“Even if you can’t ride professionally, you could be a real trainer, in a real stable! Jack Thornton would hire you in a minute if he could. Why do you hang around this one-unicorn outfit?”
Caroline rose and busied herself with Vulcan’s girth, not looking at Misty. “I like it here.”
“Where’s here? Caro, we’re nowhere. Mom treats you like a servant, I know as well as you do that you haven’t had a raise in three years, and we’ve been to the Nationals, what, five times?”
“But you still haven’t won.”
As if I cared. But she didn’t say it . . . it would hurt Caroline so much. She’d worked so hard, put up with so much, all for Misty’s sake; the least Misty could do in return was to make sure she got the accolades that would come from training a national champion unicorn.
Then Vulcan growled and tossed his head in the cross-ties. That meant some other stud was nearby, or . . .
Misty’s mother announced her presence with a sandpaper screech of “I leave for ten minutes and what the hell happens!” She was already decked out in her Professional Show Mother outfit of white leather blazer, white leather skirt, and white Tony Lama boots—everyone on the circuit called her The Great White when she wasn’t in earshot—but a chic silk turban concealed her bleached hair.
“I’m fine, Mother. Thanks for asking.” Misty wondered if her mother’s voice hurt her own ears, after all the vodka Bloody Marys she’d consumed when Misty had qualified for the finals last night.
“Let me see that knee.” She grabbed Misty’s calf, making big bright spots dance across Misty’s vision, and yanked off the ice pack. The knee had swollen out to the limits of Misty’s jeans. “These’ll have to be cut off, I suppose. At least you had the sense not to practice in your competition outfit.”
Caroline’s eyes widened and she dropped the saddle unceremoniously onto its rack. “Misty! You didn’t tell me it was that bad!” She knelt down in front of Misty and peered at the taut cloth. “We need to call the doctor.”
Mother whirled on her. “No doctors! If some milksop gives her pain-killers, she’ll blow the blood test.” She turned back to Misty, pointing with one pearl-manicured finger. “This is probably our last chance at the Nationals, and you are not going to wimp out on me.”
Angry little lines appeared around Caroline’s mouth, but Misty cut her off before she could say something that would get her fired. “I’ll be fine, Mother.” But she was looking at Caroline. “We’ll wrap it and ice it and it’s only one more class. I can stay on him for ten minutes.”
“That’s right. You are getting on that animal tonight, you are riding that class, and you are going to win it. I haven’t busted my ass dragging you all over the countryside this year for nothing!”
Vulcan’s ears went back at the rising shriek and he growled, strained against the cross-ties, digging with his hooves in the hard-packed dirt of the stall. Caroline said “We’re making Vulcan nervous, Mrs. Bell. We should get Misty into the trailer and elevate that knee.”
“You do that.” She glanced at her watch, encrusted with pink diamonds. “Oh God, now you’ve made me late. Look, I’m meeting Harvey to talk about your publicity photos over lunch, and then I’m going to get my hair done. I’ll see you at the gate at seven.” She strode out toward the parking lot, calling over her shoulder “And I’d better not get another call from the show office!”
Misty looked around for the ice pack and saw it lying in the dirt, just out of her reach. “Can you get that for me?” Caroline leaned over and retrieved it, her lips pressed together in a hard white line. “Go ahead and say it,” Misty prompted.
“Why bother? All it would do is make you have to defend her. And hearing you defend her is worse than watching how she treats you.”
Misty sighed. She didn’t know which would be worse—arguing with Caroline, or admitting that she had a point. “She’s my mother, Caroline.”
“Only genetically. Now let’s get you inside. Can you hop, or do you want me to carry you?”
“I’ll hop.” But even straightening up was agony, and Misty didn’t protest when Caroline carefully scooped her up, one arm warm behind her shoulders and the other under her thighs. Misty opened the trailer door and Caroline set her down on the bed in the back.
Misty looked down at the toes of her pink Ropers, dreading the thought of pulling them off. “If we cut those, Mother will kill me.”
