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1
My body reverberated each time her hooves hit the dirt below us. The steady rhythmic beat vibrating through me as though I were its musical outlet. Each thud was a tempo, my body the strings. My hips rocked in tune with her stride, and my vision was focused forward, between her ears. The world blurred around us, trees, and brush whizzing by unfocused in my peripheral, the wind stinging my eyes, and the scents assaulted me in dizzying quickness. Her solid body beneath mine was power and speed, and the feeling of it sent a heady mixture of exhilaration and euphoria into the depths of my soul.
Stride after stride, the horse beneath me galloped, my body molded to hers, my legs firm but without unnecessary pressure, my hands braced in the air before me, light pressure on my reins, but with whisper soft cues. Her muscles bunched and contracted as her body propelled itself forward in a powerful propulsion. Moisture filled my eyes from the speed, and my hair whipped around behind me, rapidly escaping the braid that tried, in vain, to hold it in place. Sunlight gleamed across the golden coat of my buckskin horse, shimmering and changing from cream to deep golden copper over her toned muscles.
Dark hues of green sped past me, the outlines of trees bordering the creek. Across my bare shoulders, I could feel the intensity of heat as the hot sun burned down on me, caressing me with its scorching touch. A fine sheen of sweat moistened my lower back beneath my shirt, as well as along the fine contours of my horse’s thick neck. The overwhelming sense of freedom fed my euphoric high and my heart pounded in my chest. We were speed. We were wild and undaunted by the trivialities of life. We were one mind, one desire, one outcome. Freedom. Nothing compared to the way it felt to gallop astride my horse, to feel the ground pound away, and see the miles disappear. To hear the thoughts in my head quiet as the gentle silence of two souls becoming one dissolved everything else but us.
Gasping, I sat up quickly. No, no, no! Why did I keep having the same dream, all the time? Why couldn’t my mind accept that I’d left that part of my life behind? Rubbing my face, I tried to come back to reality, to forget the blissful feeling that I could still feel deep in my bones, as though I really had been astride a galloping horse, not just any horse, but her, my beloved mare. For a second, the hot rush of moisture that accompanies emotions threatened to get the better of me. My body still reacted as if I were there, in that moment, living it. Taking several long breaths, I reeled in the feelings which all too often sat on my shirtsleeve, waiting to wreak havoc on my life. I felt an overwhelming sadness, and it threatened to drown me, to pull me down into the depths of the sea, a place I had experienced before, a place almost impossible to escape. I couldn’t allow myself to dwell where once I had been, it was my past, not my future, I tried to scold myself into believing. For if I didn’t believe, all I had was emptiness and misery, longing for that part of my life I had been forced to leave behind.
The sounds of car horns honking and street traffic outside my tiny studio apartment managed to penetrate the haze of my emotional, sleep clouded mind, and slowly, my tears left, and my mind returned. It would have been so easy to reminisce about the past, to wallow in the dream itself and pretend, even just for a moment, that I was still that woman, the woman whose dreams were all coming true, who spent every day doing what she loved. Riding horses. Unfortunately, that life had ended in a giant, interstate sized back-up riddled with heartache and psychiatrists. There was no way I wanted to be “the crazy Calamity” again. No way I could go back. I knew what waited for me there. Judgement, scorn, and that dreaded “curse” I tried so hard to fight.
Fighting the pull of old memories that threated to swallow me whole, I shoved myself up, moved to the side of my bed, and threw my feet over the edge. Scrubbing roughly at my face with my palms, I shook my head, pushed the mass of wild hair off my face, and surveyed the messy room in which I lived. My bed took up center attention, but luckily for me, it doubled as a couch. It wouldn’t take much to throw the place back into a semblance of organization, and I figured it would keep my mind from straying to taboo places, anyway. I wasn’t a messy person by nature but living in a tiny studio didn’t exactly leave much room for organization. Besides, I spent most of my time working or walking about the city, just trying to keep my mind busy so my heart couldn’t remind it what we were missing.
