An Apparition... Appears

The story was entirely inspired by Penelope Hasler over at her blog, Naughty Little Writer (penelopehasler.blogspot.com) – but you probably know that because you probably came from there.  And if you did you also know that she's a talented writer, intelligent, nice, enthusiastic and an interesting combination of confident and modest, outgoing in some ways and shy in others.  Because of this last bit I've never seen a picture of her, though every indication is that she's an attractive young woman as well - all in all just the sort to inspire tail-warming tale-telling.

Introduction

The miles slid under John's car one after another, his weekly trek to spend Friday at his company's satellite office having become routine within a half-dozen trips which by now was months ago.  The dips and rises and curves made the much-shorter rural route more tolerable than the interstate and happily this particular automobile balanced handling and comfort to make the dips and rises and curves more tolerable as well.  Luxurious enough to impress clients, sporty enough to carve up mountain roads at impressively dangerous speeds – and just old enough to be within John's reach – he once more smiled slightly with satisfaction at the choice.  As for the bright red, he regretted the look of a screaming mid-life crisis, but one can't always be choosy when shopping the used-car market and in any case it was entirely appropriate for the "young gun" financial advisor.

This leg of the trip was usually visually enjoyable if monotonous, especially in the early spring as greenery draped the fields and hillsides.  Today, however, nature was exacting its price for all this new growth with a misting rain and skyful of low gray clouds, unsubstantial yet oppressive.  Never one to test his luck with the highway patrol in any case – no matter how backwater the route seemed – John dropped his speed a bit further, only unleashing his machine to blast past the occasional farm vehicle or doddering sightseer.  His thoughts roamed from the CD that was playing to the day's business news to financial calculations to plans for a belated dinner, mentally killing off the journey like a hockey team kills a penalty, alert but resting.

Even in good weather, though, he could not have stopped in time; John slammed on the brakes, pressing himself back in the seat even as the four wide tires fought for a grip on the wet pavement.  Realizing that the slow-motion, onrushing collision could not, was not to be avoided, he screamed, he braced, he even closed his eyes.  He could not bear to watch.

Thrown forward, restrained back, jerked sideways, John opened his eyes to find that the airbags had not gone off.  Untouched – just barely - by the car's front bumper loomed the beautiful apparition that had caused his fright, standing seemingly indifferent to the nearness of death.  Sitting on the horse was a woman.

“What the hell?” John roared as he regained his senses.  “Are you crazy?”

Apparently he had been loud enough for the woman to hear him even outside the car and atop her mount, a gorgeous black stallion standing it seemed about 22 hands high and dripping with more gleaming black leather straps than raindrops.  The sprite-like woman in his saddle turned her head toward John and attempted to focus a glassy-eyed gaze.  “Oh my God! Where did you come from?”

“Come from? Come from?” yelled John, climbing out of the car nearly shaking from the scare.  “I was driving down the highway that you just rode into! You can kill yourself for all I care, but take better care of your horse!” With this charge the young woman looked like she’d burst into tears and John wondered whether she was all right after all - being unfazed by a near-fatal accident was not necessarily a sign of extraordinary composure.  Reflexively he continued to respond out of anger and fright.   “I’ve got half a mind to report you.  What’s your name?”

“Janae Ryder,” came her defensive reply after a substantial pause.  “And just who do you think you are?”

“I'm John MacLeod, the man who barely avoided running you over and killing all three of us.” Looking around, John could see what most likely had happened – a horse path curved near the highway with two small breaks in the fencing.   A section that normally separated the openings was missing – taken out, presumably, by a recent accident.  John imagined that the horse, close to the road, had been turned directly into his lane, though he couldn’t fathom why.  “Janae Ryder, of Ryder Farms?” John asked almost rhetorically.  Ryder Farms owned about half of the surrounding countryside – or, more precisely, exactly half, everything north of the road for as far as the eye could see.

“You’ve heard of us, then.  And I’ll ask what you were doing, speeding across our land, clearly out of control? Is there any reason I shouldn’t report you, driving recklessly or even drunk?”

At this reply John seethed but controlled his temper at the thought that she might even be drugged.  By no means a teen, the possibility was still plenty plausible even into her late twenties – especially a rich girl, probably no job, big-city life visiting the old homestead… “I was neither out of control nor on your property,” he said, forcing his voice to remain even.  “Look how far you were into the roadway, doesn’t that tell you something?”

"I'm sure I was using no more of the road than I have every right to until you came along in your irresponsible rush to get wherever it is you think you need to be going."

John's pretending to remain calm was actually causing him to relax in reality and he considered another approach.  A snort from the agitated animal drew his attention.  “That’s a marvelous stallion you have there, Ms.  Ryder – must be the pride of the stable.  Your father’s, I suppose.” It was a horse for a tall man and though she controlled him admirably, she would be better served by a much smaller mount.

“Erm, Midnight is his favorite, you might say – though I have every right to ride him, if you’re insinuating something.”

Somehow, suddenly, it all became clear.  Whether John had a suspicious nature or just keen powers of observation, the crop, the tight reins, her attitude both distracted and tense – even the fact that they’d been headed to the barn.  “Forgive me for insinuating, Janae.  Perhaps I’ll just have a word with Mr.  Ryder, let him know how you’ve been treating his horse.”

Guiltily, the woman before him blushed scarlet, color flushing across her pale rosy skin like a beacon of culpability.  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, do I need to spell it out?"  Her reaction had only served to embolden him.  "You’ve been ‘touching him up,’ haven’t you? Teasing him?” John imagined her atop a fifteen-hundred pound vibrator set on ‘high’ and ‘pulse.’

“How dare you suggest that! I would never do such a thing.”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about, then.  I’m sure Mr.  Ryder knows you far better than I do.  I’ll just suggest it to him and if he chooses to believe you…” With that John turned back to his car – though not very quickly.  As he expected, a hand grabbed his shoulder from on high.

“No – wait.  There’s no need to… to bother him…” Now she was staring in wide-eyed wonder as if he’d just read her mind, looked right into her.

“Get down and we can talk about it,” John told her, and while he’d been enjoying surveying her fine strong legs and lovely seat – well-muscled but a bit padded at the same time – watching her dismount was a pleasure in itself.  Small, rather slight rather than slender, she was still very clearly a woman, her feminine curves more suggested that overt.  She was attractive despite her minimal make-up – not at all, in fact, the glamour he expected from a still-spoiled one-time debutante.  He gallantly offered an unneeded hand and found her grip strong and her hands rather rougher than he expected. 

“Please, Mister – MacLeod, is it?” She placed her hand beseechingly on the sleeve of his sports coat.  “I don’t need a row at the house – surely you understand that? There’s some other way, perhaps?”

Plucking the crop from her rein hand, his mind raced with possibilities.  Unlikely – highly unlikely – possibilities, but not impossibilities, ‘perhaps.’

“Maybe what you need, young lady, is to have someone straddle your back and use this crop on you, just as you've been using it.” Before her open mouth could manage a sound, he continued, “Wanting to move forward, being held back… Rising agitation…Turning to desperation…” He fought back a smile as he watched Janae’s eyes shine and her breathing stop.  “Learning just how it feels…” he continued in a low voice, “Having to be taught…”