Chapter Text
Nebraska, USA. 1993.
Victoria shifts in the saddle as she makes her way through the trees. A cloud of white puffs out in front of her as she exhales, the freezing winter air chilling her to the bone even through her sweater. She should’ve worn a scarf and gloves, should’ve worn anything else besides her current getup. Slipping out of bed in the middle of the night to go riding was a decision that made a lot more sense to herself thirty minutes ago than it did now. Now, she was riding through the woods freezing her ass off in cotton shorts and a ratty old Spice Girls t-shirt, the knit sweater she threw on over it at the last minute doing nothing to prevent the goosebumps on her skin.
After the argument that's becoming so routine Victoria practically has it memorized, she hadn't been thinking about dressing properly for the cold. Her parents had gone to sleep after, unaware their discouraging words had cut so deep into their daughter that she’d sat on the cold wood floor of their new rental for an hour before throwing the front door open and running off.
Irrational. Ungrateful. Immature child. You need to think about your future. You’d waste your talent going into a different speciality. People need help out here. Selfish. Short-sighted. We know best. We love you.
Her parents' words linger in her brain, still looping tauntingly as she rides along the trail. It doesn’t matter that she’s twenty years old or is almost done with advanced medical training, in her parents eyes, she’s the same thirteen year old they sent off to university alone. They will forever see her as a child, doing everything in their power to remind her of her inexperience, yet shame her when she doesn't act like someone twice her age.
So, Victoria did what anyone who still lives with their parents at twenty does when they get overwhelmed—she ran.
The only thing on her mind after being berated in the kitchen for an hour was getting out of the tiny house she would be calling home for the next few weeks. Whenever she gets overwhelmed, something that happens more often than she’d like to admit, she can't handle it like most people her age do. Victoria can’t drink herself to sleep or smoke out on the porch. There’s no dancing her worries away at a local dive bar with friends or getting lost in the touch of another. All she can do is get on the back of her horse and run, galloping for miles until her head is clear and her body is exhausted enough to fall asleep the minute she returns home.
Home—what a frivolous word. She couldn’t call the crappy rental or this town home. She couldn’t remember what home had been like as a young girl no matter how hard she tried. Her entire life was spent like this: traveling to towns so small they weren’t on maps for weeks at a time, giving healthcare and support to faces she would never see again but also never forget, before packing up and doing it all over again. All of her memories before medicine and this life are only a hazy blur, bits and pieces she remembers for a few blissful moments before they float away. She learned to walk at a rest-stop in Kentucky, she said her first word in the middle of the Midwest somewhere, and had her future decided for her on the road between two cities she can’t recall.
Her life wasn’t her own, only a futile projection of her parent’s wishes for a daughter to follow in their footsteps.
She supposes sitting in the old leather of her saddle and listening to Crash’s hooves clomp against the dirt trail is the closest to home she’ll ever get. She would have to learn to be content with it. Dreams were meaningless for someone like her. They were for girls who had options, girls who had the space to fuck up and try things out before deciding, yes, this is what I want to spend my life doing. Not for Victoria.
Victoria would be a traveling physician, helping those in need around the country with rigid, routine medicine. She would spend her life with her Mom looking over her shoulder, judging her every move and comparing it to her own career. Victoria would be happy with this life, for she had no choice but to accept it. She could dream another time.
Reaching down with her hand not holding her reins, she scratches Crash’s neck softly, smiling to herself when he lets out a cat-like purr. His black coat shines in the moonlight peeking through the building clouds in the vast sky above. Too many nights were spent like this one, riding in the dark of night, running from her parents’ expectations and her own foolish desires.
Even if her parents are furious at her, the girl from back in Arkansas has stopped responding to her letters, and the boy she met at the feed store today ignored her attempts at friendship, Victoria at the very least has her horse. The old brute has been with her since she learned how to ride, and has consequently been here for every single one of Victoria’s breakdowns. Unfortunately, despite her best efforts to get over it and clear her head, he was witnessing another tonight.
She really tries to forget about the argument, or her fruitless attempt to talk to her mom again after the yelling-match had all but started an earthquake. But to no surprise, her Mom refused to listen, and her Dad retreated to his office to let them “talk it out.” Even now, hours later and shivering alone in the woods, anger pumps hot through her veins.
