Bound to Burn

13. Patience and Peppermints

13

PATIENCE AND PEPPERMINTS

SASHA

Ain’t Even Done With The Night

by John Cougar Mellencamp

I watch from the side of the makeshift dance floor as my grandparents slow dance to a John Cougar Mellencamp song. His hand is around her waist, and she follows where he leads with such effortless trust.

When I move, you move.

The bistro lights hung overhead create a wonderful ambiance, and I couldn’t have gotten all of this done without Cash’s help.

The yard and patio are scattered with friends and neighbors, some dancing, others gathered together talking, laughing, and eating. I’ve always known this was a special place, and I never want to take it for granted. This is just another reminder of how hard it is to leave.

“You are so sweet to do this for your grandparents.” Ruth Beckette and her husband, Chaney, stop me as I walk through the yard on my way to the barn to check on the horses.

The Beckettes own a ranch further down the canyon and have been friends with my grandparents for as long as I can remember. Their granddaughter, Sam, is the same age as me, and we would play together when she came to visit her grandparents.

“Fifty years.” I watch my grandparents and then turn back to Ruth and Chaney. “They wouldn’t have done anything for themselves.”

“You’re right about that,” Ruth laughs.

“How is Sam doing in New York?” She went to NYU for college and we fell out of touch, but I hear about her accomplishments from Ruth and Chaney every time they visit.

“She’s working at Washburn Brokerage firm and loves it. Of course, she’s so busy we don’t hear from her as often as we’d like, but we’re hoping she’s able to visit over the holidays this year,” Ruth says proudly.

“I hope she does. I’d love to catch up with her,” I say sincerely.

Not many of my friends stayed in Pacific Palisades. Everyone I was close to either went to college out of state and stayed there after graduation, or they’re busy working downtown L.A. Sometimes I feel like a bit of a misfit. I’m twenty-three and I’m still not finished with school. My grandparents pay for college, but everything else is my responsibility. I had to work in order to pay for anything else I needed. Working at the bar was great money, but I don’t miss the atmosphere.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying the party,” I tell them before continuing through the yard and out to the dirt path. I want to check on the horses to make sure they aren’t stressed over all the commotion.

The barn looms in the distance; a soft glow from the light filters out into the pasture from the side windows. My boots kick up dust in my wake. It’s a reminder of how long it’s been since it rained, which gives me an ominous feeling because we are in the middle of wildfire season.

I push the barn door open just enough to fit through. There are six stalls on each side, but only half are occupied at the moment. The horses snort as I walk down the aisle, checking on them. The barn is quiet and only muted notes from the music drift in on the breeze.

Ivan’s nose pushes out over the stall door as I walk past, trying to grab onto the skirt of my dress. I shoo him away as I head into the storeroom and grab a few pellets. The other horses take them with no problem, but when I get to Ivan’s stall, he sniffs the pellets as if he knows there’s medicine in them and he’s not having it.

His head lifts up and tilts to the side, dismissing what I’m offering.

“Stubborn,” I say and turn my back. I feel his head dip down and nudge my back.

I turn back around. “If I give you a peppermint, will you take your vitamins?” I ask him with a stern voice.

“Does he answer back?” Cash’s voice startles me.

He stands in the doorway with a smirk on his face, devastatingly handsome against the light from the party. I have never met anyone that could flip my stomach like him, making it hard to be in the same space as him and breathe properly, let alone wrap my arms around him while riding on the back of his bike.

I place a hand on my hip. “As a matter of fact, he does.”

“Like Mr. Ed?” Cash laughs.

I laugh with him because I’ve seen reruns.

“Are you enjoying the party?” I ask him.

“Surprisingly, yes.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and gives me a boyish smile. “I’m usually not much for parties though.”

I’ve been watching him all night and can confirm that he is uncomfortable in large crowds from the way he observes from the sidelines, hiding in the shadows. Occasionally, when someone talks to him, he keeps the conversation short, often finding an excuse to leave.

“I noticed you don’t drink.” I wonder out loud, not sure if I should ask, but there is a lot I don’t know about Cash that I want to find out.

“I had my fill back in the day,” he says plainly.

I can only imagine what it was like from my experience working at the bar and watching people overindulge. I’m sure that’s tame compared to being in a rock band, especially in the nineties.

“Too much alcohol, too many drugs…” he doesn’t finish his sentence. The serious expression on his face makes me itch for my camera, because seeing him in the low light of the barn is perfection. He doesn’t do it on purpose, it’s just him, but he’s the kind of man that draws you in with just one look.

“Too many women?” I finish for him. I want to know what kind of lover he is. I want to picture him, see his face, reach inside and pull everything from him.

