Monday Morsels: Horse Power

HORSE POWER

by Nancy Loyan

Shelby Shane was used to rescuing strays. After all, she had numerous dogs, cats, horses, and assorted chickens roaming her farm. On the rural highway in front of her sprawling acreage, she observed another lost soul.

What was unusual, though, was to see a tall man clad in black leather kicking the tires of a very shiny, very expensive, and very broken-down Harley with his heavy black leather boots.

She was pulling out of her expansive gravel drive in her trusty old pickup truck when she encountered him. He was enraged by the look of things, and she was afraid to interfere for fear of how he might react. She sat, windows rolled up, watching him kick the tires, remove his helmet and toss it to the ground. Even in the enclosed truck, she could hear him cuss.

He turned and froze in place upon seeing her. She expected to come face-to-face with some Hell’s Angel’s type. Instead of being rugged, surly, muscular, and unkept, this man was clean-shaven, with trimmed black curly hair, and shimmering amber eyes. He had cheekbones to envy and the body encased in black leather was gym-worthy.

“Oh, my, what have we here?” she muttered out loud in her lazy Texas drawl.

He approached her window. Hesitating for a moment, she rolled it down a bit.

“Lady, do you have a phone I could use to call for help? My cell is just not working out here,” he said with perfect pitch and diction, though he was visibly rattled, evidenced by the vein throbbing in the corner of his forehead.

This guy was definitely not a hoodlum, she thought. He not only looked like a prep school grad, he sounded like one.

Rolling her window down more, she answered, “Most cell phones don’t work way out here. We haven’t many cell towers in these parts.”

“Great. Just my freakin’ luck.”

“What’s with the bike?”

“Just bought the damn thing. Thought I’d take it on ride to my friend’s cabin in the U.P., and the thing breaks down in the middle of nowhere.”  He sneered in the bike’s direction.

“Where you from?”

“Indiana.”

She snickered. “You’re a ways from Indiana.”

“Yeah, and the dealership. Don’t remind me.”

“Tell you what? I have a ramp in the back of my truck. We can push your bike up onto the bed. We can check it out and see if there’s a Harley dealer somewhere nearby,” she offered. He seemed harmless enough. Right, as harmless as a handsome hunk of male could be. She shook her head. What was she so concerned about? After all, the only relationship she had recently fell apart.

“A Harley dealer around here?” He scanned the winding ribbon of asphalt highway.

“You have to understand that the term ‘around here’ means anywhere within a hundred mile radius.” She smiled.

He smiled back with teeth that surely had endured years of braces.

“I see. What do you suggest?”

What the hell, she thought. “Let’s get your bike on my truck first. After, we’ll ride up to the house. It’s too cold to be standing out here.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“You haven’t many options, I’m afraid.”

She opened the door and stepped out of the cab to face him. She thought that she was tall, but he towered over her. His eyes met hers like a panther sizing up its prey. She trembled, not from the fear of being harmed, but from the mix of leather and testosterone that this stranger emitted. Even in the autumn chill, she was getting rather warm.

She stepped away from him and walked to the back of her truck, lowering the tailgate. Dragging out the steel ramp, the stranger moved in to help. After, he went to his bike and rolled it toward her truck. She took one of the handlebars.

“No need,” he said. “The bike’s heavy and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m a lot stronger than I look,” she said, assisting him in rolling the bike up the ramp and on to her truck bed. She closed the tailgate.

He stood staring at her, brows cocked as if in amazement.

“Well, get in the truck,” she invited.

On the ride up her drive, she asked him his name.

“Travis. Travis Harrington,” he answered. “And yours?”

“Shelby Shane.”

“Pleasure meeting you, Ms. Shane.” He smiled.

“Same here, Mr. Harrington.”

He laughed. “Cut the formality. Call me Travis.”

“Okay, Travis. I’m Shelby.”

“Shelby. Interesting name.”

“Not in Texas, where I come from. Travis sounds more Texan than Midwest.”

He shrugged. “My family had a thing for cowboys.”

Okay, he was as easy to talk to, as he was easy on the eyes.  Her day was getting interesting. She had pulled out of her drive to go to the feed store, and instead pulled into the path of a fascinating stranger.

“Is that pasture yours?” he asked, pointing out of the window.

“Yes.”

“That’s quite a collection of horse flesh you have there. Let’s see, Appaloosas, a Quarter Horse, a Friesian, and an Cobb pony.”

“You know your horses.” The man was a contradiction. Refined, yet riding a Harley, educated, but wearing leather, and a preppie who knew horses. She pulled in to the front of her small storage barn.
He chuckled. “I should. I run an equestrian center, instruct riding, and direct a troop.”

She was grateful that her truck was in “Park.” Now he had completely thrown her off balance.

“Really?” Her gaze met his and it was startling.

“I’m the Director of Horsemanship Instruction at the Vaughn Equestrian Center at Culver Academies,” he said.

He was a preppie. She had read about the prestigious boarding school and its famous Black Horse Troop, that had participated in most presidential inauguration parades and the like. His was the Rolls Royce of stables and educational facilities.

“You traded horses for a Harley?” she quipped.

“Let’s just say that I wanted to try out something with a little more horsepower.” He winked.

“A real horse would have been more reliable, albeit slower,” she said, opening her door and sliding out of her seat and truck.

He exited her truck, closing the door and came around to the back where he met her.

“Hey, let’s leave it on the bed. It’s not going anywhere. How about some hot tea?”

“Sounds like a great idea on a cold day.”

“Follow me.”

### 

Want to read more?

Shelby Shane is used to rescuing strays. She has numerous dogs, cats, horses, and chickens roaming her farm. On the rural highway in front of her sprawling acreage, she observes another lost soul, a tall man clad in black leather kicking the tires of a very shiny, expensive, and broken-down Harley.

Just when Jonathan Travis Harrington III thinks that he is having a bad day, an angel named Shelby appears. He wonders why such a beautiful woman is living in the boondocks of rural Michigan. He was riding his new motorcycle to visit a friend in the Upper Peninsula and wasn’t expecting the detour to change his life.

Shelby and Travis come from two different worlds. Hers is from the school of hard knocks, his from privilege. She’s a dog and horse trainer. He’s the Director of Horsemanship at the prestigious Culver Academies in Indiana.

The love of horses brings them together. Will tragedy drive them apart?

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