“Let me try.” Caroline worked one hand up Misty’s pant leg to her calf. She cupped the heel of the boot in her other hand and started to ease it off. Misty gasped in pain, but a moment later the boot slipped off. “Good girl. Now the other one.”
But when both boots and the socks were off the situation got even scarier. Misty’s left foot was as white as her mother’s leather skirt. “It’s the swelling,” Caroline said. “It’s cut off the circulation. We have to get those jeans off.”
Pulling the jeans down was absolutely out of the picture. Caroline went to the kitchen cabinet and came back with a pair of shears. Misty trembled, but said nothing as Caroline began to work her way up the outside seam. When she reached the knee, the scissors burned like ice against the hot skin and Misty bit her lower lip hard. Then, as the fabric parted, she thought she might faint from relief as the pressure released.
Caroline paused, her hand warm on Misty’s inner thigh, after she had cut well past the knee. “They’ve got to come all the way off sooner or later. Do you want me to keep cutting?”
Misty’s heart thudded in her throat, and she had to swallow before she could reply. “Might as well,” she managed faintly.
Caroline seemed to be having trouble speaking as well, but she took a deep breath and resumed cutting. The cold scissor blades crept along Misty’s thigh, and she felt the tip slip under the elastic of her panties. “Um, you got more than the jeans there.”
“Sorry,” Caroline squeaked, then cleared her throat and readjusted the scissors. “Sorry,” she repeated in a more normal tone.
The bunched fabric at Misty’s hip was awkward to get past. Then she had to wiggle out of her belt, and even with the belt gone the heavily layered waistband was a formidable obstacle. But Caroline sawed through it, and finally Misty was free. Both of them were panting from the effort. “Well, here I am, a seventeen-year-old virgin with no pants,” Misty quipped in a trembling attempt at humor. “I bet there’s a thousand boys who’d love to be you right now.”
Caroline licked her lips. “Uh. Yeah.” And she glanced up at Misty, her brown eyes half-hidden by her eyebrows, her face gone all serious. Misty swallowed, but returned Caroline’s gaze for a long, awkward moment. Caroline was bent over her in the confined space, her calloused hand pressed between Misty’s thighs. Misty had seen Caroline in nothing but a bra and panties plenty of times, living in the same trailer with her for what felt like a thousand shows. They’d been best friends since they were both eight, but she’d never wondered before what Caroline’s skin felt like.
Then Caroline broke the contact to look down at Misty’s knee. “Shit, girl. You aren’t going to be standing up on this any time soon, much less getting on a unicorn.” She was right. The knee was the size of a cantaloupe and an evil mix of purple and black.
Tears pinched at the back of Misty’s throat. “I’ve got to, Caroline. I’ve just got to.” If Misty didn’t ride tonight, her mother would unleash her wrath on the nearest available object, and that was Caroline. Mother would make sure she never worked again.
Caroline sat back on her haunches, leaning her back against the bad imitation woodgrain of the wall. “I don’t see how.”
Misty licked her lips. “What about that healing touch of yours? It works on Vulcan.”
“That’s just a little hedge witchery. I don’t practice on people! I don’t have any experience, I don’t have a license . . . hell, I wouldn’t even do it on myself!”
“But Caroline, back in the arena . . .”
“I completely missed how badly you were hurt. If
I mess up your knee healing it, they’ll have to do surgery to put it right! You could be out of commission for six months!”
“So? Six hours is enough to lose our shot at the Nationals. I won’t let my stupid mistake mess up your career.”
“Screw my career!”
“Please, Caroline!” She reached out and took Caroline’s hand. “Please.”
Caroline didn’t pull away. Her hand was very warm and moist in Misty’s; her long strong fingers almost overwhelmed Misty’s tiny delicate ones. “Okay,” she said at last. “But only if it’s what you want. Not your mother.”
Misty held Caroline’s hand tighter. “This is what I want.”
The two of them rearranged themselves in the tiny space so that Caroline could lay both hands on Misty’s knee. They were trembling. Misty put her hands over Caroline’s. “It’s okay,” she said. “I trust you.”
“I know. But if I hurt you . . .”
