and forth, a low, quiet rumble, one of greeting that issues quietly through the crisp night air.
Startled, she realizes she’s had far more wine than is normally her habit, her senses taking several moments to focus on the dark form sitting on the bottom rail of the fence. She can see the ghostly pale of a palm, reaching out to stroke the sleek black nose lightly, and in a momentary flare of the fire she can see the other hand wrapped around something round. Something sweet and edible to judge from Indy’s greedy acceptance and soft, grumbled whicker.
He blends with the shadows nearly as well as the horse, his black jeans and dark blue shirt making him almost invisible, the only thing giving him away is the white band of beads around the tops of his moccasins. Veronica admits she’s been admiring the moccasins all evening; long, knee high and obviously hand beaded with traditional Sioux patterns in greens, blues and blacks.
They’d gone to college together, just like everyone here tonight, but had always shared ties that brought them closer, intimately closer and, sadly, had separated them from each other in the end. One was an interest in Native American traditions and culture, the other a heartfelt compassion for the plight of the North American timber wolf.
They’d wound up pursuing their interests in different directions, Stosh heading out to the Nez Perce country (Idaho) to rejuvenate the dying wolf population on tribal lands. She’d chosen to pursue the Universities study program in the Boundary Waters, studying breeding habits, habitat and population of the magnificent beast in northern Minnesota.
*****
She’d been late, as usual; or more accurately, later than usual, riding in an hour after the party started, but still in plenty of time for cocktails. She’d freed Indigo from his gear and into the paddock, piling everything on the hitching post and leaned up against the fence for a moment, enjoying Indigo’s playful abandon with LeeAnne’s mare Beauty, when muscular arms slipped around her waist squeezing lightly, strong hands pinning her smaller hands to the fence on each side of their bodies. She’d cried out, softly, startled, Indigo’s head turning in their direction, ears going flat to his head as he barreled past Beauty in her direction. She’d felt warm lips nuzzle the tender skin of her neck and arched backwards, turning her head toward the figure behind her.
“Stand still.” The quiet decisive command issued between them in tones as familiar as her own and her body recognized them too. She also registered intriguing differences in bulk and mass, relaxing into his grip as Indigo pulled to an outraged halt in front of them. With both hands pinned to the rail her resources were limited to a soft, soothing voice and the gentle blow of her breath against flaring equine nostrils, her eyes staring intently into the distrustfully rolling black eyes in front of her.
“What a beautiful animal,” she was amused to hear his tone, but not surprised. Indy was a stud with a rare blend of temperament and striking good looks, just like the man behind her.
“Well, thank you Sir,” Veronica’s playful voice teased with a faux southern drawl, turning his statement into a double entendre as she twisted in his grip toward him, her back against the rough wood of the corral. There was, for just a moment, a gleam she didn’t understand deep in his eyes, and then it disappeared.
“You never could follow directions and I was talking about the horse behind you,” his voice, amused and confident, was deeper than she remembered, and held an inflection she didn’t quite know how to take. His grip opened to accommodate her new position before tightening around her wrists briefly before he dropped them altogether. A small part of her shivered and regretted the loss of his touch.
Indigo’s heavy breathing blew her long blonde hair into disarray while he settled his jaw lightly against her head, turning those huge malevolent eyes on Stosh with open hostility. “Compliments will get you nowhere with this beast,” she laughed, turning to the right and kissing Indy’s velvet muzzle. “I think he’s jealous.”
“He’s yours?” His eyes never left the horse’s, his stare just as intent as Indigo’s while he raised a hand slowly toward his nose. Her own rose with his in concern before his stiffened posture made her retract it. Surprisingly, Indy allowed his touch, once, before he shook him off and headed back toward Beauty.
“Well, I guess I’m kind of his, really.” Another chuckle and she watched in fascination as Stosh’s eyes turned to hers, intently, searching, before his mouth turned up at the corners, laughter lighting those deep black eyes; his smile, the white teeth gleaming against copper skin, perfect and stunning.
“You were always so independent, I can’t believe I’m hearing that from you.” Somehow, the amusement in those eyes contained the hint of something…a shadow unknown and unrecognized and it brought a thrill of excitement coursing through her senses.
“Well, he’s bigger than I am.” She shrugged, brushing away the twinge of unease, unsettled.
“Is that what it takes?” Now, definitely, there was meaning between the lines as his eyes searched hers deeply for a moment, finally pulling back and away with a sigh. “Come on, you’re late as usual,” his tone was neutral, one hand grabbed hers pulling her toward the deck, two strides to his one. Rounding the upper landing, his body swung into hers, lithesome and graceful like a predator, his face descending in a brief, hungry kiss. “I’ve missed you, Kashna.” The old endearment brings a lump to her throat - Lakhota for beloved – and then the group welcomed them.
*****
Gazing quietly up into the night sky from her sprawl she reflects sadly how little they’d said to each other since then. Reaching for her wineglass she picks it up foolishly by the rim, staring into space, and of course it breaks, a shard cutting deeply into the soft flesh of her thumb. Jerking her hand away with a startled gasp of dismay, she drops the remaining pieces. As they fall, Stosh’s tall, masculine form appears like a ghost at her side, one powerful hand grabbing her wrist. Her senses flood with confusion, realizing he’d climbed the decking in front of her to appear so suddenly…and that he’d been watching her from the shadow.
“Let me see.” His voice is tight with concern as he kneels beside her, strong fingers stroking her wrist soothingly as he uncurls her fingers from their protective wrap around the damaged digit.
Veronica looks at him, surprise and a shy happy glow lighting her features. God she misses his touch. His fingers are delicate, opening her clenched hand gently, eyes focusing on the half inch slice across the tip of her thumb, a splinter of glass shining from within the cut. She eyes the shard with concern, pulling back against his grip and he tightens his fingers, staying her hand. “Hold still girl. It’s not deep, but there’s glass inside it yet. Stay put.”
Rising in an easy, fluid movement he disappears inside returning quickly with a band-aid and a bottle of peroxide. “Trust me?” His voice holds that amused note again, but his eyes are intent.
