Secret Confessions: Down & Dusty — Skye (3 page)

She’d spent a whole ten minutes contemplating all the things Bret might like to do in the shower.

Jesus.

Don’t think about him like that, it’s creepy, you’re friends.
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Only dickheads fail to grow out of teen crushes, Skye. Don’t be a dickhead.’

‘Are you talking to me?’

She blinked. Just like that he was suddenly behind her. He had to be the most silent cowboy she knew. Ninja cowboy. ‘Nope, just giving myself a motivational speech.’ It took her a moment to change gears, and to adjust to the sight of him just walking around like an ordinary person, as if he weren’t tall, built and hot.

‘Do all your motivational speeches end with the word “dickhead”?’ He gave her a look from beneath the brim of his hat.

‘Most of them,’ she murmured, rubbing her ear, checking for a fleck of cow poop that couldn’t possibly be there. ‘Where’s my patient?’

‘I tied her in the shade around the other side of the feed shed.’

‘Well, bring her in here, I could use the light.’

‘Yes, ma’m.’

She looked away from his retreating form. Checking out the view would just be torturing herself.

He reappeared from behind the feed shed leading a sorrel beauty queen. Despite a fine powder of dust, the mare’s coat gleamed where the sun touched her short, refined head and strong, well-muscled body.

Holding the gate open for them, Skye pursed her lips and whistled. ‘And where did you find this looker?’

‘Sydney.’ Bret brought the mare to a halt by one side of the corral and ran a slow, loving hand down the mare’s neck to her broad chest.

Oh, to be a horse.

‘Is she purely for breeding?’ She doubted it as she eyed the mare’s powerful, rounded hindquarters built for performance.

The mare inspected Skye in turn, liquid eyes brimming with well-bred curiosity.

‘Nope, she’s a working girl, understands cows and wants to make them her minions. Fancies herself queen of the campdraft. If the lump turns out to be nothing serious I’ll put her through her paces at the rodeo.’

‘Let me know when you’re competing and I’ll come along and help out.’ It’d be like old times. She held out the back of her hand to let Abilene sniff her. ‘And where’s this lump that’s putting a cramp in her style?’

‘I found it here yesterday when I was brushing her down.’ His hand slid to the mare’s flank. ‘See the way she stiffened? It doesn’t feel hot to the touch, but it could be an abscess if it’s that tender.’

‘Could be. Move over.’ She shouldered him gently out of her way to focus on the mare’s flank. Her fingers found a firm lump no wider than a pea. ‘Yeah, feels like an abscess. She probably picked up a splinter or something and bacteria got in. Clip or trim the area, clean it with some gauze and saline solution and let it dry. Be careful with any pus.’ She glanced at his grazed knuckles. ‘This bacteria is infectious to humans if it’s exposed to an open wound, so use some gloves.’

He nodded. ‘Got it.’

‘I’ll keep checking on it, and if a topical skin protectant doesn’t work I can drain it.’ Stroking the mare’s back she felt the weight of Bret’s gaze on her and looked up, caught him studying her, his multi-coloured eyes intent.

‘What?’

‘How does it feel? Achieving your life’s ambition? Helping animals?’

He’d always treated her interest in healing hurt creatures as pure magic, had looked at her with the sort of wonder in his eyes that gave her a floaty feeling when she showed or talked to him about her latest rescue, whether it was an orphaned joey or a sugar glider mauled by a house cat.

She smiled, her chest thickening as if a second heart was trying to grow in there, at the thought of him thinking about her with awe. ‘Well, I’m about as proud as a pup with two peckers.’

His lips curved into a toe-curlingly handsome smile. ‘Good, you should be. Not many folk from Milpinyani Springs can call themselves “doctor”.’

A feeling so warm and airy filled her that she wondered if it might drag her into the sky like a helium balloon. She could imagine the posters:
Lost, one nerdy girl vet, last seen floating above Milpinyani Springs
.

The sound of a fighter jet passing high above cut the moment short. Her gaze shifted from the forward flick of the mare’s ears to the jet above. ‘Steady girl.’ She ran a hand along the mare’s back as she watched the rapidly moving speck traverse the cloudless expanse of blue. ‘When did those things start flying over here?’

