No Brand On My Pony

This story is my entry in the

Literotica 2022 Valentine's Day Story Contest

. It's also my entry in the

2022 Pink Orchid writers event

, so maybe it isn't a very usual Romance. Happy Valentine's Day, and happy reading.

I almost overlooked her until she smiled, and then I tipped my Stetson and asked, "How's that cocoa?" Had to say

something,

right?

To me, she looked like a refugee from some religious cult. She stood on the sidewalk in the glow from a gallery window while snowflakes swirled around her. She nursed her drink, and studied the fanciful landscapes in the display.

"It keeps my hands warm," she said and inhaled the fragrant steam from the cup. "Tastes good, too."

It was a little dark on the sidewalk, but I didn't see any sign of makeup. Her red hair—I thought it was red—hung down the back of her quilted jacket in a long braid, and her flat-heeled shoes barely peeked from under the hem of her dress. I thought she was kinda pretty for a refugee.

She took one hand off her cup long enough to motion to the pictures in the window. "Santa Fe is just

filled

with Georgia O'Keefe wannabes."

I jammed my hands deep into the pockets of my sheepskin jacket and shrugged. "I guess it still sells." The weather had changed without much warning, and I envied her hand warmer. "Where did you get the cocoa?"

"There's a little cart." She glanced past me, west down Palace Avenue to the crowd of Black Friday shoppers in front of the palace, and she touched my elbow. "Come on. I'll show you."

I was a little surprised when she stepped close and nudged me along the covered walkway. "Thanks," I said. "Name's Adam—Adam Cruz."

We stepped around a laughing foursome that lurched out of The Shed before she said, "I'm Hope Hallam."

"With a name like 'Hope,' you should be an optimist.'"

"I'm an architect," she said. "My parents were optimists. They had Hope." That had to be a practiced reply, but it made me laugh. I decided she probably wasn't a religious refugee.

We found the vendor's cart under the portal just a block away, and I had a steaming cup of cinnamon-spiced Mexican cocoa in my hands when we found a bench on the plaza.

Hope seemed to have an interest in me. I didn't know why, but I wanted to find out. I waited until she threw her empty cup away and settled on the bench next to me. "Tell me, ma'am, how do I deserve all this attention?"

She glanced up and laughed. "I like your hat. I want to find out what you have under it."

I took my Stetson off and ran my fingers through my hair. "Nothing special." I dropped the hat on Hope's head, and it fell to her eyebrows. "Now maybe it has something special under it." She tipped the hat back to look at me, and I motioned to her clothing. "Do you always dress like this?"

Hope plucked at her long dress. "Like this? It's how I dress. It's comfortable and I don't get hit on as much." Her eyes searched my face before she went on. "I have to be careful. Sometimes the men who

do

hit on me are looking for a victim."

I tapped my hat onto my head when she handed it back, and I said, "Don't need a victim."

"You haven't hit on me, either." Hope found a scarf in her pocket and tied it over her hair. The snow was falling harder.

I tipped my cocoa cup toward the crowd of shoppers. "I wanted to get a Christmas present for my sister back in Santa Rosa, but I think that'll wait."

Hope touched my hand. She seemed a little distracted when she asked. "Is that where you're from?" I watched her for a moment without answering, and she looked up. "I like your hands. They're big and rough."

"And yours are small and soft." I crushed my empty cup and tossed it into the trash with hers. "From right near there, but that was fifteen years ago."

Maybe I would have hit on Hope right about then. I don't know because her telephone rang first. She found it in her jacket pocket and checked the number. "I left my friends at La Fonda and told them I'd meet them on the plaza."

Hope held the phone to her ear and watched me while she talked. "Ready now? I'll meet you at the corner across from the hotel." She put the phone away and we both stood. "Will you walk with me?" She tucked her hand around my arm, and pulled herself close. "You're warm. I like that."

"Setting the bar pretty low," I said.

Hope covered her mouth and laughed, and I asked, "Are you from here?"

She flipped her hand to the west. "I'm from LA. I moved out here about three years ago—after my divorce. I thought it would be a good place to find myself, and it has been." Hope stayed quiet for a few steps, then asked, "You're from Santa Rosa, but what do you do here?"

"These days I'm working for the Cattle Growers Association—lobbying, mostly."

