By Donna

Charity couldn’t sleep. The events of the day kept running through her head. She still couldn’t believe everyone had jumped on her they way they had because she had wanted to geld the culled colts to make them better riding horses.

Everything had gone wrong. First that strange animal woman had yelled at her. Even the vet had sided against her, and now most likely thought her a spoiled brat or something because she had gotten angry and stomped off. But when Sam Grey had changed his mind and said he agreed with them, that had hurt more than anything. Clutching her pillow, she felt hot tears running down her face.

She had tried to make it up to Sam by cooking a nice supper, but the cantankerous wood stove had defeated her best efforts, making the meal an unappetizing combination of both burnt and undercooked portions. Fighting her emotions, she had fled up the stairs to her room. But sleep would not come.

With a sigh, she slipped out of the bed. Sam had given her one of his undershirts to use as a nightgown, and that was all she had on. The only other clothes she had were the ones she had been wearing when she had appeared on Edan, and she washed them out every night, so that she would have something clean to wear in the morning. Standing by her window, she looked outside. The moon was shining brightly, and she could see the dark forms of the resting horses in some of the paddocks.

The walls of the house seemed to close in on her, and not being able to stand it any longer, she silently stole down the stairs and out the front door. The grass was cool on her bare feet, but she ignored it as she headed for the barn. Her stallion snorted at her, greeting her with a soft whinny.

"How about a ride, Bony?" she said, grabbing his bridle from the rack and slipping into his stall. The big horse ducked his head, waiting for her to put it on. Not bothering with a saddle, she led him out to the small arena that she and Sam used to work the horses out in.

Climbing up onto the fence, she leaned over the horse’s back and threw her leg over to straddle him. Sitting up as tall and straight as she would have in a saddle, she cued him to move forward. She liked riding bareback from time to time. There was nothing like feeling the awesome power of the big horse underneath her, with no leather, and in this case, no clothes to get in the way.

Upstairs, Sam Grey stirred in his sleep. His eyes fluttered open, and he lay quietly, wondering what had wakened him. Then he heard it. Outside his open window, he could hear the rhythmic sounds of horse’s hoofs. Iron clad ones. Rising from the bed, he went to the window to see what was going on, and the site caused his heart to leap. Down in the arena, bathed in the soft light of the moon, Charity and her horse were moving as one as the girl schooled him, working him in the upper level movements of dressage.

Pulling his pants on, Sam went outside, moving to the side of the arena so he could watch. It was as if the big horse was dancing to some unheard symphony while the rider sat motionless on top of him. The only sign that she was giving him any sort of direction was the occasion movement of her heel just a little bit back behind the girth, or the slight tightening of her hand on one side or the other. The only sound that could be heard was the steady rhythm of his feet as he was put through his paces. An extended trot. Then a collected one. Haunches in. Haunches out. A canter pirouette. Then back to the trot so collected it looked like he was trotting in place. Then exploding into an extended trot again down the long side of the arena, the sheer power of the horse almost taking his breath away. Picking up the canter, Charity turned him across the diagonal of the arena, and cued Bonaparte to change leads with every stride, making him dance gracefully to the other corner.

As beautiful as the horse was moving, it was the girl on his back that kept drawing Sam’s eye. He had known she was a good equestrian, but he hadn’t imagined her being able to do things like this with a horse. And to top it off, the thin undershirt he had given her didn’t hide much of her body. Her lean, lightly bronzed legs hung motionless down the horse’s side, her heels pushed down correctly, just as if there was a stirrup under the balls of her feet. Sitting tall and straight, her shoulders back, it caused her firm young breasts to push plainly against the fabric of the shirt, outlining their form. The bottom of the shirt was bunched up at her waistline, and he was catching tantalizing glimpses of her hips and backside as she worked the horse.

And then, it was over. Pulling the horse to a halt, Charity took the reins in one hand, bowing her head to an imaginary judge at the end of the arena. Walking her horse forward on a loose rein, she headed for the gate, pleased at the wonderful way that Bony had responded to her every cue. It was then she realized she had an audience.

