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It might have been sheer terror or the aftereffects of being tranquilized like a horse, but my stomach finally revolted. I threw up all over Dex. Projectile vomit famous with newborns. With babies, it was kind of cute. Me, not so much. His once clean shirt now had funky chunks and orange slime dripping down it. Hopefully, it felt as bad as it smelled.
“Shit!” he swore as he looked down at himself.
I had to admit I felt better in more ways than one. He released his grip so I tried to dash past him, my legs jiggly like the Colonel’s Jell-O, but he had a long reach. He yanked me by the arm out of the stall and into the bright, sterile room. It felt as if my arm had popped out of socket.
The large horse startled, his big eyes bulging with fear. His nostrils flared, probably from the horrible smell emanating from Dex, and he pulled up on the lead. Unfortunately, the horse wasn’t much help to me unless he could go and call the police.
Dex pushed me roughly against the phantom mare, my stomach pressed into the worn leather. The impact knocked the wind out of me. I didn’t even want to think about the cooties that were all over it. So gross. I tried to wriggle free but Dex’s large hand pressed into my lower back, holding me in place. Breathe!
“Struggle. I like it.”
I stopped at once. Sucked in some much needed air, funky smell and all. Think. Think! I had no intention of being raped, now or ever.
Dex pressed his lower body into me, legs against legs, hips against hips. I felt his erection, hard against me. I heard him rip his soiled shirt off. It landed on the floor in front of me in a soggy heap.
“I think we can start our first lesson now,” he said, grinding his hips into me. His hands moved to the waistband of my jeans.
I felt around beneath the stand frantically searching for something, anything, to use as a weapon. I wasn’t sure what I grabbed but it felt like hard plastic. It was heavy and cumbersome, but I was able to get my right hand on it. In a firm grasp I swung it up and around, twisting my body, using all the adrenaline-induced power I had, and clocked Dex on the side of the head.
Thwack.
He gave a grunt and went down like a redwood tree in the forest, landing hard, right next to his horse, which whinnied at the near miss. I stood up shakily and stared down at his prostrate form. The spooked animal pranced in place, his lead preventing him from moving away. He tugged at the bridle, wanting to escape as I much as I did. I scrambled back. Put the phantom mare between us. No way was I going to approach the horse, to ease his fears. I was just as scared as he.
The animal reared, his front hooves going up and coming down hard on Dex’s head and upper body. With a sickening sound, kind of like a pumpkin being tossed off a roof, I knew Dex wouldn’t be bothering me anymore. No way could a man survive with a horseshoe shaped dent in his head. My stomach lurched, although it was already empty.
I realized I still grasped my makeshift weapon, the artificial vagina I’d seen in action the first time I’d come to the ranch. I placed it on top of the phantom mare, carefully fighting my need to giggle hysterically.
Dex had been knocked out, most likely killed. I’d been saved by an artificial vagina. Wouldn’t Goldie think that was a hoot?
17
I stared at Dex’s prostrate body, watching, making sure he wasn’t getting back up. Deep down I knew that was going to happen right before pigs started to fly.
The panicked horse seemed to sense a change in the air, as if the danger was now gone. He calmed, although he snorted a few times and his nostrils still flared. I didn’t blame him. The large room smelled awful, like manure, throw up and blood. I approached the horse with extreme caution, keeping the phantom mare between me and the horse’s hooves. Carefully, carefully I undid his lead and backed away.
I walked on unsteady feet over to the big doors, giving a wide berth to the horse and threw them open. “Here, horsie, horsie. Come on. You’re a good boy. You did a good job, now run free. Go!”
A horse was much smarter than I ever thought. He saw that opening and went for it, leisurely walking out the doors and into the sunshine.
I looked around, found a phone mounted on the wall and, with shaking fingers, dialed 911. “I…I need help. A man horse tranquilized me and tried to make me his brood mare, which Ireally don’t want to be, so I hit him on the head with an artificial vagina before he was stomped on by a horse.”
I stayed on the line with the operator, most likely so he could confirm I wasn’t a complete nut job making it all up for attention. “On top of that, he had someone start a fire somewhere in the national forest to kill my boyfriend! He’s dead, I know he’s dead!”
Ten agonizingly long minutes later the first cop car rolled up. I didn’t know if he was the sheriff, police, SWAT or with the Royal Mounties. He came in a car with a light bar on top and had a gun strapped to his hip. Worked for me. The rest of the cavalry followed right behind and rescued me. But the horse had truly saved the day.
I wasbeside myself in the back of the ambulance. Dread and sheer panic over the possibility of Ty actually being dead made me a terrible patient. The paramedic probably had a less diplomatic word in mind to describe my demeanor. In fact, they threatened me with sedation if I didn’t calm down.
By the time I got to the ER, I was seriously considering another sedative. The hurt and sadness overwhelming me would quickly be dulled by a little something in the IV now sticking out of my arm. I lay on a gurney, my clothes swapped for a lovely pale blue hospital gown. A flimsy blanket was pulled up to my waist. The air conditioning was set to tundra, the smell of antiseptic and rubbing alcohol permeated the air. Better than the scent of vomit. My mouth felt as if I hadn’t brushed my teeth in a week, but at least my stomach was calm. No nausea, thank goodness. Wires attached to sticky electrodes stuck out every which way from me and into a machine that beeped quietly.What wasn’t so quiet was the shouting coming from outside my closed curtain.
“I don’t care if she’s a hibernating bear. I’m going in there.”
Ty. He was alive! His voice, all gruff with anger, sounded wonderful. Papers rustled, a grunt, the curtain ripped aside, practically pulled from the metal rod at the ceiling. Ty moved like a bull through Pamplona.
His green pants and yellow wildfire shirt were covered in dirt and black soot. Skin darkened by fire and sun. Eyes wild with…fear, anxiety. He stopped dead, still three feet away, his eyes searching my body, more intimately than the doctor’s examination.
“Jesus, Jane.” He ran a hand over his face, smearing the blackness that covered it.
Tentatively, he approached the gurney and placed a hand on the blanket, squeezing my foot gently as if afraid to touch me, of getting any closer.
