The Law of Moses (8 page)

“We’re friends aren’t we, Lucky?” I whispered. “Let’s go for a little run. Just an easy little run.”

He didn’t pull away, and I took the hesitation for consent. In one quick move I hoisted myself up and over, and as my butt hit his back we were off, and I knew with a terrible twist in my gut that he wasn’t ready. But it was too damn late. I was on his back, hands in his hair, committed. I would have been fine if he’d just decided to shake me loose. I knew how to fall. But he bolted instead, flying across the field with me clinging to his back. We cleared the fence separating our property from Gene Powell’s and I did my best to meld my body with his, but it’s incredibly hard to stay on a horse without a saddle. They are smooth, slick, and powerful, and my thighs were screaming with the effort to keep him between them. We cleared another fence and I stayed seated, but my arms were trembling, and I was terrified that Lucky was going to hurt himself. Horses break their legs and it’s not just an easy trip to the ER and a big cast and crutches. It’s over. I wasn’t thinking about myself. I was thinking of my mistake in judgment, how I’d pushed him too far. And I didn’t know how to fix it.

On the third fence, Lucky landed hard and I started to slide to the side. I cursed a streak of the bluest words I’d ever said, yanking with all my might on Lucky’s mane, and trying to right myself. But there was no stopping my descent, and I hit the ground hard, my shoulder and hip getting the worst of it as I rolled and found myself staring up at a sky that was far too blue for dying.

If I hadn’t been trying to pull air back into my lungs and life back into my limbs, I might have noticed where I was, but it wasn’t until Moses squatted down beside me and peered into my face that I realized where Lucky had thrown me.

He didn’t ask if I was okay. He didn’t say anything for a moment. We just stared at each other, and I saw that his breaths were as labored as my own. It pleased me to think he’d run to make sure I wasn’t mortally wounded.

“Well, shit.” I sighed, trying to sit up.

Moses sat back and watched as I brushed the dirt from my right side, wincing as I swept my hand over my shoulder. I had a long scrape that stretched almost to my elbow, but other than that, I was fine. I would hurt like hell tomorrow, but nothing was broken. I was on my feet brushing off my rear end and scanning the horizon without any help from Moses.

“Did you see which way he went?” I asked, casting my eyes across the field.

“No,” he answered finally. “I was too busy watching you fall.”

“I rode for a while before that,” I answered defensively. “We cleared two fences.”

“Is that normal for you?”

“What?”

“Riding without a saddle, full out, on a horse that obviously doesn’t want to be ridden?”

“He gave me his head . . . I thought he was ready. I was wrong.”

“He gave you his head?”

“Yeah . . . never mind. It’s horse speak. When a horse lets you control his head, pull it all the way back along his body, move it this way and that, he’s yours. But Lucky’s never been ridden. I needed to court him a little more.”

Moses’s lips were pursed and his eyebrows quirked and I thought for a minute he was going to laugh. I seemed to have that effect on him.

“Shut up,” I said.

He laughed, just as I predicted. “I didn’t say anything!”

“But you’re thinking it.”

“What am I thinking?”

“Something dirty. I can see it all over your face.”

“Nah. That’s not dirt. I’m just black.”

“Har, har.”

“You’ve never been thrown, huh?” He rose to his feet beside me.

“I’ve been thrown plenty,” I clipped, turning away. I started to walk in the direction I’d come. No use wandering around looking for Lucky. I’d go back for the truck and drive around until I found him.

“So is that what you’re trying to do with me? You want me to give you my head, just like the horse?” he called after me.

I stopped. Moses never gave me much. I’d been pushing him day after day, week after week, since he’d painted my room, just like I’d been pushing Lucky. Lucky had come around. But Moses hadn’t.

“I don’t want a damn thing from you,” I lied.

“That’s why you bring me my lunch every day and spy on me and drop by my grandma’s house every night.”

I felt like I’d fallen all over again, and this time it wasn’t my shoulder that hurt. My heart ached like I’d taken one of Lucky’s feet to my chest.

“I don’t want your head, Moses. I just thought you might need a friend.”

“I won’t let you in my head, Georgia. You don’t want to see what’s in my head.”“Okay. Fine. Then I’ll give you mine,” I said, turning on him. I don’t know where my pride was. I should spit on him and tell him to go to hell. Instead I was bowing at his feet.

“I’m kind of thinking there isn’t anything in your head. I’ve seen you get kicked and thrown, and I’m guessing you’ll be right back at it as soon as you find your horse.”

“Screw you, Moses.”

“That’s the first thing you’ve said that appeals to me.”

I gasped and he laughed. Again. I knew he was just trying to irritate me and make me run away crying. But I wasn’t the crying kind. He was right about one thing. I got kicked and thrown, and I came back for more.

So I did something I had never done. I turned and walked back to him, took his face between my hands, and I kissed him hard. It was probably the worst kiss ever delivered in the history of angry kisses. It was a terrible kiss. I had never kissed anyone before, and my lips were pressed into a hard, little line, my eyes squeezed shut, my hands gripping his face like they’d gripped Lucky’s mane.

He pulled away, but not far, and his breath was harsh across my mouth. “Careful, Georgia. You’re about to get thrown.”

“You son of a—”

And then his lips were back, swallowing my angry words, and I forgot almost immediately what a jerk he was. He wasn’t impatient or pushy or rough—not like I had been. He took his time and he showed me how to take mine. One hand held my head, cradling it, while the other found the curve of my waist and curled around my belt. And when I tried to take charge he bit down on my lip.