"Sam?" she asked, seeing the shadowy form of a man standing off to the side. "Is that you?"

"Aye, Lass. It's me."

She breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn't a stranger. "Hi, Sam. I couldn't sleep, so I came out to ride. I'm sorry I woke you. I know you need your rest."

He looked her up and down, saying nothing. He was that kind of guy anyway. "My pleasure, Lass."

She smiled at him, and then slapped Bonaparte affectionately on the neck. "He did great. We usually got really high marks in dressage. I don't want him to forget any of it, and we have been too busy with the other horses for me to work him out properly." Tossing her leg over, she slid down the horse’s side, landing lightly on her feet. "Well, I guess I better put him back up."

"Aye," he said. He didn't know what else to say. There was a reason he was a bachelor.

He followed her into the barn, absent-mindedly petting Beauty as he watched her put the stallion back up in his stall. Charity gave her mount one last pat, and then latched his door behind her. Now that she wasn't on horseback, her state of undress didn't seem quite so obvious. The undershirt hung down to the middle of her shapely thighs. "You want some tea or anything?" she asked, feeling his eyes upon her.

"Tha' wou' be fine, Lass," he said, trying not to imagine what was under his shirt. As he fell in step with her, he struggled for the right words. The sight of her and the horse dancing in the moonlight had affected him more that he could ever imagine. It had been one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Going into the house, he lit a lamp while Charity fired up the stove again so that she could heat the tea.

Finally, after trying and failing to put it into words, he stammered out, "Y-yer know, Lass . . . I'm glad yer decided ter stay here. With us."

Charity shrugged. "I still feel a little out of place. Everything I had worked so hard for is gone. I was going to ride in the Olympics. Everything I did was in preparation for that goal. Now..." she sighed. "Oh well, life goes on. I just need to find something else to focus on. Like carving out a new life here."

He didn't know what to say to that, either. It seemed like most people were happy there; they had been given a new start in life. Why had Charity come? A sudden and very selfish thought crossed his mind but he shook it from his head. "New is good?" he said, and it came out like a pleading question. Ashamed of the tone, he turned and began washing his hands compulsively.

"New is good," she repeated. "You’re right. I’m still in one piece. I have my horse with me. And I have a brand new friend. You. Heck, who knows, maybe I would have taken a header over one of the fences at the Olympics and broken my fool neck. I could just see the headlines now. ~Promising young equestrian killed in fall~ Maybe that is why I'm here. Whatever the reason, I'm here now. Might as well make the best of it." She scrubbed the stray tear running down her cheek away with the back of her hand. "Damn! I'm sorry. I'm not usually such a crybaby. I just don't know what has come over me today."

"Yer take this very seriously," he said. Impulsively he took her moist hand in his two wet ones. Then, apologizing, he let her loose and grabbed a towel. He was blushing as he threw it to her. But before she could say something else, the teakettle whistled, jarring them both.

Getting up out of the chair, she went to the cabinet for some cups. As she reached up to the shelf, the shirt raised enough to make Sam swallow hard. Charity poured them both a cup and sat down again. "Sam," she said softly as she blew on her tea, not wanting to meet his eye. "Would you think me terribly forward if I asked if I could sleep with you tonight?"

He just stared at her. When he could find utterance he said, "Yer shouldn't feel obligated ter do tha' Lass. There’s no strings. I'm jes' 'appy yer 'ere."

"I know," she said. "If you would rather not, I understand. It's just that...," she faltered for words. "Today was hard for me. It would make it better if someone who cared how I felt would hold me in his arms. Even cowgirls get the blues," she quipped, trying to make a joke, but then realizing he wouldn't understand the reference.

"Of course," he said, swallowing hard. "It kin jes' be holdin' if yer want. I wouldn' wanter take advantage . . ." While he spoke he shifted, uncomfortably aroused by the prospect of sharing a bed with her.

The two of them drank their tea in silence, both of them lost in thought. Once they were finished, Charity blew out the lamp, and slipping her hand into Sam's, let him lead her upstairs to his bed.