“If you do, it’ll be because I asked you to.”
Caroline nodded and took a deep breath. Then she began to murmur, words as soft and convoluted as the inside of a unicorn’s ear. At first Caroline’s hands were cool on the heat of the injured knee, but then they began to warm—a deep thrumming warmth that resonated in Misty’s bones. The heat of the injury was absorbed in that warmth, the shards of hot glass cooling and softening as Misty’s knee relaxed back to normal. It was like music—the harsh jangled vibrations caught up and subsumed in the melody of Caroline’s magic—a melody woven of Caroline’s hands and her soft voice. It echoed low in Misty’s belly. Misty sighed and closed her eyes.
As the swelling subsided, the warmth spread up Misty’s leg and across her torso until it reached her heart and flowed to every part of her. She felt the rhythm of Caroline’s words in her own pulse—each stronger for the other’s presence.
“Misty. . . ?”
Caroline never called Misty by name . . . “blondie,” “shorty,” but never, ever “Misty.” She opened her eyes.
Caroline was looking at her with bottomless dark eyes. Her hands were wrapped around Misty’s knee, almost reverently. She was trembling again, and a sheen of sweat glistened on her face. “Misty . . . are you all right?”
“Better than all right.” She leaned forward and slid her hands around the back of Caroline’s neck, sliding forward until their bodies meshed. “Caroline . . .”
Caroline began to pull away. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“This is what I want.” And she kissed her.
Misty drifted slowly awake to Caroline’s warm clean smell and the softness of her breast against Misty’s cheek. The whole length of Caroline’s long lean body was fitted smoothly against her, skin touching skin, and her arms enclosed Misty with gentle protectiveness. Misty sighed in contentment . . . but when she moved, like hitting the sand in the arena, it was going to hurt. Caroline would wake up, and the moment would be over, and Misty couldn’t stand the thought of it.
The general public had a lot of misconceptions about unicorns, but the virginity trip was the real deal. Unicorns didn’t share. The women around them were their herds, and they would brook no competition or threat to those they loved. Anyone not a virgin who tried to mount a unicorn was taking her life in her hands.
Misty’s career was over.
Caroline’s arms tightened around her. Holding on. Misty tipped up her head to look at Caroline’s face, and saw tears in her eyes.
In all the years they’d lived together in trailer after trailer, Misty had never seen Caroline cry. No matter what cruel, horrible thing Mother said to her, Caroline pinched her lips together and sucked it down.
Misty brushed the tears off Caroline’s cheek. “Don’t cry, Caroline. It’s okay.”
Caroline squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in Misty’s hair. “It’s not okay,” she whispered, her voice broken. “I’ve ruined your whole life.”
“It’s only my life so far.” Misty shifted so she could look Caroline in the eye. “And you didn’t do anything to me. I’m the one who started it, remember? I think I’ve wanted this for a long time, even if I didn’t know that until today.” And she kissed her—trying to show Caroline that it really was all right, even though she wasn’t sure herself.
Caroline kissed back with a desperate edge she hadn’t shown before. She tasted of salt. She smelled of Misty.
Misty stroked Caroline’s hair, gentling her down from desperation and murmuring vague reassurances. “We’ll be all right. We’ll be all right.”
“How?” Caroline’s voice was muffled against Misty’s breast. “What do we do now?”
Misty took a deep breath. “Right now we’re going to get up and take Vulcan a drink. He’s been tied out there for three hours without any water. Then we’re going to both get through the shower before Mother shows up.”
“And then what?”
“I’ll handle Mother. She’s not your problem any more.”
Caroline swallowed. “Okay. I’ll take care of Vulcan while you hit the shower.” She gave a rueful little smile. “Too bad there isn’t room for both of us at once.” Then she kissed Misty on the neck and slid out of bed, leaving a cold vacancy behind.
Once she was alone, Misty gathered the sheets into a wad in her lap, hunching herself into a tiny ball and rocking back and forth.
Her career was over.
No more trophies. No more spotlight. No more photographers. No more reporters watching her.
Imagine that.