“Stop it,” he hissed. “Let me lead.”

So I did.

And he led me round and round, up and down, until my legs turned to jelly and my eyes rolled back in my head, until I was leaning against him because I was too turned on to stand.

And when he lifted his head and laughed, just a soft little chuckle, I struggled to open my heavy eyelids and drift back down to earth.

“Well, whaddaya know?”

I shook out the fog and turned my head, finding the spot where Moses’s eyes were trained.

Lucky was sauntering across the field like he hadn’t just freaked out and taken me for the ride of my life.

“See? The moment you quit chasing him, that’s when he wants you. He looks jealous. He thinks he’s been replaced.”

Our eyes clashed and I peeled myself off him, trying to play like I’d been kissed a hundred times by a hundred different boys.

Moses’s eyes drifted down to my mouth, and I shoved my hands into my pockets so I wouldn’t be tempted to reach for him again and prove that I could lead as well as he could.

As if he read my mind, Moses nodded toward the horse.

“Go on. You’ve learned your lesson. He doesn’t want to be ridden.”

I flipped around, immediately cured from any desire to kiss him again. I gritted my teeth as I walked back to my horse, my stride long, my hands clenched.

Lucky watched me come. He didn’t shy away or flinch as I drew near, and without allowing myself to hesitate, I grabbed his mane and swung myself immediately back up onto his bare back. He reared up once, spun a little, dancing and prancing, but I was ready for him and I held on.

And he gave in.

As I urged him back toward home, I couldn’t help looking back. Moses stood frozen to the spot, a look of absolute amazement on his face. And it was my turn to laugh.

Moses

I SLEPT ON THE SECOND FLOOR, across the hall from Gi. The old house had no air conditioning, and by the end of the day, the upper rooms were stifling. Gi never seemed to mind, she was always cold, but each night I would open my window, soak my T-shirt with water before putting it on, and then turn the little oscillating fan in the corner on full blast so it blew directly on me, just so I could sleep without drowning in a pool of my own sweat.

Utah had experienced record-breaking temperatures all summer, but the first week of August was unbearable. For the fourth night in a row, I was laying in my bed at midnight, so miserable I considered taking another shower just to cool down, when I heard someone say my name.

I sat up in bed, listening.

“Moses!”

I turned off my fan and waited.

“Moses!”

I ran to the window and looked down to see Georgia in shorts and a tank top, a towel wrapped around her neck and a big, striped pool bag on her shoulder, standing below my window.

She waved merrily, as if her being there in beach wear made total sense.

“I was going to sneak into your house and up the stairs to your room, but I thought maybe you slept naked and I might embarrass you.”

I stared down at her, dumbfounded. She didn’t try to whisper or disguise her voice in any way. I looked toward Gi’s room. The hallway between our rooms was dark and there was no light beneath her door. Still, I put my finger over my lips and shook my head. I had no idea how she even knew which room was mine.

“I’m going to the water tower. Come with me. It’s too damn hot to sleep,” she said, not softening her voice at all.

“Quiet!” I hissed down at her. Georgia just smiled and shook her head.

“The sooner you get down here in some shorts with the keys to your Jeep, the sooner we can go, and the sooner I’ll shut up. We can’t take Myrtle. She’d wake the neighborhood.”

A laugh escaped my nose in an unattractive snort, and Georgia smirked, obviously well aware that if anyone was in danger of waking the neighborhood, or at least my grandma, it was her.

“What the hell. It is too hot to sleep,” I sighed, and her smile widened considerably.

“Meet you out front,” she whispered. Oh, now she was being quiet. Now that she got her way.

I’d never been to the water tower, but Georgia directed me to a little paved road, south of town, that wound its way through the fields and crossed a set of railroad tracks before running past a large metal silo with a ladder running up the side. A sign warned that trespassers would be prosecuted, and a chain link fence with a lock on the gate further discouraged what we were about to do, but Georgia wasn’t the slightest bit fazed.

“It’s easy to climb the fence. I’ve done it a bunch of times. The water tower beats the pond up the canyon, where I usually swim when I’m desperate, but I can’t swim here during the day because I’ll get caught and prosecuted to the ‘full extent of the law,’” Georgia mocked the sign, “but last summer I came here once a week—always around this time, and nobody ever knew. It’s like my own private pool.”

The thought of Georgia coming to a dark water tower late at night, all alone, nobody the wiser, made the gooseflesh rise on my arms. I just shook my head and followed her out of the Jeep, glad I’d worn my sneakers if I was climbing chain link. She handed me her pool bag and scrambled up the gate and over as if she truly had done it a hundred times. I slung the bag over my shoulder and was up and over without a hitch. She didn’t slow, but climbed the silo ladder with confidence, babbling all the way, filling the darkness with cheerful conversation.

A little door opened inward onto a narrow ledge that circled the inside of the water tower. Georgia slid inside and I followed, leaving the door wide open behind us. Thoughts of being locked in the water tower for days had me propping it with my shoes and testing the knob repeatedly.

“It locks from the outside, silly. And the lock is broken, which is why we have this all to ourselves.” Georgia pulled a big LED lantern out of her striped pool bag that still hung over my shoulder, and turned it on, illuminating the interior of the water tower, making it feel like a cavern, complete with hidden pools.