She wasn’t even trying to start a fight, either. All she did was casually mention the idea of going back to Waco for a few more weeks and spending a bit more time shadowing the emergency medicine physician she’d clicked with during their last stop. She thought this time could be different. Her parents loved working with Samira and her staff, talking Victoria's ear off about how Samira ran one of the most efficient ER's in the country. They had a spot open to train a new doctor, a spot that would be perfect for someone like Victoria. She practically pleaded with her Mom to go, begging with everything inside her to let her try something new for a change, to practice a type of medicine that wasn’t so rigid and slow all the time. Her mom didn’t want to hear any of it.
“Samira is smart, but you’re wasting your time with someone like her, with that speciality as a whole. You need to be here with your Dad and I. This type of medicine is much better suited for you. Emergency medicine is for adrenaline-driven nuisances who make our jobs harder, honey. Not for a smart girl like yourself.”
The words still hold the same weight miles out from the house they were spoken in. She knows better than to question her Mom about this topic. No matter how many times she tries to explain to her that she wants to practice medicine that’s chaotic, alive, or even messy, she’s shut down with no more than a condescending look and quiet words. They still see her as the girl who faints at the first sight of blood, unable to handle gore or open wounds. They don't see how she's grown the past few months, completely blind to the woman she's becoming.
Victoria knows this is how it always goes, has spent her life being agreeable and bending to her parents demands of her, yet, the rejection always stings. Accepting her bleak reality doesn’t make living it hurt any less.
Her hands squeeze around the reins as her eyes start to burn again. She attempts to inhale slowly, but it only makes her wince as icy air fills her lungs. She hates this part after arguments or disappointing someone where her brain reduces to an anxious blur. No matter what she does or who she speaks to, she does it wrong. She's getting sick of feeling that she’s failing at a test she didn’t sign up for.
One tear trails down her skin, betraying her efforts of appearing more composed than she feels. She wishes she could blame it on the snow that’s starting to fall lightly, but it’s pointless. She sniffles, embarrassed at the tears even though she’s completely alone out here. No one can see her crying, not that she’s crying crying or anything, it was one tear, but the shame hits her anyway.
The forest seems to feed off her stress, the trees swaying harsher in the wind that’s picking up. Crash snorts quietly as his ears turn towards the rustling bushes. She really should turn around. While she’s used to night rides in the dark like this, she’s not used to her surroundings. In her fit of whatever the hell she’s feeling, she didn’t think through the logic of taking a midnight trail ride on land she’s never once seen before during her first night in a brand-new town. The stupidity of it smacks her in the face when the wind howls even louder. Crash shifts his weight below her, getting restless as they walk along the thickening brush. She hates nothing more than feeling stupid like this. She knows better.
Her tears fall freely from her eyes now as she squints against the frigid wind. Her hair, fully wet from the snow that’s now everywhere she looks, whips around her face. The flurries are beautiful, and if this were another night she would love to sit and watch them cascade down peacefully, but unfortunately, all they are doing is reminding her how concerning her situation is becoming.
She wishes so desperately something, or someone, could take her away from all of this. Maybe a supernatural force could swoop down into these dense woods and pluck her from the misery of it all. Someone could give her a proper jacket and a one-way train ticket to Waco, to something more than this.
Her cheeks are damp now, tears dripping onto the horn of her saddle with every step Crash takes further into the forest. Her sweater plasters to her wet skin, the snow falling on her numb body repeatedly even through the dense trees above her. She’s unable to see ahead anymore, the darkness of the forest closing in on her from all sides as the flurries impede her vision. Yanking the reins back, she pulls Crash to a stop and assesses the area.
She’s not lost. There’s no way.
Victoria is smart and thinks ahead, she doesn’t get lost. She reaches into her poorly-packed saddle bag, fingers digging around her diary and an old apple before pulling out the map she got from the run-down gas station on the drive into town. Blinking against the onslaught of snow practically attacking her face, she brushes the flakes away from the paper spread on her lap.