No more having to act twelve. No more biting back what she wanted to say because it wasn’t “nice.” No more of Mother dressing her in fucking pink Wranglers.
And no more Caroline.
Even if she couldn’t train unicorns any more, Caroline could make a perfectly good living working with horses. Once she realized what Misty had done to her, she wouldn’t want to hang around a short, skinny ex-unicorn-rider who’d cost her a good job.
Misty’d always tried not to think about what would happen when she couldn’t ride anymore. The very few riders who didn’t grow up and get married became trainers, living like sisters in a closed monastic order. That never had been attractive to Misty before—she didn’t have the patience for training—and it sure as hell wasn’t an option now.
She didn’t want to pop out babies for some goat-roper, and she didn’t want to move to Dallas and marry the rich son of one of Daddy’s friends.
She wanted Caroline.
But she didn’t want Caroline to see her like this. She dried her eyes on a corner of the sheet, pulled herself together, and headed for the shower.
Three minutes later the water was turning lukewarm, and Misty shut it off to leave a little for Caroline. She poked her head out of the closet of a bathroom. Caroline hadn’t come in yet.
How long could it take to get a pail of water?
Heart in her throat, Misty yanked a clean pair of jeans out of the drawer and struggled to pull them up her damp legs. Had Vulcan mauled her? Caroline was the best, but she’d never dealt with unicorns in a less-than-virginal state before. Misty fumbled with the buttons on her shirt as she headed for the door, afraid she’d find Caroline bleeding into the sawdust on the stall floor, but as she put her hand on the latch the door opened under it. It was Caroline.
“What took you so long?” Misty shouted. “I thought you were dead!”
Caroline pushed Misty gently back and closed the door firmly behind her. “Misty, maybe it doesn’t count.”
“What?”
“What we did. I’m not sure it matters.”
“Well it mattered to me!”
“Me too, but I meant Vulcan.”
“Oh.” Misty paused. “Huh?”
“He was really snappish, but he let me water him and feed him.”
“What do you mean ‘snappish’?”
“He growled a lot, and pushed me into the wall, and he tried to bite me twice. But he could just be pissed at being locked up all day.”
“Did you try to
get on him?”
“I . . .” Caroline looked down. “No.”
“Did you even take off the cross-ties?”
Caroline shook her head and didn’t look up. “No. Didn’t have the guts.”
Misty sat down hard on the dinette bench. She didn’t know what to think . . . didn’t know if she could afford to hope . . . didn’t even know if she wanted to hope.
And then came a familiar screech of “Misty!” The door slammed open, revealing Misty’s mother beaming in carnivorous glee. “Misty, you’ll never guess!”
Misty’s heart tried to climb up her throat. “Mother!” she squeaked.
But Mother was on a roll, and didn’t notice that half the buttons on Misty’s shirt were in the wrong buttonholes. “Mary Frances Schwartz got herself gored!”
Caroline paled. “Omigod!”
Misty said “Is she okay?”
“Oh, she’s at the hospital, I’m sure she’ll be fine. The point is, she can’t ride! Probably not for months! And with her out of the way, all you have to do is not fall off the stupid animal again, and we’ll win the Nationals!” She grabbed Misty by the cheeks and pinched hard. “We’ll win!” she sing-songed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “We’ll get our first National championship!”
Misty couldn’t keep the image of little Mary Frances torn open and bleeding out of her mind. It was too close to what she’d visualized happening to Caroline. “How did it happen?”
“The stupid little tart kissed a boy. Can you believe it?” She shook her head, and over her shoulder Misty saw Caroline’s face drop into an expression of anxiety and dismay. “Now look, we have to get you into your outfit right away. There are going to be lots of photographers waiting in the warm-up arena and my little angel will have to be perfect.” She turned to Caroline. “And so does Vulcan, so you’d better get to work instead of loitering around the trailer.” But her habitual nastiness lacked its usual edge—blunted by the thought of Misty’s ensuing triumph. She began to fuss at Misty’s hair. “What, you’ve only just showered?” She made a sound of tried patience.