The alarm beside my bed buzzed in its annoyingly rude way, and I spun about, fully intending to throw the damn thing out the window. Seeing the digital display, I blinked, froze, and then cursed. “Shit!” It was an hour past my usual wake-up time, and I had ten minutes to drag my sorry hide to work. I could already hear my boss’s shrill voice in my head ranting. Racing into the bathroom, I yanked off my oversized flannel shirt, threw my long hair into a messy bun, and yanked on my work clothes-slacks and a button up blouse. Today I chose yellow, because I hoped the bright color would help chase away the gloomy haze of bitterness my dream had cast over me. I was going to have to skip the makeup today, not that I wore much anyway.
Sprinting down the stairs, I was gasping by the time I hit the bland, gray cement that covered the world where I lived. Cars honked obnoxiously, and hordes of people shoved their way past me as I tried to move into the flow of foot-traffic. The scent of sewage and trash drifted to me, not an unusual scent in an overcrowded city, but the exhaust from the hundreds of taxicabs quickly chased it away. I felt disjointed, my mind muddled and full of empty dreams and lost hope. I needed coffee, but I knew I wouldn’t have time to grab some as I was already running late. I could already imagine Eugenia, her pinched, super-skinny face looking at me in disapproval. Let’s face it, she would disapprove of me even if I were on time.
The small bookstore where I worked was only two blocks from my studio, something I was grateful for every morning during my walk. It stood on a corner, tall and narrow, the first two floors were dedicated to the bookstore, the top three were apartment buildings. It was neither new nor sheik. The building was old, brick and the windows needed re-paining. The neighborhood wasn’t bad, but it certainly wasn’t Madison Square. Nevertheless, I loved the old building, and typically I looked forward to work every day. I breezed into the door, taking in a whiff of strong perfume, and I grimaced. I knew that smell, and it could only mean one thing. Eugenia was already there. Just as the glass door of the shop clicked closed behind me, she started in on me, her voice like nails scraping a chalk board.
“Callie Hamlyn! Do you have any idea how late you are? Do you know how busy this store has been this morning?” Her voice drifted down the rows of bookshelves.
Wincing at the annoyance in her voice, I made a face, and glanced at my Fitbit, thinking, only three minutes, actually, and apparently not busy at all if you can openly berate me like this! What I said, however, was, “I’m terribly sorry, Eugenia, I tripped, and there was this old lady, and…well, I’m really sorry.” I struggled to fabricate a good enough lie not to get fired.
As I wove my way through imposing shelves filled to overflowing with books, the scent of paper, leather and musty pages drifting to me like the aroma of a good coffee, I peered around a corner, taking in the scene before me. Eugenia, my boss, was balancing precariously on a step stool, a pile of paperbacks cradled in her arms, the thick lenses of her eyeglasses perched haphazardly on the tip of her small pixie nose. Her thin, frail frame looked ready to collapse from the miniscule weight of the fiction novels, and her shoulder-length gray curls were flopping around in general disarray.
Biting back a laugh, I hurried forward, grabbing the stack of books from her arms, and saying, “Here, let me take those for you.” I sounded more like I was placating a child, than speaking to my boss.
Glancing down at me, she used one of her now free hands to shove the glasses back into place, and she planted her thin, veiny hands on narrow hips. “Really, Callie, I know you’re from a small town, and New York must seem so daunting to you, but you cannot be late!”
I ignored her small town jab and nodded my head. There was no use arguing with her. “I know, I know. I promise it won’t happen again, please don’t fire me.”
Sending her my best pity-me expression, I smiled meekly, forced to play a part I didn’t like in order to keep my pay checks rolling in. I hated pleading, and though she could be tyrannical, I really loved working in the bookstore. She gave in, of course-she had no one else to rely on-and she knew it.
“All right, all right, Callie. I need to work on the accounts. Will you please organize the new releases? Some guy came in and made such a mess of them.” She shook her head as though something terrible had occurred, and I had to bite back a smile.