She thought she picked the trail that loops around from her parent’s rental through the woods before spitting her back out where she started. She hasn’t veered off the path, she would know if she did, and the map doesn’t point out anything concerning nearby, either. The only issue is how these woods are apparently much bigger than she thought. They stretch for miles, way larger than she assumed before she set out. It’s been over an hour, and based on the map she should be done with the loop by now. She thinks back to the ride here: weaving through the trees at a sprint, not paying attention to the trail markers through her tears. She was supposed to go left at the start of the trail. Did she? She thinks so, but then again, she was fully sobbing while Crash practically zoomed along the trail, reducing her surroundings to a black and beige blur. There’s no way she missed the turnoff. She doesn't mess up like this, not in such a foolish way.
Even as Victoria tries to lie to herself, she knows deep down there’s no avoiding her reality. She’s in the middle of the woods at midnight, severely underdressed for the drop in temperature and building snow, completely and utterly lost.
Crash shifts anxiously below her, likely not faring much better in the weather. It isn’t supposed to snow for another month out here. That’s the only reason they came to Nebraska during this time of year in the first place. They were hoping to spend a few weeks in this town and head out right before they got stuck from the weather. She isn’t equipped for snow of all things, not in shorts, worn-out cowgirl boots that need to be resoled sooner rather than later, and a sweater that’s more soggy on her shivering frame than it is warm.
Victoria’s already rapid breathing picks up even more as she turns in the saddle, looking around as if the path home will magically appear in front of her. Everything looks the same covered in a blanket of white, Crash’s hoof prints long gone and buried in the snow. Like herself, her horse in no state to be out in this weather, wearing the wrong horseshoes for the ground that's becoming icier by the second.
She closes her eyes, attempting to think out her options before doing something rash. She’s an incredibly smart person, having spent her entire life navigating trails like this one all around the country since before she could remember. Only her brain isn’t operating like it should. The exhaustion from her earlier—and if she was being honest, still occurring—breakdown is impeding her usual great sense of direction. Her compass is a lost cause, completely broken and cracked where it’s buried inside her saddlebag.
All she knows is the general direction she came from, and that she’s at least an hour out from the house. It’s freezing, yes, but if she made it this far she could tough it out another few hours. Nevermind the snow is coming down so hard she can’t see more than a few feet ahead, or the fact her hands are so numb from the cold they’re barely able to grip the reins. The leather of the saddle is stiff against her shaking bare legs, the lack of proper clothing made all the more apparent with every flake that hits her skin.
With a shaky sigh, tears now pouring from her eyes at a pathetic speed, Victoria urges Crash back the way she prays is the way they came, hoping with everything inside of her she’s not wrong. It only takes five minutes of walking through the brush, much denser than she remembers it being on the way in, to realize they need to pick up the pace. Her shaky, numb hands pull the wet sweater tighter around herself before shoving her hair away from her eyes, little flecks of white catching on the dripping black strands. Every inhale hurts as the cold slices into her lungs with each breath. Her feet, which she can barely feel in her boots at this point, nudge Crash’s side a bit more, pushing him into a canter. Snow pelts her face as the pair pushes through the forest, and from her small squint, all she can see are the flurries coming down harder. Shoving down her panic, Victoria attempts to hold back her tears and slow the pounding of her heart. She would be fine. She would have to be fine.
Out of nowhere, a pile of snow that must have been building on a branch falls down just inches away from them. Crash, spooked by the noise and sudden movement, decides now would be the perfect time to freak out. He skids to a stop, sending Victoria flying forward in the saddle. His hooves slide a bit, the horseshoes he currently wears not offering him any traction to grip the snow. Victoria jerks to one side of the saddle, completely thrown off balance. In a split-second, her already awful night gets even worse (which she honestly didn’t even think was possible) and she slips from the saddle.
Time freezes as her numb feet fail to retain their weak hold on the stirrups. Her shaking fingers make a feeble attempt to grip the reins, but it’s no use. Her body falls in what feels like seconds and hours all at once. Before she can fully grasp what's happening, she’s on the ground, a huff of air leaving her chest at the sudden impact.
The first thing she registers is the icy, hard ground below her, the thick snow doing nothing to soften the blow. The second thing she notices is the stinging pain on her left thigh and cheekbone. It feels like someone took a knife and sliced into her frozen skin. For a breath, she relishes in the warmth trailing down her inner thigh, the change in temperature blissful after the night she’s had. But after one moment, it hits her what that warmth really is—blood.
