Chapter Eleven

Jon stretched luxuriously. It was months since he’d felt this kind of utter relaxation. The red and yellow Navajo patterned blanket lay over his chest, only his shoulders and arms bared, then as he pushed himself a little higher against the pillow he saw Billie’s gaze drop to the floor, saw her cheeks flush slightly.

“I made coffee.” She said. “You want some?”

“That’d be great. Thanks.” Jon stayed under the blanket as she smiled and got to her feet, heading to the kitchen.

Wondering how long she’d been awake, and if she too had a mild hangover, Jon rolled to the edge of the mattress, reaching to the floor to snag his jeans. After a quick glance to make sure she hadn’t come back yet, Jon threw back the blanket and quickly pulled his jeans on, getting to his feet to haul the tight denim over his butt. He’d zipped and buttoned by the time Billie brought the coffee, and Jon guessed she’d lingered in the kitchen to give him time to make himself decent before she returned to the living room. In fact, she took so long that when she did come back, carrying two steaming mugs, Jon was fiddling with the fold-out bed where he’d spent the night, trying to figure out how to fold it away again. He looked up with a sheepish smile when he heard Billie approach.

“Okay - you’ll have to help me out here.” He admitted. “I can’t remember how you said this thing works!”

Billie giggled. “I may not have been very coherent.” She shrugged. “Malt whisky and technical explanations aren’t a good combination. I’ll get it.”

She laid down both mugs and, with a practised motion flipped the end of the bed up, then pushed against it so the mattress concertinaed neatly back where it belonged. Jon scooped the brightly colored blanket from where he’d dropped it on the floor, spreading it over the re-assembled couch before throwing himself down, pretending to mop sweat from his brow.

“That’s the most work I’ve done in years.” He joked.

“Spoiled brat, huh?” Billie asked, but the question was nothing more than a joke.

The previous night, as whisky and tiredness broke down their reserve, she remembered Jon telling her of his childhood in New Jersey, of growing up the oldest of three brothers, and of the unspoken expectation that he’d either enlist in the Army - or the Marines, like both of his parents - or he’d find work in one of the many factories around Sayreville. Of course, he hadn’t followed any of those expectations, but instead had found - or made - his own path, starting a band and clawing his way up from his blue-collar upbringing, finding some measure of success. He hadn’t detailed the exact level of that success, and he suspected Billie wouldn’t care, even if he gave her chapter and verse. Something about losing everybody you loved in a single tragic night tended to change a person’s perspective of what was truly important in life.

In return for his life-story, Billie had opened up some old wounds, pleasantly surprised to discover she could talk about her parents - and Craig - without the memories tearing her heart into tiny shreds. It felt good to talk about them, and Jon proved the perfect listener, just nodding or making the right sympathetic noises, looking away diplomatically when a particular recollection hurt too deeply.

After talking for hours, until Deke was standing by Billie’s chair, whining pathetically, they each finished the last of their whisky - the last of the bottle - and got to their feet, no awkwardness between them now.

When Billie showed Jon how the fold-out mechanism of the couch worked, he grinned with relief. The couch was comfortable enough to sit on for hours, but he’d been having doubts about how good a bed it would be. With quick, efficient movements, though, Billie transformed it into a full-sized bed, fetching pillows from a chest beside the fireplace.

Feeling a little unsure again, Billie hesitated as she turned toward her bedroom, then turned back to Jon.

“G’night.” She murmured.

“G’night, Billie.” Jon smiled tiredly. “And - y’know - thanks. For letting me crash.”

“No problem.” She turned again, snapping her fingers at a suspicious, protective Deke. “C’mon Deke.”

At her soft command, the dog gave Jon a final warning glance, then followed Billie off to bed. Jon sank onto the mattress, hesitated, then stood to shuck his jeans and shirt, crawling naked under the blanket. Sleep took him almost instantly, and for the first night in too many his sleep was deep and dreamless, refreshing him totally. Refreshing him to the extent that, even when his glance at the clock told him it was only just after eight in the morning, his mood didn’t darken.

“How did you sleep?” Billie asked from her seat, snuggled in the armchair as she’d been when Jon woke.

“Great.” He grinned. “Best sleep I’ve had in months, to be honest. Not sure whether it was the bed or the whisky, though!”

“Bit of both, probably.” Billie grinned, then caught sight of the clock and winced. “I gotta go feed Drum. Make yourself……”

“At home.” Jon finished for her, smirking. “I know.”

“Smart-ass.” Billie muttered as she got to her feet, heading to the door.

