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For I was not merely a rider—I was a warrior, a champion of the untamed wilderness. And in the fierce spirit of the horse beneath me, I saw reflected the strength and beauty of my own untamed
soul. As we slowed to a gentle trot, the horse’s flanks heaving with exertion, I reached out to stroke his sleek coat, feeling the strong thrum of his pulse beneath my fingertips. There was a bond between us, forged in the crucible of hardship and resilience. It transcended the boundaries of mere words.
With a final pat on his neck, I turned the horse back toward the stable, a sense of satisfaction settling over me.
As we approached, I noticed the stable owner’s wife waiting for me. Her presence was unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. She stood there, her gaze lingering on me with a hunger that sent a shiver down my spine, her lips curved into a seductive smile that set my pulse racing. “Enjoy your ride?” she purred, her voice dripping with honeyed tones as she stepped closer, her movements fluid and graceful.
I nodded, unable to tear my eyes away from her captivating presence. “Always do,” I replied, my voice low and husky with the remnants of adrenaline. Before I could react, she had closed the distance between us, her hand reaching up to brush a lock of hair away from my face with a feather-light touch. And then, before I could comprehend what was happening, her lips were on mine, warm and inviting, sending shockwaves of desire coursing through my body.
For a moment, I was frozen in place, the world spinning as her kiss ignited a fire within me. But then, as if on instinct, I responded, my hands finding their way to her waist as I pulled her closer, losing myself in the intoxicating rush of sensation. But even as I surrendered to the moment, a voice in the back of my mind whispered warnings of danger, reminding me of the complexities and consequences of such forbidden desires. I am Ashlyn Beech- a renowned horse trainer, a woman whose reputation with horses (and sometimes women, too,) preceded her, and any dalliance with the owner’s wife could spell disaster for both of us.
Reluctantly, I pulled away, my chest heaving with the effort to regain control of my racing heart.
“We can’t,” I murmured, my voice barely a whisper, the sunlight fading behind us.
She smiled, a knowing glint in her eyes that sent a thrill of anticipation racing through me. “Can’t, or won’t?” she teased, her fingers trailing lightly down the curve of my cheek.
I swallowed hard, the conflicting emotions swirling within me like a tempest in the depths of my soul. “Both,” I admitted, my voice tinged with regret.
With a sigh, she stepped back, the moment broken but not forgotten. “Perhaps another time, then,” she said, her voice tinged with disappointment. I nodded, a sense of longing tugging at me as I watched her retreat, knowing that our paths would inevitably cross again, but uncertain about what the future might hold.
As I led the horse back into the stables, the echoes of our encounter still lingering in the air, I couldn’t help but wonder what might have been. But for now, the rush of the ride and the strength of the horse beneath me were enough to fill the void left in the wake of our fleeting passion. I tended to the needs of the horse while a sense of calm settled over me like a comforting embrace. I knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, I would face them with the same courage and determination that had carried me through so many storms before.
I found myself sitting across from the stable owners wife, Monica in the dimly lit corner of a secluded café, the air thick with tension as I braced myself for the conversation that was long overdue. She sat before me, her gaze smoldering with a mixture of desire and defiance—a potent cocktail that never failed to ignite a spark of apprehension within me.
“Monica,” I began, my voice steady, despite the turmoil raging within me. “We need to talk.”
She arched an eyebrow, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes. “Is this about last night?” she asked, her tone laced with sarcasm. “Because if it is, I already told you; I’ll be more careful next
time.”
I shook my head, frustration bubbling to the surface despite my best efforts to keep it at bay. “It’s not just about last night, Monica,” I replied, my voice tinged with exasperation. “It’s about everything. The risks we’re taking, the lies we’re telling . . . it’s not sustainable.”
She scoffed, her demeanor shifting from playful to defensive in the blink of an eye. “What are you saying, Ashlyn? That you want to end things?” Her voice cracked with a hint of desperation, a vulnerability that took me by surprise.
Why am I always surprised when they feel differently than I do?
I hesitated, the weight of my words heavy upon my shoulders. “I’m saying that we need to be realistic,” I replied, my voice softening with empathy. “We can’t keep living like this, always looking over our shoulders. Always afraid of getting caught.”
Monica’s eyes narrowed, a fire igniting within them that sent a shiver down my spine. “So, what?
You’re just going to walk away?” she demanded, her voice rising with each word. “After everything we’ve been through, after all the risks we’ve taken . . . you’re just going to abandon me?”
I reached out, placing a comforting hand on hers, but she jerked away as if my touch burned. “I’m not abandoning you, Monica,” I insisted, my heart aching with the pain of my own betrayal. “I’m just . . . I’m tired of living a lie. I need to find some semblance of normalcy, some peace of mind.”
She scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Normalcy? Peace of mind?” she repeated, her voice dripping with scorn. “You think you can just walk away from this and pretend like it never happened?”
I closed my eyes, the weight of her words bearing down on me like a heavy burden. ”I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “But we have to try.” For a long moment, we sat in silence, the air thick with tension. And then, with a resigned sigh, Monica nodded, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek.
“Fine,” she said, her voice barely audible over the din of the café. “If that’s what you want, then go. But don’t expect me to make it easy for you.”
I sat in my small, dimly lit apartment, the weight of the severance letter heavy in my hands. Resignation settled over me as the words on the page blurred before my eyes—a cruel reminder of the fragile nature of my existence in the world of horse training. The terms of the severance were clear. Stark in their simplicity, yet devastating in their implications. I was to receive a generous sum of money—enough to ensure financial security for years to come—but in return, I would be forced to relinquish any ties to Brooks Creek, the place that had become my home and my refuge from the chaos of the outside world.
I screwed up my face. Only myself to blame. Why can I still not keep my hands to myself? Why can I still never resist temptation? Or other people’s wives? At my age, I should be over all this shit. I should be settled down with a wife and family, right?
And then there was the non-disclosure agreement, a legal document designed to silence me. To ensure that the secrets of Brooks Creek remained buried forever. It was a bitter pill to swallow and a betrayal of everything I had worked so hard to achieve.
And as I read through the fine print, my heart sank even further. Buried within the legal jargon was a clause that stipulated I could never set foot in the state of Kentucky again, effectively severing any ties I had to the Kentucky world of horse racing and competition. Tears stung my eyes as I realized the full extent of what this meant. I would never again see my beloved horse stallion. Never again feel the rush of adrenaline as we thundered down the track, our hearts pounding in unison with the rhythm of the race.