Her eyes fly down to her leg, and sure enough, blood trails down a large cut, painting the snow around her a deep crimson. With a shaky hand, she checks the spot on her cheekbone, and as expected, blood coats her fingers when she pulls away. She must have scraped herself on the brush while getting thrown off.
Her brain immediately tries to enter doctor mode in what must be some half-hearted attempt at preventing a full-blown panic attack. The urge to shut off everything else around her and become doctor javadi, not victoria, not a girl lost in the woods as more snow than she’s ever seen falls around her, is concerningly strong. She’s losing a good amount of blood, but not enough to raise any alarm bells in her head. The biggest issue was infection, especially outside on the ground like this. Her hands tremble as she attempts to hold them over the cut. The bleeding persists, unsurprising given her weak efforts.
Luckily Crash didn't bolt and leave her to wither away alone, instead staring down at her and grumbling quietly. She supposes he can’t exactly run off as he’s just as lost as Victoria is. He steps closer, nudging Victoria’s cheek with his nose, huffing softly. She leans into him, not caring the blood on her cheek is soaking his muzzle, and lets herself weep. She’s freezing, lost, and now, to top it all off, she’s bleeding.
She gives herself one minute of wallowing—she deserves that much after the last hour—and then lifts her head. Get it together. You always figure something out, she tells herself. Though she has a sick feeling she can’t get herself out of this one so easily.
Her bloody hands press into the ground, the temperature of the snow on her bare skin making her grimace. With a deep breath, she tries to push her legs beneath her to stand up and get back on Crash, but barely gets one foot under herself before failing. The pain and chills flowing through her body makes it feel impossible to imagine doing anything other than sitting in the snow and weeping.
But Victoria isn’t a quitter. She didn’t go through medical training at way too young of an age and spend her life working a job she hated to be bested by a cut on her leg and the very strong likelihood of hypothermia. With a groan, more of exhaustion and utter annoyance than actual pain, she braces her hands on the ground again and pushes up. Gritting her teeth, she finally stands and all but collapses into Crash’s side, leaning on him as she gulps down air.
Victoria doesn't make a habit of cursing. Her Mom scolds on her each time those words leave her mouth. But right now, the only word to encapsulate how she’s feeling is fuck. Fuck this. Fuck this town. Fuck this job. Fuck her parents and fuck this snow.
After a second, her legs nearly give out, and she ends up right where she started back on the ground. Victoria doesn’t know her next steps, an unfamiliar feeling for someone whose life has been planned since the minute she came into the world. She can’t stay here, not unless she wants to freeze to death all alone in the middle of nowhere. She’s in no state to ride, at least not right now.
Just as Victoria is about to slip into a full panic—that or simply start screaming in frustration—she hears the steady sound of hooves hitting the ground off in the distance. She lifts her head and squints in the direction they’re coming from, and sure enough, a small beacon of light shines ahead.
Victoria isn’t particularly religious, but the sight of a figure emerging from the blizzard with the glow of a flashlight shining down on her makes her believe in a God, if only for a moment.
A large chestnut horse skids to a stop a few feet away, spraying snow around her as his hooves dig into the earth. A woman, if the messy red braid peeking out from her many layers says anything, looms over Victoria as she sits atop the animal. A flashlight is clipped to her belt, illuminating the darkness and the tangle of brush Victoria landed herself in. She can’t see her face from down here, her eyes the only thing visible from the slit between the bandana tugged over her nose and the cowboy hat pulled low over her face. Even from a distance, the stranger looks strong. She fills out her heavy jacket and chaps in a way that makes Victoria think about things that are really not pertinent to the situation. Her eyes drag over Victoria’s body, likely noting the lack of layers and blood on her leg, before shifting to look at Crash, standing at Victoria's side like an oversized guard-dog.
When the woman finally speaks, her voice is softer than Victoria assumes it would be, muffled by the bandana covering her mouth and nose. “Are you alright, sweetheart?"
Her accent is strong around the vowels—likely a local, Victoria concludes. She could say yes, tell this woman she’s completely fine and that she’s only taking a break on her ride. It would be easy to dismiss her concern and send her on her way. She should do that. A smart girl would do that.
