Summer

A whoosh of air freed itself from the young man's lips, a gentle breeze softly mimicking him. The sun was warm on his face and stray pieces of hay tickled his damp skin. Summer.

An ache coiled in his lower back, retrieving him from behind the red haze of his closed eyelids. He reached for the pitchfork he had propped against the wall, his calloused hands wrapping around the smooth wood of the handle. He set to work filling stalls with golden, prickly straw, an easiness about him that the world rarely saw. The steady crackling of the dried stems filled the emptiness of the barn as he stabbed, scooped, and tossed. His hands slid along the handle, his breath now coming in heavier gasps. A bead of sweat slid down the back of his neck, teasing him as it continued to slide down, down between his shoulder blades. He paused to scratch at it and continued.

After filling each stall, he paused for a moment to stretch, suspiciously eyeing the pigeons cooing softly from above. The sun was high in the sky and the thick, stale air pressed into him, ever attacking. The refreshing—if small—breeze from earlier had since died down, leaving only that certain quiet of heat. The humidity muffled the sounds of even the chickens, whose steady clucking and crowing could barely be heard. He huffed out a raspy cough that sounded much too old for a boy of nineteen.

He sensed her before he saw her. A delicious, rich scent, the soft creak of unbroken riding boots, the puff of a breeze only a living creature could have made in this heavy stillness. He paused, looked up.

Her head was poised with a curious tilt, something almost... equine about the way she eyed him. She had the posture and arrogance of a haughty Society lady, but the innocence of a girl kissed her brow. There was an expression in her keen eyes he couldn't quite name. She straightened her head and took a step towards him.

"You must be the new stable hand." Her voice was smooth and polished, but surprisingly rough. Like a grand river, the sun glinting off the surface, concealed something that could almost be vicious underneath. Her voice had the refined edges of someone who never failed to get what they wanted, but the sharpness of someone who took what they wanted, too.

He straightened. "Yes, ma'am." A respectful incline of his head.

Her laugh was throaty and mesmerizing. "Ma'am? You really are new." She shifted another step closer, and he took a half step back. "I'm Rochelle Ever Marie Carrington." Something about the way she pronounced each syllable edged more toward mocking than pride.

A sharp exhale. Of course. He may have been new, but he had heard of "Carrington's girl". Heard of grooms dismissed for nothing, of muttered curses and prayers directed at her retreating figure. His fingers flexed. "Yes ma'am," he repeated.

Another one of those addicting laughs. "There's no need to call me ma'am! I'm practically the same age as you. What are you, fifteen, new boy?"

"Nineteen."

"Oh, then you're practically my age!" She smirked, her loveliness twisting into something almost sadistic. "I'm twenty-one myself. Newly turned." She winked, and his shoulders tensed. He watched as her sharp eyes follow the movement. "You and I ought to ride together. You do ride, don't you?"

He nodded, swallowing a hot ball of irritation and shame. Shame that she could so easily bully him into doing her bidding, irritation that he was helpless against it.

"Good," she said breezily. "You can ride with me."

And with that Rochelle Ever Marie Carrington turned and marched towards a feisty mare several stalls down.

He shook his head, exhaling slowly as he reached for Gideon's tack. The powerful Percheron gelding had been his mount of choice for the past several weeks. Why the sweet draft was here in a barn of hot-blooded, high-strung Thoroughbreds was beyond his knowledge, but he enjoyed the gelding's steadfast, earnest nature — liked that he was honest. No tricks, no games.

Unliked every other creature, horse or human, in this godforsaken barn.

He was just slipping the bit into Gideon's mouth when she was there again, this time an antsy bay on her heels. "Aren't you going to introduce yourself?" She cocked a dark eyebrow, and the mare tossed her head impatiently behind her.

"Des." A slight tilt of his head, brusque, but not impolite.

"You talk very little, don't you?"

He said nothing.

She smirked then, her head cocked once again to the side, eyes piercing his mask. "Very well, then, Des, I can talk enough for the two of us."

Her gaze held his, unwavering. Too intense, too knowing.