“I heard that.”

“You were meant to.” She shot back as she pulled on her boots.

Jon took another sip of coffee then grabbed his t shirt. “I’ll come with you.”

So Billie waited for the moment it took him to pull on his boots, then she led the way out into the still-cool morning. Jon followed her toward the barn, obediently holding a bucket while she scooped feed into it. Figuring to do at least something to say thanks for the hospitality, he carried the bucket out to the corral, following Billie’s instruction and dumping the contents into a long trough. While Drummer started to eat, Billie filled his water bucket then turned back to the house.

“Now that he’s fed, I can feed us.” She grinned.

“The animals come first, huh?”

“Always.” Billie nodded seriously, and Jon had to smile at her conscientious attitude.

They went back indoors, quickly taking turns at the bathroom to wash up, then Jon was put onto pouring more coffee and making toast - two things he said he could just about manage - while Billie fried eggs and bacon. Jon had to assume that the amount of exercise she took helped keep her trim, because the girl certainly enjoyed her food!

After breakfast, the meal punctuated with bursts of laughter as one of the other would make some comment that tickled them both, they grabbed more coffee and Jon reminded Billie of her offer to show him around outside.

“You sure?” She tilted her head in that endearing gesture he was coming to know. “Don’t you need to go?”

“Nope. I have nowhere I need to be, and I think that’s what I need right now.” Jon looked at her in some concern. “Or was that a polite way of telling me to get on my bike and leave?”

“Shit. No.” Billie blushed furiously. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to be polite and hang around, make the poor lonely cowgirl feel like she was interesting.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Jon was incredulous. “I’ve been hoping you wouldn’t kick the…..poor little roc…….uh, singer…….out on his ass.”

“Really? You want to see the ranch?”

“Absolutely, darlin’.” Jon drawled. “I’ve always fancied myself as a cowboy. Even if my horse isn’t the hairy variety. Steel horse for me.”

Billie assumed he meant his bike, and she shrugged, pleased that he didn’t want to rush away. It was nice to have someone to talk to. Someone with less than four legs, who could actually talk back.

“Can you ride a horse?” She asked as they headed outside.

“Ummm……….kinda?” Jon said, careful not to commit himself to anything he couldn’t cope with. “I’ve ridden a bit, but I wouldn’t call myself an expert.”

“But you can stay on, right?”

“Yeah. I can stay on.”

“Cool. I hate walking - that’s why we have horses.”

She showed him around the corral and barn, then as they left the barn she grabbed Drum’s bridle and a blanket. At the corral, Jon watched as she called the horse over, shaking his head at the whole girls-and-horses thing as Drum trotted to her, halting to huff a warm breath over Billie’s face in greeting. She rubbed the velvety muzzle, then bridled him quickly and threw the blanket on his back.

“Jump on.” She turned to Jon, who blanched slightly.

“What about you?”

“Trust me - I’m a cowgirl.” Billie quipped, and Jon looked dubiously at the horse until Billie laughed. “Oh, for God’s sake - climb up on the fence then get on the damn horse will you?!”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jon muttered, but he was grinning as he did as she instructed, sitting on the broad back, a handful of mane gripped tightly.

Billie slid open the bar-gate and led Drummer through, a sideways glance watching Jon, seeing he didn’t look totally uncomfortable there. She halted Drummer close to the fence again, then climbed up the rails and, with a glance at Jon, slid her right leg over the horse, sitting right up by his withers, Jon behind her.

Jon had lost his handhold when Billie mounted in front of him, and when she nudged Drummer forward the horse grunted softly.

“Can you move forward?” She asked immediately, knowing her horse. “You’re sitting too far back on him.”

Looking down, Jon realised he’d be pressed hard against Billie if he moved forward, but just then Drummer kicked a hindleg, protesting the weight on the weak part of his back, and Jon shuffled forward, Billie making no protest as his chest pressed against her back.

“Better, Drum?” She asked, and the horse snorted.

“He talks?” Jon laughed, and Billie nodded, twisting around to look at him from close range.

“They all do. You just have to listen.” She nudged the horse with her heels again, and he started forward, then she chuckled. “You might wanna hold on to something.”

Before Jon could ask why, Billie nudged Drummer again and he moved into a slow trot, and Jon instinctively grabbed the only thing he could. Billie. He gave half a thought to taking his hands off her, wondering if he was overstepping a boundary, then he felt her lean back into him, and he let his arms wrap around her waist as they rode away from the house.