"That's an odd cowboy job. Not mending fences and rounding up dogies?"

We stopped at the corner where Hope told her friends she'd wait, and she turned under the streetlamp to face me. She brushed a few snowflakes off my jacket and looked up against the falling snow. "I have to ask," she said. "Is there a Mrs. Adam Cruz?"

"There isn't, but there have been applicants." A noisy group of women started across the street from the hotel, so I caught Hope's hands and held them. "Can I have your phone number?"

Hope pulled her hands away and glanced over her shoulder at the women. "They'll wait when they see us together, but they might heckle a little." She found her cellphone in her pocket. "What's your number?" She typed into her phone as I recited it. "There. You have a message from me, I have your phone number, and you have mine."

* * *

The snow that fell the night I met Hope had melted away, and the air was dry and crisp when I waited for her outside the restaurant. We'd both been out of town all week, and meeting at the restaurant was the plan that worked for us.

I heard Hope before I turned to find her hurrying toward me. "I'm late. I'm sorry," she said, "The bus was off-schedule."

"You're not too late." I waved toward the door. "They don't have our table ready." She looked just as eccentric as she did before. Now her braid fell down the back of a long sweater over a dress that brushed her ankles and buttoned to her throat.

The host was waiting with menus in his arm when I guided her through the door with my hand on her waist. The secluded table I wanted was ready, and I meant to ask the questions that went unanswered in the snow.

"How did things go in Dulce?" I asked. I studied the nape of her neck while I slipped the sweater off her shoulders and hung it on the coat rack in the alcove.

"Very slowly." I pulled Hope's chair out to seat her. She seemed to like my attention and my cowboy courtesies. "There were a lot of questions the Apache hadn't asked themselves, so getting answers took a lot of time. And you? How was Clovis?"

"Went well." I hung my hat and my camel hair blazer with Hope's sweater as I talked. "We're on the same page as far as the new Land Office rules are concerned, so the ranchers will put up money to get them stopped. It's good to get paid."

That was all the business we needed to talk about. I had a veal shank in front of me, and Hope had seafood pasta in front of her when I asked, "How was your voyage of self-realization? Or is it still on?"

"It's good now, but it'll probably never stop. It was pretty rocky before I realized the divinity in all things—especially in myself."

I hadn't lived in Santa Fe for fifteen years without hearing ideas like that before. "Ditched Christianity, eh?"

Hope laughed. "From good Presbyterian wife to wing nut. It wasn't an easy decision, but Christianity has never been good for women. Now my holy trinity is Mind, Body, and Spirit, and I don't need approval from anyone or anything outside myself." She swallowed and studied a clam for a moment. "What about you? How's your voyage?"

I shrugged. "Love my folks, but they're Christian hypocrites. I live by Christian ethics as I understand them, but that background left me mostly agnostic, and mostly doing things more interesting than goin' to church." I watched her over my wine glass for a moment before I set it down. "What do you do with your new independence?"

It seemed like a simple question, but her reaction made me think I'd made a mistake. She didn't answer at first. She sipped her wine and studied my face.

I could tell when Hope decided how to answer. She glanced behind me, leaned close, and kept her voice low. "I had no-one but myself to answer to, so I decided that I wanted sex—a lot of sex. It brings my mind, my body, and my spirit together."

Could've knocked me over with a feather.

The server stopped by our table and filled our water glasses while he checked on us. "Done," I told him. "Could I get a coffee—just black, please?"

Hope ordered a latte, and the server left us looking at each other. "Does that explain your interest in me?" I asked.

A smile curled her lips. "It does. I wanted to know what was under that nice hat. It

is

your most important erogenous zone." She sat up with her hands in her lap. "Now that you know, where do we go from here?"

I answered the wrong question. "After coffee, to Belle's reception for Senator Gutierrez." That bought me a few more seconds to gather my thoughts, and I waited while the server cleared the table and brought our drinks.

My words came slowly. "I was mostly curious about you when we set this up. I expected interesting company, and maybe a contact—I don't know enough architects. Maybe sex is

always

in the back of my mind, but I wasn't looking for a girlfriend."

Hope sipped her latte and set it in front of her. "And I don't want a boyfriend. I want a lover who will be patient and intelligent. What do you want?"