Desmond blinked, breaking contact when something curled low in his stomach. He shook his head and turned abruptly.

Des lead Gideon over to the mounting block and swung on with a familiarity that came only from years in the saddle. Gideon shifted underneath him and playfully turned his head, bumping Des' boot with his soft muzzle.

Des chuckled under his breath before leaning down and slipping a small, crumbled cube of sugar into reach. Gideon' lips greedily plucked it up, his warm breath brushing Des' palm.

"Greedy old pig," Des murmured playfully, nudging the huge gelding forward to clear the way for Rochelle.

He watched as she calmly led an antsy, bright-eyed Belladonna.

Des had never seen Rochelle ever ride "her" mare. Not once.

He'd been the one to exercise her these past few weeks, same as all the other horses in the Carringtons' barn. He knew better than anyone how much of a handful she was.

Spookier, naughtier, and smarter than all the others. But damn was she faster than anything Des had ever sat before.

He silently questioned if Rochelle would request a softer horse, possibly even Gideon. His chest grew tight as he pictured this moody, inexperienced girl riding his precious Percheron.

Gideon shifted beneath him, ears swiveling towards the restless bay spectacle nearing him.

This will certainly be an adventure, he thought dryly.

"Easy, darling," Rochelle sang under her breath, her voice smooth as rich chocolate. Bella's hooves danced beneath her as her head dipped, eyeing the steps as though they were a predator waiting to pounce.

Des rolled his eyes, even as he called, "Are you sure you can handle her?"

Rochelle shot him an arrogant smirk. "I can take her, farm boy."

His jaw tightened at the name. Farm boy.

"As you wish, city girl."

Her eyes lit up.

Mistake.

"You do have a personality! A feisty one at that," she teased, even as she turned Belladonna toward the block. Gathering the reins into a relaxed, yet firm bunch, she swung into the saddle with ease-- as if the mare wasn't moments from taking off.

Des watched, equal parts exasperated and-- annoyingly-- impressed. She was going to get herself killed sooner or later.

And knowing his luck, he'd be the one cleaning up the whole mess.

Once they reached the trails, Des finally let himself breathe. He relaxed atop Gideon, reins long and allowing his sweet gelding to stop for a juicy bite of grass every once and awhile. The sun hung high in the sky, though it wouldn't be for long. Here, in the quiet, he didn't need to worry, didn't have to think.

Until Belladonna and her dramatic rider appeared in his periphery. He turned to watch as Rochelle struggled with the mare. She'd tighten her reins, and Bella would rear her head back, ears pinned. Rochelle would then loosen them only for the mare would try to run off again. A delicate dance of push and pull. One she had yet to master.

Des failed to keep a faint, amused smile off his face.

Rochelle huffed, clearly annoyed when Bella broke into a slow, sideways trot again. "You're so dramatic!" Bella's ears swiveled back, only for her to speed up even more. Rochelle just laughed, and gently half halted. "You either need to run or be lunged."

"She's testing you," Des said quietly, keeping an eye on the scene at hand. If either one of them got hurt on his watch, he'd never hear the end of it. He wasn't the first groom here, and he wouldn't be the last.

Rochelle flashed a wild grin, pressing her heels into the mares side as she refused to move forward, "And I'm testing her, aren't I, Bells?"

The mare gave a small, indignant buck, and Des' whole body clenched, preparing to jump down and grab hold of the mare. To his surprise, however, Rochelle sat it beautifully.

His brows rose in surprise before he could stop them. "So, you can ride?" The words slipped out, more observation than insult.

Rochelle's gaze lit up. "Surprised, are we?" Her tone was teasing but her eyes were soft, asking. Des let his gaze linger, just a bit longer than he should have.

A sharp huff from Belladonna broke the moment, and he quickly turned forward and asked, "Do you want to try a light canter?" His voice was rough, and he cleared his throat before continuing, "I'd say they're pretty warmed up."