“I’m not Jack.” The tone of his voice is meant to be a warning, but all it does is cause heat to bloom from my stomach and spread throughout my body. Cash isn’t a playboy like Gabriel, nor does he have a past like Jack. He’s someone who looks like he loves hard and gets burned in the process. I know exactly how he feels.

“You don’t drink either,” he mentions as he enters the barn and walks closer, leaning against one of the stalls. He folds his arms over his chest causing the guitar player veins in his forearms to be on full display.

“I worked in a bar,” I explain. “It gets old real quick.” I turn towards Ivan, finding comfort in running my hand across his jaw and down his neck.

I reach into the pocket of my dress and pull out the peppermint that I know he wants. Ivan’s nose flares as he smells it.

“That explains a lot,” Cash says as he moves closer, but stops when Ivan’s head pops out of the stall to take the peppermint from my hand.

I dismiss his comment to take the opportunity to tease him. “Are you afraid of the horse?”

“No,” he says a little too quickly.

I laugh because he’s a bad liar.

“What’s funny?” he asks, curiously.

“You ride a motorcycle but you’re afraid of a little horse.” I tease him with a smile while rubbing Ivan’s nose.

“That,” he points to Ivan, “is not a little horse.”

I have to admit, Ivan is on the large size. He stands about seventeen hands and looks more intimidating than he is.

“Motorcycles I know, horses not so much,” he admits, looking around the barn.

“Well, horses I know, and motorcycles not so much.” I laugh.

“Are they for show or something?” he asks, looking around the barn where Grandpa John keeps old rodeo memorabilia.

I shake my head and laugh. “No.” I move over to one of the other stalls. “Maverick here used to be a race horse.” He lets me lift his lip to show Cash the tattooed numbers on the underside of his top lip. “When he didn’t perform well enough, he was sent to the kill pen.”

Maverick pulls his lip from my grasp having had enough of me showing him off. He’s a sleek black thoroughbred with a white patch on his forehead, and an ornery demeanor like most horses of his breed.

“You rescued him?” Cash moves a little closer. Maverick, despite his name, is less intimidating than Ivan.

“Not me, but Grandpa John took him in for a friend who did.” Maverick licks the remnants of peppermint from my hand.

“Do you ride them?” Cash asks with interest, but he’s still cautious of the horse and keeps his distance, which I find cute.

Maverick is built to run, it’s in the makeup of his genes and you can see it in his powerful legs, all the way into his bones.

If I hadn’t grown up around horses, I suppose I would be cautious, too, kind of how I felt getting on the back of Cash’s bike. It did not go unnoticed that he took the route with more traffic, letting me get used to the motion before we hit the canyon when he really let it open up. In a way, it’s similar to riding a horse, the way you start off in a trot and then hit the clutch, moving you into a canter. It’s that first lurch when you switch gears, and like a horse’s neck stretching forward before you feel the smooth transition into this feeling of utter freedom.

Riding a motorcycle is fear and l**t tangled up in the chaos of steel and metal that gives way to bone and sinewy muscle of a horse between your legs. With the wind in my hair, I felt the goosebumps all the way down to my core.

“Not Maverick anymore,” I answer. “He has a racing injury, and now that he’s an old man, it’s caused arthritis in his leg.” I tickle the grey whiskers on his chin. “He’ll spend however many years he has left, unbridled and unsaddled, free to roam the pasture and eat as many carrots as he wants.” I give him a kiss on his nose to which he gives an ornery protest of a snort.

“What’s the deal with him?” Cash points towards Ivan. “I don’t know anything about horses, but my instincts tell me that when an animal’s ears go flat, it’s not a good sign.”

“That’s true, but Ivan isn’t aggressive.” I reach to pet him and he moves away from me. I suspect he doesn’t like Cash in the barn. “He’s just scared.”

Cash moves towards me, taking small steps to close the short distance between us. Butterflies flutter in my stomach and I hold my breath when he reaches out towards me.

“You have a piece of hay stuck in your hair.” He gently untangles it and lifts it up between us to show me before letting it fall to the ground. Ivan snorts, pinning his ears back again and Cash backs away.

“I don’t think he likes me,” Cash says, settling his back against the wall between one of the empty stalls. He looks like a fish out of water with his black and white Converse, now muted with dust, dark blue jeans, and a leather jacket over his graphic t-shirt.

“Is he a rescue, too?” he asks while under my scrutiny.

I nod. “We don’t have any history on Ivan, but I suspect he was used as a dressage horse although he doesn’t fit the profile, being such a big guy.” I look over at him as he settles himself in the stall.

“I don’t think he was cared for very well. We first got him when I was in high school. He wouldn’t let anyone get close to him. It’s typical for horses that’ve been abused. They don’t know who to trust.”

“How did you win him over?” Cash’s mouth pulls at the corners, almost as if he already knows the answer.

“With a lot of patience,” I giggle, “and peppermints.”