A Feather in the Rain (24 page)

“What's a Moolie Monster?”

“You are.” She was naked now, before him. And once again, as if he'd never seen her, he was struck by the mystery of her, the wanton sensuality. Her beauty seemed to recreate itself right before his eyes each time he looked at her and snare him heart and soul.

He slipped his hand around the soft slender column of her neck. “I never get used to looking at you. I feel I have this great treasure in knowing that all I have to do is turn my head and I'll see that carved nose and those smoky eyes.” Suddenly amused, he chuckled.

“What?”

“I was just thinking that sometimes I think that because I love you, I should be able to sing…perfectly.” He reached to touch her skin.

They flowed, melting into each other, smelling and tasting the beauty, drinking the spilling love running like a river through the glory of it all. In a hoarse whisper, she said, “Yes, Jesse, yes…come to me now…take me now.” Explosive ribbons of his seed swam in her juices, circled slowly, and stayed to see what might occur.

A
bbie was waiting at the gate watching the passengers disembark. Jesse saw her coming forward, all fluffed hair, wide smile, and bright-lit eyes. “Hey, Boss,” she said, going right past him to Holly who dropped her bags to free her arms for the embrace she knew was coming. “Howdy, Mrs. Burrell. You look great. How does it feel? You look great too, Jesse.” She grabbed one of Holly's duffel bags and slung it on her shoulder.

“It feels wonderful. It's so good to see you.”

“Thanks. I hope you got a lot of pictures.”

Noon was yet to strike when they unloaded the truck midst fussing dogs and congratulations from Ricardo. Mason came shyly forward saying congratulations. Holly climbed the porch steps carrying the last bag. Jesse took it, set it down with the rest and swept her off her feet into his arms. He carried her into the house, kissed her, and set her on her feet. “Welcome home. This is your house.
Make any changes you want. Just don't tell me you want to start with a bulldozer.”

K
evin and Carley Bradley had gotten together with Doc Nalls and Helen to put together a big-time, Texas shindig at the Bradley's baronial estate to celebrate the marriage of Jesse and Holly.

On a sultry summer night under a sequined sky with a quarter moon, a multitude of lanterns lit the revelers on the wide lawn. While a whole pig spiraled on a spit, strolling mariachis strummed wailing love songs in the night. Half the hill country had turned up. Judge Lamar and his wife Leona, ropers, doctors, lawyers, cutters, cowhands and ranchers, accountants and polo players, students, artists, feed merchants and Texas rangers, Digger and Brantley, had come to see the woman from Colorado. She danced with the men and charmed even the most brittle and envious of the women. Jesse was a proud and happy man. A dream he'd never dared to dream had come true.

H
olly had been riding the mare, San Mamacita, every day for weeks. They'd cut a bunch. Holly could now ride into a herd like a pro. Her innate elegance combined with the soft feel and flowing balance of a ballerina was a thing of beauty. Jesse delighted in it. A bond of deep feeling had formed between her and the mare in foal. Though she rode several other horses learning to turn-back and hold the herd, she'd come to think of Mamacita as her own and looked after her needs with the zeal of a lioness minding her cubs. Jesse was in the arena working the black colt as she finished bathing the sweated mare. Slick and round, she had seven months to go; two before beginning to swell. She was burnished bronze as Holly led her to the sun to dry. She stood at the mare's head and stroked her face in the way that Jesse did and whispered woman things that only she could hear.

T
hey spun along the I-10 at eighty. Holly said, “What do you think about the idea of creating a therapeutic riding program for handicapped people?” She went on with great knowledge of its psychological and physical benefits. When he said he thought it was a good idea, she launched into the telling of a clearly thought-out plan. What its objectives should be, what it would take to get it going, the licenses, the affiliations that could be made with the local hospital, the assistance they could get from Walter being on the board, and Kevin with all his friends. “And Helen and Carley, they'd love to be involved in something as wonderful as that, don't you think?”

“Yeah,” he said, impressed with how much thought she'd put into it.

“Oh, and we'd probably have to get at least three really quiet old horses.” She raised her eyebrows enthusiastically asking for his input.

“Yeah, we can. We could do that.” He shook his head as if to recover from a blow and laughed.

“What?”

He laughed. “Nothing…you just amaze me. I think it's a great idea.”

“I've been thinking about it ever since we did the benefit for the cystic fibrosis kids. That was so rewarding.”

At the stoplight before the entrance to Home Supply, Holly absently turned to look out the window and said, “Cool car.”

Jesse leaned forward to look around her at the Pre-owned Cars of Distinction lot and spotted the candy-apple red 1976 Mustang convertible. Cherry and indeed, cool. It was perched on a ramp like a rocket ready for launching. The light turned green, the Mustang stayed still while Jesse drove on.

They picked out the new kitchen floor at Home Supply and then stopped at Alex Goland's to take care of business about the video, which was selling extremely well. Alex showed them an accounting of what was going where, including Bear and Holly's percentage. Jesse said, “Looks like we could afford to take you to lunch, come on.”

While they dined on blistering Tex-Mex cuisine that would cause a gorilla to reach for Mylanta, Alex told of his sister's daughter with multiple sclerosis and its devastating effect on the family. Jesse brought up Holly's idea for a therapeutic riding program. Alex responded with enthusiastic encouragement and a willingness to help.