He looked up. ‘That’s the first I’ve seen one. Maybe they’re doing one of those special military exercises?’

The jet disappeared behind cloud and she dismissed it. ‘Do you have a topical skin protectant like Aardora?’

‘Yeah, I think so.’

‘I have some I can give you if you don’t. Use the stuff to keep the area clean and relieve any inflammation and then tape some gauze over it. Change the—’

Boom! As the detonation of a sonic boom rocked the clear blue sky the mare exploded, swinging her quarters with the force of a wrecking ball. Skye saw it happen in a horrible sort of slow motion, tried to step out of the way, but got tripped up in her oversized Wellingtons and lost her balance, falling backwards for what seemed an eternity, trapped in the same glacially slow flow of movement as the mare.

But as soon as her back hit the railings of the corral, time snapped like an elastic band, speeding up so that she only had one hot, queasy second to anticipate the thousand pounds of horseflesh swinging towards her before it slammed her against hardwood.

Bright pain exploded in her back, ribs and head, stealing all the air from her lungs.

As if from under water she registered Bret’s struggle to keep a hold on the mare’s lead rope as Abilene squealed in fright, a struggle he lost as a second sonic boom detonated and the mare skittered away in the other direction, bolting out of the corral to charge around the adjoining paddock, bucking and shaking her head.

Without a thousand pounds of horse to pin her up against the railings, Skye slid to the ground, her backside hitting the dirt with a force that made her teeth smash together.

Her mouth filled with a coppery taste as Bret loomed over her, blocking out the sun. Even though she could see his lips moving, the ringing in her ears obliterated his words. Everything flattened out, the dust, the wisps of straw, the wood beams of the corral, Bret’s face. All of it became formless grey.

When, in a pounding rush, colour and three dimensions came zooming back, the first thing she noticed was Bret’s hat. It lay several feet away in the dust—at her level.

Why was it so hard to breathe?

The hat disappeared as Bret crouched by her, his body blocking her view as he grasped her jaw with long fingers to turn her head and look into her eyes. A fist clenched her heart and squeezed hard as she realised she couldn’t feel his touch, couldn’t even feel her lips.

Am I paralysed?

Face numb, a bead of sweat trickled down her cheek as the ringing in her ears thinned out to a high-pitched whine.

‘Skye!’

She blinked.

‘Skye!’ His face was oddly pale beneath his tan.

‘What?’

‘Jesus, finally.’

She winced. His voice hurt like a stick whacking at a piñata—her head being the piñata. ‘Why are you yelling?’

‘Because you didn’t bloody answer.’ His dark brows formed a razor-sharp line totally at odds with his usual carefree good humour.

Was he mad at her for not answering? ‘All the air was squooshed out of me.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.’ He stroked the hair back from her face, his eyes searching. ‘Are you okay? Anything feel broken?’

I just got booty bumped by a horse. What
doesn’t
feel broken?
‘I’m fine.’ She drew her knees up to stand and winced as pain shot through her ribs and back.

His gaze sharpened. ‘What hurts?’

She took inventory of her body’s signals. Not as bad as when a heifer knocked her over during blood sampling, but more painful than the bite from a Persian cat with chronic hairballs. ‘I’m fine, it’s just muscular. Nothing some ibuprofen and a heat pack won’t fix.’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘I’m not letting you stand up until you tell me what hurts.’

His firm tone took her aback, as did the pinched look to his nostrils. That only happened when he was really pissed off. ‘Alright. My neck hurts a bit.’ She rubbed it. ‘And I have a slight headache.’

‘Did your head hit the rails? You could have a concussion.’

‘No, I didn’t hit my head, I think it’s more like a whiplash thing.’

‘Alright, let’s get you on your feet then.’

Firm hands slipped beneath her arms and pulled her to her feet like she weighed nothing, which she knew full well she did not.

‘Thanks.’ With a start, she felt her knees wobble and grabbed onto the railing to steady herself. She expected Bret to go reassure the mare that stood a few hundred metres away, ears pricked and tail raised, her snorts signalling her state of high alert, but instead he studied her—no, almost looked right through her—something intense brewing in his eyes.

