Free Falling in Love by Dusty Miller Page B

then he
put a long leather strap around the horse, loosely cinching it by a
curved buckle of some bronze-like metal. There were rope loops for
stirrups.
    He tied the bags on, and then the
quiver went on the left side up front, and the bow on the right.
His sword, wrapped in its own soft but close-fitting scabbard, hung
down his back as usual.
    With the water bottles in place, one
on each side, slung across the back of the blanket after being tied
on by the necks, the man tightened up the cinch and took a look
around. He said something and looked at her. She looked around. The
place looked much as he must have found it. She saw a few scuffs on
the ground and a place where the grass and weeds was flattened.
They hadn’t forgotten anything, which she assumed was the
point.
    He patted his chest.
    “ Kenn’karr.”
    She smiled sweetly as there was
nothing else for it.
    She patted her breast over the heart.
Keep it simple, stupid.
    “ Jayne.” Jayne Dickson,
last known address, Apartment Nine-Seventeen…The Berkshire
Building, Brooklyn, New York.
    He nodded. Turning, putting a hand on
the thing’s shoulder and one foot in the loop attached to the
strap. He whipped up a leg and mounted the animal in one fluid
motion. It cocked its head to the left and took a long and sideways
look at her.
    The man extended his arm. Taking his
hand, she put a foot in the loop on top of his, gave an awkward
hop, and with a strong pull from above, Jayne was quickly aboard,
sitting back on the tail end of the blanket and trying to avoid
banging her knees on the water-bottles which were right there. She
hitched her hem up a ways, as he couldn’t see much from that angle
anyway. Her legs looked pale and smooth beside the curly hair, and
deeply-muscled tan of his. A little shiver of something went
through her.
    There was a lurch, coming as a bit of
a surprise, but she had taken a good grip on his abdominal ridges.
She almost giggled at the thought, and then they were
off.
    With a sudden rush of guilt, deep down
in her middle, Jayne thought of the dratted condoms in a sly side
compartment of her purse. She had three of them in there, almost an
afterthought when packing for the trip, but one never knew. And
where else would you logically put them? Three, no more and no
less, three there were and there ain’t no more…
    Her gentle rescuer said something over
his left shoulder.
    Not sure what he wanted, Jayne
reluctantly wriggled her hips and bum so as to get in as close as
possible to him. She cussed the water bottles right there, cold and
damp on her thighs. That was an idea. If he said something, squeeze
in tighter. Anything at all happens, squeeze in tighter…and if he
puts his hand on your knee, rub up against him.
    It was a thought.
    Her knees stuck out but there was no
place else to put them. He gave a grunt of approval and seemed to
take a stronger grip with his knees as there were no reins and
bridle. He made another cluck and the horse picked up its pace with
a show of quiet, prideful eagerness.
    Kenn’karr held onto its mane loosely
with his left hand.
    Clearly they had done this
before.
    With the movement of the animal under
them, and the proximity of her pelvic bone rubbing up against the
hard ridges of his tail-end, it didn’t take long. The entire effect
was stimulating, perhaps even a little bit disturbing. It was also
strangely comforting as she settled into a ride of perhaps some
distance. But all of this gave her something to think about, to
occupy her mind.
    She’d heard of women getting off on
motorcycles—at the time she thought it was just stories, but now
she realized there might be some truth in it. It was an interesting
sensation, what with a big strong back and all those muscles inches
away. After a night in the open and laying beside a fire, his smell
was of nothing much but wood-smoke and a hint of
armpits.
    She kind of liked it,
actually.
    It was only after she had a moment to
look around, that she was stunned to