"I'd love to." Des could feel her brown eyes searching him, waiting for him to turn back. Instead he kept a steady eye ahead, shortened his reins, and nudged Gideon into an easy, rolling canter. The gelding tossed his head mischievously, and Des laughed, loud and unrestrained.

His moment of bliss was interrupted by a bay streak shooting past him and Gideon. Rochelle and Belladonna racing the wind, Des sighed, outwardly annoyed with Rochelle's antics, but secretly pleased.

Fine. If she wanted a race, they'd race.

He rose into a crouch atop Gideon's back and loosened his reins, the hefty gelding eagerly surging forward. They caught up to Belladonna and Rochelle quickly, too quickly.

If Rochelle had wanted to leave him in the dust, she easily could have.

But she stayed.

As the sun began to paint the horizon in pink and gold, the two finally slowed. Belladonna finally relaxed, neck soft and extended, and Rochelle loosened her reins. She drew up even with Des and broke the easy silence.

A peaceful sigh seemed to draw itself from Rochelle's core, and she lifted her nose to the sky. "It's nice out here. Peaceful."

If Des had been a horse, both ears would now be on the lazy figure besides him. There was something real in her voice, something vulnerable. Before he could figure out what to say to that, she nudged Belladonna forward.

"You always look so serious." Her soft mouth was, for once, not teasing him.

Des turned, eyes squinting playfully, "Do I?"

Rochelle hummed, bending to rub her mare's damp neck. "Mm. Like everything is life or death."

He chuckled, hands light on the reins, back slouched and relaxed. When was the last time he'd felt this good? "I just think before I speak. You should try it sometime." He winked.

He watched as Rochelle's breath caught, eyes fluttering. He silently cursed himself.

"You wound me." Her girlish giggle was addicting, and it left his heart pounding.

Des couldn't hold back a low laugh. Damn this girl and her ability to make him smile.

But before he could think of a worthy response, Belladonna spooked.

She jumped right, pushing her into Gideon, who lazily flicked an ear at the scene. Rochelle's knee knocked against his and Des' attention honed into that small point of contact. Instinctively, he reached out a hand, grabbing her arm to steady her.

For a mere second they were close, too close. The faint scent of roses and leather, the warmth of her skin, it was too much. He quickly let go and cleared his throat as he shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. Rochelle only laughed, murmuring, "Gentle, love." She rubbed Belladonna's neck with an easy confidence.

Was that meant for the horse or him? Either way it seemed to calm both his and the mare's nerves.

Gideon raised his head, sensing his rider's tumultuous mood. Des turned away before Rochelle could see the warmth rising to his face.

Once she had settled, he wearily asked, "Are you alright? I mean, not that you can't handle yourself but..." he trailed off, yet again annoyed with himself for speaking his mind.

Her eyes met his. "I'm okay."

He was at a loss. "Good." He cleared his throat. "Do you want to start heading back? It's getting dark."

She nodded, and they rode back in silence.

When they got back to the barn, they separated to untack their respective horses. Des could hear Rochelle humming an old folk song to Belladonna, and he held back a smile.

"Hey, Des?" She called when he was just turning Gideon loose into his stall.

"Yes?" He hurried over to her, worried that something had happened with the unpredictable mare. When he exited the stall, she was there, waiting. He released a sigh of relief.

Thank you for today," Rochelle said quietly, her voice softening as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, unexpected vulnerability flickering in her gaze. "I know I kind of... forced it on you, but I really had a great time. It was nice, having someone listen to me. I need to become better at that..." her voice trailed off, something in her tone of voice that made his fists clench protectively.

He slid his hands into his pockets. "No problem, Elle," he watched as her head jerked up in response to the nickname. "I had a great time too." He reached back to scratch the back of his neck as his face reddened.

She laughed. "Of course you did, I was there." It was so matter of fact that Des couldn't help but find himself nodding along with a smile. Showing uncharacteristic shyness, Rochelle tentatively asked, "Tomorrow? I mean, if you're free and everything. You don't have to but I-" She stopped when she saw his face.

He grinned then, fully unrestrained as the warm summer's night breeze caressed his skin. "As you wish."