I headed over to the new release section, frowning, because someone had indeed made a mess of things. Paperbacks lay on their side, stacked backwards, and flung here and there. I groaned. Jeez, you couldn’t even see the titles like this. Hardcovers were stacked up on the floor haphazardly, and that irked me. Picking them up, I set them carefully on my cart to be put back in order. Taking a whiff of leather, printed paper, and the clean, crisp scent of books, I felt myself calm. I worked here for one reason. I absolutely loved books. I loved reading them, touching them, arranging them, talking about them,everything.
Getting to meet authors once in a while was a great bonus too. On the infrequent occasions when Eugenia hosted signing events or author parties, I always volunteered to work those days, because let’s face it, who didn’t want to mingle with one of the people responsible for creating the pure, magical bliss that existed within the bound covers of books? I loved them almost as much as I loved horses…I shoved the thought away as quickly as it came. Humming to myself as I stacked the new paperbacks in neat order, I heard the bell on the door jingle.
Without turning around, I called out politely, “Welcome to Bindings, used paperbacks are thirty percent off today, and all used hardcovers are two-dollars.”
When the customer replied, his voice was so deep, so profoundly sexy, I was almost afraid to turn around, afraid of the disappointment I would surely feel when his features didn’t live up to the sensual tones. “Hello, thank you.”
I had to look, just had to. So few good-looking men wandered into this bookstore, that the prospect of eye-candy was too much temptation for me, and besides, I had always had no willpower. What was the saying? Curiosity killed the cat. Turning slowly, I allowed my eyes to scan him quickly, from the floor up. The first thing I noticed were the dusty, scuffed-up Ariat cowboy boots. Holy shit, my heart did a little flip-flop. I was a sucker for country boys. As my eyes travelled up-wards, I took in the long, well-muscled jean-clad legs, the impressive belt buckle, the button-up black shirt tucked into those jeans, stretched taught over a flat, hard-looking abdomen, a wide, well-developed chest, past the collar of his shirt, across deeply tanned skin, and along the thick column of his throat to his square jaw line.
I swallowed. My eyes-which I had no doubt were bulging, lingered on the dark stubble of a five-o-clock shadow that covered that strong jaw, and I was afraid to keep going. But like I said before-no will power-so look I did. His mouth was wide, delicious, and completely kissable. His nose wasn’t big, but it was definitely masculine, and his eyes…oh those eyes. Golden-topaz sparkled at me in eyes that were fringed with long sooty lashes, and a few strands of his dark hair had fallen over one eyebrow, adding to the allure. I blinked, trying to adjust what I was seeing to reality. There was no way this guy was real or was really standing here for that matter.
As I stared at him, he smiled. “I was wondering if you have any books on…well, on horses, except, not just informational.” When he paused, he looked slightly sheepish, and I thought it was completely adorable. “Like, do you have anything on myths, legends, folklore about horses, that kinda thing?”
My mind heard the word horses, and immediately the old longing stirred to life. I sighed, trying to shove old memories of sleek coats, and pounding hoof-beats from my mind. “Yeah, I’m sure we’ve got a few of those around here. The typical horse books will be in section E under Equine, but for those other ones, you’ll want to browse section F through M-Fantasy and Mythology.”
His expression was slightly overwhelmed, so I smiled, hoping it was polite and not-I wanna jump you right now and rip your clothes off- and said, “Would you like me to show you where to look?”
His face instantly relaxed. “If you could, ma’am that would be incredibly helpful. Thank you.”
Inwardly, my body sighed in sheer female appreciation. The deep timbre of his voice, accompanied by his looks and that smile, oh damn. It made parts of me stir to life that I didn’t even want to think about. “Sure, not a problem.” I managed to say while my throat went dry.
I set my books down, and led him through the maze of towering bookshelves, and headed toward the mythologies section. Scanning the volumes there, I seized on a couple titles.
