An Open Door

To those of you seeing this and going "Oh man, not again," blame *AgentDarkhorse and *ArwenAmidala. It's all their fault. For those rare people with excited grins on their faces, feel free to send them fruit baskets. Or shoes. Shoe baskets are always better.

When I ended BCC Stables, I wrapped pretty much everyone up except Jared Dawson, for a reason. This is that reason.

Enjoy.


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"The doors we open and close each day decide the lives we live."
~Flora Whittemore


“No. I refuse.”

“You lost your ability to refuse when you signed up for the army, you twat.”

“Screw you, Goggles.”

“No thanks, still sore from that damn trail ride you forced me to go on yesterday. Maybe tomorrow.”

Mick Jones, known by his comrades only as ‘Rawhide,’ huffed and glared at his companion. “I ain’t going on a trail ride alone, okay?” he growled. “I don’t trust those beasts any more than I trust those tourists we met last month while hiking Enchanted Rock.”

Goggles groaned and scrubbed a hand over his forehead. “How many times do I have to tell you, Rawhide, just because they were wearing Hawaiian shirts does not mean they were Indonesian spies out to steal our secrets and plaid hunting jackets.”

Rawhide clutched said jacket over his chest, as if just speaking the words would rip it right off his back. “They had shifty eyes,” he squawked.

“They had Minnesota accents! I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing as a threatening Minnesotan. They’re myths, like puppies who hate shoes and unicorns that poop rainbows.”

“All the more reason to suspect them!” Rawhide argued. “Because no one suspects Minnesotans!”

Three feet away from the bickering duo, Jared Dawson looked on with a resigned expression on his face. The filly he held in place next to him champed at her bit and pinned her ears back aggressively, but he ignored her. She was whip-smart but high-strung, as were many thoroughbreds, and the combination was not the best. Worse, she was young and new to their rag-tag crew of misfits, and thus she remained skittish and on edge. He had purchased her from a less than reputable owner from one of the neighboring islands in hopes that, once she settled down and grew into her own, she could be added to his small herd and used in his trail ride business. He needed more horses for the rainforest rides, but if her current attitude was any indication,

Noticing the abrupt movement, Goggles stopped halfway through his tirade about marshmallows and the American people--and really, Dawson wasn’t touching that with a ten foot pole. “Is that the new gal?” he asked, pointing to the filly. “Lily Catcher?”

Dawson nodded. “Yeah. I’m about to take her down to the cove for a bath. Where are Happy and Z?”

“Your mare was belly deep in the water, last time we checked,” Rawhide replied with a grimace, because he was remembering the last time they took the horses down to the cove and it had ended with Goggles wearing face paint while yelling “For Narnia!” and Rawhide drenched in salt water and seaweed. “Kamikaze was grazing nearby.”

“Good.” Dawson glanced between them. “What were you two arguing about just now?” They instantly stiffened and shifted their eyes away. Dawson’s eyes narrowed. “What?” he demanded.

“Uh, well, see, here’s the thing,” Goggles stammered slightly. “You kind of got a letter in the mail this morning, but it was addressed to the business so we opened it and... Well...”

“Spit it out, Trey,” Dawson growled.

“It’s from the new resident off Mountain Lake. You know, the one the mayor was talking about at the town hall meeting last week?”

Dawson closed his eyes. “You went to a town meeting?” He sighed. “What point of laying low do you seem to have forgotten?”

Rawhide, surprisingly, stepped forward to defend Goggles. “Oh come on, Ray, we’ve been on Saint Kitts Island for three years now. If they haven’t found us by now, I doubt they ever will.”

Dawson clenched his jaw unhappily, but gestured for Goggles to continue. “What about the new resident?”

“She’s from Barbados, and is apparently one of the leading owners in the island’s racing circles. Old money. She says she moved here because it’s quieter, less hectic, but still near the track on Nevis.” Nevis being their sister island, attached by a thin strip of land that all but disappeared during high tide.

Dawson closed his eyes and ice filled his veins. He knew where this was going.

“She heard the locals talking about our business and wants to meet you. Says she needs a new trainer.” Goggles held out the letter, and the corner of his mouth twitched in apology.

Dawson looked down at the paper. He stared at the scratchy writing, stark against the paper’s whiteness. There were smudges and wrinkles, marks leftover from where Happy Thoughts had undoubtedly slobbered on it when neither Rawhide or Goggles were paying attention. He didn’t have to read it to know what it said. Dear Mr. Dawson, I have looked into your trail riding business and am quite impressed. I would love a chance to meet with you and discuss your techniques with the horses. Or perhaps, Dear Mr. Dawson, I would like to discuss a business opportunity with you, if you are interested. Please contact me at blah blah blah, at your convenience. Or maybe she had skipped the pleasantries altogether and had simply gone with, Dear Mr. Dawson, I know who you are.

And thus, he was left with no choice. He reached out and took the letter from Goggles, and if his hand shook a little more than normal, well, he could always blame it on Lily, who had since moved on from prancing in place to nibbling on his belt loops.

At the bottom of the letter was a large but neat signature: Maudeline Danes.

“Well,” he as nonchalantly as possible. “I suppose we have no choice, do we? Rawhide, take Lily down to the cove. One of the grooms will be by later to collect her. Goggles, you’re with me. Let’s go meet Ms. Danes, shall we?


Continued in:



Shown: Lily Catcher and Jared Dawson

Art, Characters, and Story (C) me