Page 15 of High Velocity

“Of course,” she immediately responds, her shoulders tight as she’s already moving to the front door.

I feel like I owe her an explanation.

“If my stump wasn’t raw from wearing this damn prosthesis too long, and I didn’t have to be back out in the field by 6.00 a.m. tomorrow morning, I’d be sticking around if you’d let me.”

She swings her head around, a smile pulling at her lips when she finds me right behind her. For a moment, she peers at me through squinted eyes, as if she’s trying to gauge my intentions. I stare right back, letting her look her fill. From somewhere inside the trailer a phone starts ringing, breaking the spell.

“Do you need to get that?”

She shakes her head, even as she glances over my shoulder. “If it’s important they’ll leave a message.”

She steps aside as I reach past her to open the door. As I step outside, I lean over to drop a kiss on her cheek.

“Go answer,” I prompt her. “I’ll be in touch when I can.”

She’s already darting toward the kitchen when I pull the door shut.

It only takes five minutes to get from the trailer to the ranch where I park the truck in front of my cabin. I curse a blue streak under my breath as I get out and start hobbling toward my front door.

“Honey, is that you?”

I groan at the sound of my mother’s voice, which stops me as I’m about to step inside. Glancing over at the porch, I see her hurrying down the steps, her silver braid flying. My mother doesn’t know what slowing down means, not even at sixty.

She’s still spry on her feet, and still works with horses every day. She gets called in far and wide to handle some of the most difficult, even meanest, horses out there. Most of the time, these animals turned mean as a result of some kind of abuse, and Ma is the best at patiently building trust with them. We jokingly call her the horse whisperer, but it’s not far from the truth. She has a gift, even though she sometimes takes risks sharing it.

“Hey, Ma.”

Despite her short stature, she gets right in my space, her hand reaching up to cup my cheek.

“Jonas mentioned your leg was bothering you, and when you weren’t showing up, I got worried.”

I suppress my mild irritation and plaster on a reassuring smile. It’s my own fault my mother still checks in on me at my age. She’s always been a worrier, ever since I followed in my father’s footsteps and enlisted, and truthfully, I’ve given her every reason.

“My stump is raw, that’s all. I just grabbed some dinner out and am heading for a shower and bed next.”

She smiles up at me and nods.

“Okay, then. Don’t push yourself too much.”

I chuckle at that. “Pot meet kettle.”

She punches my arm half-heartedly.

“Don’t be a brat. Night, honey.”

“Night, Ma.”

Leaning down, I kiss her cheek. Her scent is familiar and invokes warm memories.

Unlike Stephanie’s scent, which lingered in my nostrils and fed my imagination on the way home. The whiff of vanilla and something citrusy I caught is now forever associated with my mental image of her.

As innocent as kissing Stephanie’s cheek may seem, I can tell you it’s a vastly different experience from kissing my mother’s, that’s for sure.

Six

Stephanie

Startled by the sound of a car horn behind me, I jerk my eyes to the rearview mirror.

---