Wanted: Undead or Alive

“Are you okay?”

“I think so,” he mumbled as she walked past him.

“I was talking to Molly.” She smirked as she grabbed Molly’s reins. She rubbed the horse’s neck. “Poor girl.”

With a grunt, he hefted himself to his feet. The muscles in his rump and legs twinged with pain. “Damn.”

“Come on.” Brynley led his horse back to the path, her mouth twitching as she passed him by. “Don’t forget your hat, city boy.”

He spotted his hat on the ground, but when he leaned over to pick it up, his muscles objected. “Ouch. Damn.” He walked slowly and stiffly back to the path.

Meanwhile, Brynley had tied a rope from Molly to her gelding. “I’ll have to lead your horse since you don’t know how to control her.”

“It’s not my fault the horse is weird.”

She chuckled. “Do you need help mounting?”

“No. I can mount just fine.” He ignored her dubious look, and swung his leg over the horse. His muscles groaned as he settled into the saddle. “See?” He grimaced, hoping it looked like a smile. “Piece of cake.”

“Okay.” With a grin, she headed back to her horse, then mounted up.

After about half an hour, they arrived at the first campsite. It was bare. No cabins. No pitched tents. No heartbeats. They dismounted, and he wobbled on legs that now felt like rubber. He gritted his teeth, determined not to show any weakness.

Brynley chuckled. “City boy.”

Dammit, she knew he was in pain. “Country girl.” He tipped his cowboy hat as she gathered the reins from both horses. “Mighty obliged, ma’am. I heard that in a movie.”

She gave him a wry look. “Why, land sakes! You’re practically a cowboy.”

He reached inside his coat to remove his pistol from his shoulder holster and winked at her. “Pardon me while I whip this out.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen bigger.”

“Darlin’, you ain’t seen what I’m packing.”

Her mouth twitched. “I’ve heard all you Vamps shoot blanks.”

He arched a brow. “You want some cowpoke with a quick trigger finger, or a man like me who can go all night long?”

“I wasn’t referring to your finger.”

“Neither was I.”

Her cheeks blushed a pretty pink. “Fancy talk coming from the Love Doctor.” She turned to tether the horses to a hitching post.

He was tempted to tell her the whole Love Doctor act was just that, an act. It had started out as a joke, a way to make ladies laugh. But it seemed to have backfired on him, because no one wanted to take him seriously.

He paced along the camp’s perimeter as he surveyed their surroundings. “I’ll check the boulders over there. Maybe there’s a cave.”

“If you find one, make sure there aren’t any bears inside,” Brynley called after him. “Or cougars.”

Sheesh. What a friendly place. He trod carefully with his pistol ready. The wilderness was beautiful, but primitive. He couldn’t imagine Queen Corky hiding here. If she was in the area, she’d use vampire mind control to land herself some better accommodations. A fancy ski lodge, maybe, or a ranch house.

He holstered his sidearm and returned to Brynley. “There’s no one here. And I can’t tell if anyone has been here recently.”

She nodded. “It’s part of the ‘leave no trace’ program. You’re not supposed to—” She stopped suddenly with a gasp.

“What?” He reached for his gun once again.

“Look,” she whispered, her voice hushed with awe. She pointed at the far side of the meadow. “Do you see him?”

Relief rushed through him and he released the weapon. “Yeah, it’s a horse.”

“That’s not just any horse. It’s the wild white stallion. Isn’t he beautiful?”

“He looks like a horse.” When Brynley gave him an exasperated look, he continued, “You’ve seen him before?”

“I’ve only seen him a few times in my life. He just seems to appear out of nowhere like magic. He’s totally wild. No one has ever been able to catch him, and believe me, they’ve tried.”

“He sounds cool.”

She smiled at him, her face radiant in the almost full moon. “He is cool. The coolest horse in the entire world. Even my father couldn’t catch him.”

Behind them, Molly whinnied and tugged at the reins Brynley had looped over the hitching post.

“I think Molly likes him, too,” Phineas added with a wry smile.

Brynley patted the mare to calm her down. “She has excellent taste.”

“Is that why she veered off the path? Did she catch his scent?”

“Maybe.”

Phineas watched as the stallion reared up, then galloped off into the woods. “There he goes.”

Brynley nodded, still smiling. “He roams a wide area. I’ve spotted him in Montana a hundred miles from here. He goes wherever he wants.”

“Completely free,” Phineas murmured.

“Yes.” Brynley’s smile faded as she untethered the horses. “I’ve always had this feeling that if the wild white stallion remained free, then all was right in the world.” She shrugged and looked embarrassed. “That probably sounds silly to you.”

“No, not at all.” He moved closer to her. “You figure that as long as he’s free, you have a chance to be free, too.”

Her eyes widened. “You do understand.” She glanced away, her cheeks blushing. “Not bad for a city boy.”

He brushed back a wavy tendril of hair that had come loose from her ponytail and tucked it behind her ear. “I could understand a lot more if we talked to each other instead of sparring.”

“I suppose.” She shifted her weight. “Maybe we could be . . . friends. There wouldn’t be any harm in that, right?”

It would be sheer torture. “I’d like that.”

“Well, good. We can talk while we ride.” She mounted the gelding.

“Okay.” He mounted Molly, wincing inwardly at the pain. Thank you for giving me a ride, he attempted to communicate mentally.

Molly snorted and shook her head, and he felt an air of resignation about her as if she’d accepted long ago that she must do as she was told. He wondered briefly if she wanted to be free like the white stallion. Or when the snow piled up in winter, was she grateful to have a warm stable?

Freedom versus security. It was the choice Brynley had been forced to make when she’d left home.

They rode side by side, but neither of them spoke. Now that they’d called a truce, he didn’t know what to say. It had been easier to communicate with her when he had picked on her and pretended not to like her.

The awkward silence stretched out, broken only by the thudding of horse hooves and the occasional birdcall.

Say something, he slapped himself mentally. “I like your eyes.” He slapped himself again. That was not something a mere friend would say.

She tilted her head toward him. “My eyes?”

“Yeah. They’re . . . blue.” Sheesh, now he sounded like a preschooler who had just learned his colors.

“I like your eyes, too,” she said softly.

“Mine? They’re the color of mud.”

“Dark chocolate,” she corrected him, then smiled. “I love dark chocolate.”