H
olly had been engrossed in the kitchen rehab and was cleaning up when she heard the dually pull in. Jesse came in and admired the work. He put his arm around her, “It looks like a magazine. Come on outside, I want to show you something.”

He opened the screen door and let her walk out in front of him. She stopped as the door closed behind them. At the foot of the steps
right in front of the house was the gleaming red Mustang convertible, as yet uncoated with ranch dust. She said, “That's the car we saw in the lot.”

“Yeah, it is…”

“What's it doing here?” she asked, “Whose is it?”

He slipped his arm around her waist and whispered in her neck. “Yours.”

I
n the yellow afternoon light, an iridescent glow about her face and naked arms, Holly fed the machine in the laundry room at the back of the house. She wore wide-legged cut-offs, droopy red anklets, and dirty white running shoes.

Suddenly, he was behind her, pressing against her as she arched over the machine. His arm around her waist, she straightened up. He spoke into the back of her neck, “All you need is a bamboo pole and a can of worms.” She leaned into him and he smelled the apple-sweet willingness rising in the heat. He freed the brass buttons at the bib-top and the overalls pooled at her feet.

A half-hour later, he was juggling turkey, mustard, bread, and beer as he kicked the fridge shut and set the fixings on the counter. She turned him around and spoke with the huskiness of sex still in her voice, “I like it when we make love like that. Unplanned. Not in bed.”

“Yeah, we need to try it in a restaurant. Or a mattress store. You
want tomato on yours?”

“Or in Kevin and Carley's bathroom while there's a party going on. Yes, please. Mustard…and mayo.”

He took her in his arms and looked in her eyes. Emotion had risen unannounced and moistened his eyes. It seemed he had something to say but not the skill or means.

K
evin had about as much chance as a snowball in hell when Holly invited him to lunch at the Mexican place in Kerrville. “It's not just teaching handicapped people to ride horses. I've seen miracles occur in Colorado. It works not only on a physical level, but psychologically as well. They spend most of their lives in wheelchairs looking up at the world. Imagine the sense of self-esteem they experience on the back of a horse. They're suddenly nine feet tall and they're doing something not everyone can do. With each step the horse takes, he creates a changing need for balance. The rider has to constantly adjust. It improves their sense of balance with no conscious effort. And instead of being in a stuffy clinical environment with white coats, they're out in the air with horses and hay. Kevin, this is an opportunity to do something so worthwhile for people who suffer terribly. And I've never heard one of them complain. Ever.”

Her speech had arrested the motion of his arm in mid-delivery of a Margarita from the table to his lips. His jaw had gone slack, his
brow raised in awe. When she paused, he snapped to and said, “Holly Marie, you need to run for governor…and I'll damn sure back you.”

Jesse worked three horses culled from twenty-odd until he was certain they would remain unflinching under a surprise attack by a Mongol horde in a lightning storm. One was a big hammer-headed, kind-faced dun. Another was a small, round, mutton-withered old gray. Jesse's favorite was a seventeen-hand Clydesdale giant, donated by a friend of the Anheuser-Busch family. A magnificent beast, gentle as a lamb, with a foot that could cover a trash can. Dense, long, white hair feathered his fetlocks and a bright white blaze ran between soft brown eyes. His name was Mr. Bud.

Abbie actually leaped when Holly first revealed her thoughts about a therapeutic riding program. Abbie told Holly that she and Mason would be volunteers. They'd learn CPR at the fire station and take whatever classes were necessary to comply with licensing and insurance requirements. They could design T-shirts with logos for the program, and on and on she went with recommendations extending in all directions.

She helped Holly send faxes, fill out forms, and mail stuff. She rode the horses, did all the barn work she'd always done, shared her woman stories with Holly, sought her advice, and with diminishing relish, attended the university.

I
t was a small cutting, but the competition was keen. Holly's face had the sheen of a tallow candle. She sat the polished mare tall and straight staring at the herd as if they were lions. Jesse, beside her on a turnback horse, leaned toward her and said, “Just have fun. You know what to do and so does she. Just get inside of her, cut a cow, and let her go to work.” Holly nodded her head stiffly. He rubbed his hand between her shoulder blades. “Shrug your shoulders and wiggle your toes. Go on.”

The announcer welcomed her to the sport and declared the good fortune of Jesse Burrell to have won such a prize as Holly for his wife. The pretty face, a frozen mask, managed to rearrange itself with a smile of appreciation as she heard the announcer ask the audience to make her feel at home and the applause that followed. Then she moved from poise into tranquil harmony with the task. Her concentration absolute, and making no mistakes, she put in a run that was near to perfect. Twenty minutes later she was declared
the winner of her class. First was the whooping and whistling then the pats on the back and a barrage of congratulations till her cheeks ached with smiling and saying thank you. In Jesse's arms, her eyes filled with tears as she said, “I've never won anything in my life. Thank you, Moolie.”

“You're welcome, but you did it.”

“Mamacita did it.”

“You helped her, you didn't get in her way. That's a lot easier said than done.” He kissed her and spoke quietly into her mouth. “I'm proud of you.”