My coffee had a nutty flavor. It was strong with a hint of sweetness. I watched Hope with that flavor on my lips, and her refugee look suddenly seemed, to me, to be ultimately feminine. "I've learned patience by now. Don't know about intelligence, but I want to see where this road goes."

I helped Hope into her long sweater when the coffee was gone and the bill was paid, and I stood back when she tossed her braid over her shoulder. I walked her to my SUV with my arm around her waist and helped her into the passenger seat. Her scent and every movement she made were excitingly sensual—or was that my imagination?

I settled behind the wheel and found Hope rubbing her hands with lotion from a small bottle she put away in her pocket. I started the engine and watched for a moment then turned in my seat and held my hand out. "Give me your hand?"

"Why?" she asked, but offered her left hand without waiting then pulled it back and gave me her right hand.

"You liked my hands when we met, and I liked yours. They should be together." I stroked her hand as I talked—loosening it and gently stretching her thumb, then her first finger, and then her second finger.

"Where did you learn to do that?" she asked, and she offered her other hand. "It's really relaxing."

"One of my first girlfriends read about it, and we experimented on each other." I turned Hope's hand over and touched the button on her frilly cuff. "Never even seen your wrist. May I?"

Hope answered with a nod and I unbuttoned her cuff. I stroked her soft skin with my fingertips, and she released her breath. "This feels like foreplay."

"It

is,

ma'am." I tucked one hand under her braid and pulled her close. I could smell jasmine on Hope's skin and the remnant latte on her breath when I brushed her lips with mine and slipped my hand up her arm. I caressed the soft skin in the crook of her elbow and told her, "Any part of your body that doesn't usually get touched can be erogenous."

Hope shuddered, and she pushed herself away. "I don't get touched nearly enough." She buttoned her cuff and smoothed her dress. "Let's get your reception out of the way."

Belle's house sprawled on a ridge overlooking the city lights. We hung Hope's sweater and my hat inside the door and stopped at the reception table to drop off a check from the association. I made my rounds while Hope found the bathroom, and an amused smile curled her lips when she found me again.

"Something's funny?" I asked. I studied the buttons that closed her high collar, and when I looked up at her eyes I realized they were green. I'd never seen her under enough light to guess at her eye color.

"Some women here must know you pretty well. I just heard one of them call me 'Adam's new pony.' I should have been offended, but I laughed."

We were interrupted by a matronly woman gleaming in silver and turquoise. "Adam!" Belle said, in a voice made for the open range. "Sam's campaign manager just told us about your check from the Cattle Grower's. He's very pleased."

"Wasn't the least we could do," I said, and took Belle's hand when she offered it. "We're happy with the help Sam gives us." Belle Grant was a bigger-than-life conservative in a mostly progressive town, and right then her attention was more on Hope than it was on me.

I introduced Hope as my friend the architect, and Hope explained, "I do planning, mostly for rural and native communities."

That was when Sam Gutierrez stepped around Belle. I shook his hand, we slapped each other's arms, and he echoed Belle's thanks. He scanned Hope up and down then asked under his breath, "What commune were you trolling in when you caught her?"

"Met her downtown," I said, and let it drop. Maybe Sam wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer.

Belle squeezed Hope's arm and waved to someone across the room. She left as quickly as she arrived, and Sam trailed after her. I was still watching them when Hope tugged on my arm. She whinnied in my ear, and asked, "Are you ready to ride out of here?"

"Rarin' to go," I said, motioned after Sam, and guided Hope to the door. "The good Senator was wondering which commune I found you in."

Hope turned to face me after I helped her into her sweater. "I think your group here is pretty out of touch."

I followed Hope out the door, put my hat on, and closed the door behind us. She stopped by my truck and looked at the city lights below. "Belle has a nice view."

"So do I," I said, and turned her to face me. "But it could be even better." I touched the button below her chin. "If I could open your collar."

Hope's only answer was to lift her chin. I opened one button at a time and reached under the fabric to touch her graceful neck with my fingertips. She made my mouth water, so I laid my hat on top the SUV, and she tipped her head to the side while I kissed the tender skin on her throat, and then behind her ear.

She ducked her head, laughed, and started to turn away. I caught her hips and whispered in her ear, "Your place or mine?"