‘Are you okay?’ She frowned. Had she missed something? Had he been kicked in the head or knocked off his feet while she’d been flailing around in the dust? Because silence was not a natural state of being for Bret. That was more her bag.

But instead of answering he swallowed hard, and kept staring at her.

Almost as if seeing her for the first time.

She had to fight the wild urge to look away, to pretend she hadn’t seen a certain brooding heat in his gaze. Because what did it mean if Bret
was
looking at her in a certain way? As if she wasn’t just his buddy but something more.

‘Bloody hell, Skye, you scared me. Are you
sure
you’re okay?’

See.
There it was, he was just worried, concerned, and her stupid overactive imagination had simply bolted, faster than Abilene had, in the direction that it had wanted to go in, towards that imaginary place where she and Bret did real, actual couple things, like hold hands and get married and have four billion children. ‘It’s okay, I’m alright.’ When he didn’t seem to register the words, she patted his arm, the well-intentioned gesture quickly turned on its head by the solid feel of his rigid biceps under her hand.

Rigid. Like for once
he
was the one sitting on a time bomb, instead of her. As if he were scared of something more than just her theoretical injuries.

‘Bret, I—’

He cut her off, his arms encircling her, gently at first, almost tentatively, as if exorbitant care was required not to startle her, as if she were something fragile and beautiful rather than a farm-raised veterinarian not wholly unacquainted with the rougher side of life.

Her body responded instantly, nipples tightening and a heaviness settling in her breasts and belly; her brain took longer to catch up. As soon as it did, she pulled back from him, as much as his grip allowed. He didn’t understand how dangerous it was for him to touch her that way, leaving her so heavy with want that she could implode and become a black hole, her horrendous, lustful gravity dragging unwilling victims like him deep into her imaginary depravity.

Instead she patted the air somewhere above his back to soothe him. Only the air because she couldn’t trust her evil hands with actual flesh. ‘Hey, don’t worry, everything is—’

The tightening of his embrace sucked the rest of her sentence away, as did the gentle hand that cradled her head and pushed her face into his neck as his fingers clenched her hair. Face pressed against the warmth of his neck, she breathed in his freshly soaped skin as warmth pricked her scalp.

Dear lord, was that his lips? On her head?

Like a man might kiss a woman instead of his best friend?

She almost groaned with the weight of temptation placed on her. The urge to wrap herself around him like a wanton pole dancer felt like a thousand-pound stone that threatened to grind her flat if she tried to resist it. How was this even happening? How? Was this Bret kissing her or some alien occupying his body?

He shuddered against her, his breathing unsteady as he set her back from him, his eyes muddy with emotion. ‘Skye, that was too close.’

Was this overreaction due to the anniversary of his mother’s death coming up? Perhaps he just needed more reassurance, though she wasn’t really capable of doing anything more than clinging to him like a worshipful sloth. But maybe that was all he needed. If so, she could cling some more. They stood locked together for so long that her feet grew numb and she was about to say something when the hand in her hair tightened and she felt a hardness, firm and insistent, against her belly.

Was that what she thought it was?

No, it couldn’t be.

One way or the other, she was wholly incapable of glancing down to verify.

And even if it was an erection it had to be the accidental sort, the sort guys got while riding the bus or when the queen awarded them a medal. Involuntary, that was the word.

But it was impossible to deny that it was there, it was so huge, so present, that it was practically a third person between them, a person it would be rude to ignore.

Though did friends point out friends’ involuntary erections? Probably not. She certainly wouldn’t want her boner pointed out if she had one involuntarily.

She would just wait, wait until it went away, and perhaps a few years later, or maybe a few decades later, they would laugh about his crazy involuntary erection and try to work out why it had happened.

Keeping very still, so as not to distract him while he was concentrating very hard on deflating his unwanted boner, she counted his heartbeats and debated whether or not her breathing might disturb him. Already her brain had sprung ahead to cover all the things she could talk about to pretend the unintentional hard-on had never happened—once it was actually gone.

‘Skye?’

‘Mm-hmm?’

‘Can you look at me?’

‘Probably.’ But why? There was something smoky and seductive and terrifying about his voice. She raised her eyes and stiffened.

It was impossible. That needy and intent gazed fixed on her lips.