Hope tipped her head back against my shoulder and caught her breath. "Mine. I have a reason, but I just can't think of what it is right now." I didn't argue. She guided me to an address off Acequia Madre then to the cottage in back with a little white crossover parked by the door.

I caught Hope inside the door. It wasn't like she was trying to get away. She turned to slip her hands under my blazer, and her scent rose to greet me. She stroked her hands over my chest and down my sides before I pulled her into my arms and covered her mouth with mine.

Her lips were soft, and her tongue was eager. Her breath was warm on my cheek. I slipped my hand under her braid to cradle her neck in my hand. The touch of her body excited me, and soft sounds escaped around her tongue as I explored her.

I hardly noticed the big black cat rubbing around our ankles. Hope reached one arm around my neck and tipped my hat. It slipped off my head and fell to the floor, and the cat gave a startled hiss and jumped onto the sofa.

"Oops!" Hope said, and her breath warmed my neck for a moment longer. She picked my hat off the floor and hung it behind the door. "Now I remember why we needed to come here." She hung my blazer and her sweater then motioned to the cat. "This is Sir Barfsalot. He answers to Barfy."

Hope nudged me into the little living room where there were amethysts and amaryllis on the coffee table and batiks hanging on the wall. She stroked the stubble on my chin. "Could you do me a favor while I feed Barfy?"

"Want me to shave?" I asked, and followed her to the kitchen where there was rhodochrosite on the dining table and a pink Christmas orchid decorating the window sill.

"My razor's by the sink. I'll give Barfy food and a cuddle. You'll have time." She pushed me into her bedroom, and I found citrine and cut flowers in her bathroom where I stayed to wash up.

I was clean, shaved, and shirtless when I opened the door and found Hope poised to knock. "Nice," she said. She stroked her fingertips down my chest and tucked them under my belt. "That didn't take too long, did it?"

"Right on time." I backed Hope against the door frame and brushed my lips over the tender skin behind her ear, and she slipped her hand down the front of my jeans. Her fingers danced over my cock while I kissed her neck and opened the buttons that closed the front of her dress.

Hope laughed in my ear and stepped past me to the middle of the bathroom. "I'll do it," she said. "You watch." Hope held her wrists up while she unbuttoned the cuffs. She pulled her arms out of the sleeves, lifted the dress off, and shook her head to free her braid.

She was wearing a bra. Surprised me, though it probably shouldn't have. Maybe I was a little disappointed, but Hope fixed it. She dropped her bra on her dress and held her arms out so she didn't block my view.

"Pretty," I said, and reached to touch her.

Hope covered her tits with one hand and stopped me with the other. "What they don't have for size, they make up for by being sensitive." She pushed me back through the door, and I thought we were going straight to bed, but she closed the door instead.

I groaned, and Hope's voice came through the door. "Wait, and remember how patient you're going to be."

The bedroom was dark. Once my eyes adjusted, I tossed the bed covers back and sat down on the edge of Hope's soft mattress. Her sheets were crisp and they smelled of flowers. I pulled my boots off while I listened to the tinkle from the toilet, and left my jeans and then my boxers on the floor while water ran in the sink.

The bed bounced a little when Barfy jumped up beside me. He was cautious at first, so I let him sniff my hand, and I told him, "I think you're my competition here." I scratched his head and heard Hope laugh, and I had to close my eyes against the light when she opened the door.

Hope turned off the bathroom light and a moment later she clicked on the bedside lamp. She was standing in front of me wearing just loose cotton knickers with a drawstring at her waist.

"I've never seen underwear like this." I untied the bow on her hip while she searched the drawer in the lamp table, and the knickers slipped down her legs.

"I buy them on Etsy. They're comfortable." She straightened her back holding a vibrator in one hand and a tube in the other. "Barfy's not your competition." She pointed the vibrator at me. "It isn't easy, finding men I trust, so really, Henry here is your competition."

"I can beat Henry," I said. The look on Hope's face was hard to read. "No, really." I searched my memory for the right thing to say. "Maybe the toy can be good for your mind and body. I can feed your spirit."

Hope dropped Henry back in the drawer, handed me the tube, and said, "I'm an architect, Cowboy." She was still not an optimist.