But Victoria is so tired. She’s freezing and lost and just the mere thought of having to find her way back alone makes more tears fall from her already watery eyes.
“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay,” the woman says, one leg swinging over the saddle as she dismounts her horse. She doesn’t step closer, instead digging through her saddle bag and pulling out a metal water bottle and another bandana. When the woman turns back to face her, now only a few feet away, Victoria finally composes herself enough to say something instead of staring at this woman like an idiot.
“Are you—” her voice is shaky, teeth chattering from the snow. Victoria is far from shy. Most times she curses herself for not being able to keep her mouth shut, keen to ramble on and on about anything and everything to people she just met, but something about this stranger steals all the words from her brain. She doesn’t know how to speak to her, let alone ask for help. She inhales shakily, willing herself to get it together enough to get a sentence out. “Are you from around here?”
The woman nods, her eyes falling to the cut on Victoria’s leg and narrowing slightly. “I am. These woods are on my land.”
Great. Not only was she both bleeding to death (not actually) and freezing to death (more likely, but still, not actually), she was trespassing. Victoria’s cheeks burn in shame, and she looks down with wide eyes, embarrassment flooding her body. “I’m so sorry. I’m not from here and got lost. I can’t exactly ride back to my house—”
“Relax honey, you’re okay. I’m not mad.” The stranger's words wrap around her like a warm blanket, the honey said in her slight accent making Victoria’s heart flutter. The woman steps closer, but still keeps her distance enough to not smother her. It was considerate, something that lowers Victoria’s guard a bit more. “But you don’t look too good, and the weather is only getting worse. It’s supposed to go all night.”
“Well I didn’t think it was going to snow, so I dressed like an idiot. And now I can’t tell how to get home, well, not home exactly, but even if I did, it’s over an hour back and I can’t feel my legs anymore,” Victoria spits out, her words flowing from her mouth faster than her brain can keep up. Her rambling is broken up by quiet, little sniffles. The idea that the weather could possibly get even worse makes her tears fall faster. “My horse doesn’t have the right shoes on for this and the ground is icy now and I’m just so tired.”
She finishes her rant with a harsh sigh, too cold and anxious to care about dumping her emotions onto this poor stranger who probably thought Victoria was crazy by now. The woman stares at her for a few painfully slow seconds, each one dragging on awkwardly long before she finally speaks again.
“Listen…you aren’t gonna make it an hour back wearing what you got on with that leg, not in this weather. And your horse isn’t gonna have the traction he needs for the ride home either without the right shoes.” One of the woman’s gloved hands rubs the back of her neck as she talks. Her jacket looks deliciously warm. The rough canvas is lined with what appears to be sherpa of some kind, and the hoodie under it makes it all the more enticing. “I live ten minutes up the trail. Got the right shoes for your guy here. You could wait out the storm there until it’s clear enough to head back, maybe give your folks a call on my landline, let ‘em know you’re safe. I bet they’re worried sick.”
Victoria doesn’t know what it is, but something makes her trust this woman. Maybe it’s the blood loss or the fact she can’t feel her fingers and her nose is so frozen she can’t breathe too well, but the stranger doesn’t scare her. If this was a man, Victoria would reach into her saddle bag for something to hit him with, but this woman’s gaze is full of sincerity, not ill-intent.
She’s not stupid. Victoria spends her days traveling around the country meeting too many faces to count, and not only does it teach her medicine, but also how to read people. This woman in her big coat with kind eyes and hair as red as fire, was not a threat. She appeared to be genuine in her offer to help out, and Victoria would be a fool to look a gift horse in the mouth at a time like this.
“If it’s not too much trouble…” Victoria’s voice patters off, hesitation in her tone.
“It’s no trouble at all. Let me help.”
She finally steps closer before crouching down at Victoria’s side, the leather of her chaps creaking as she moves. The light from her flashlight illuminates the woman's covered face a bit more, giving Victoria a better look at her. Freckles dot the bridge of her nose above the bandana, softening her otherwise rougher appearance. There's light lines by the corners of her eyes, and messy bangs fall around her lashes from the top of her cowboy hat.
Victoria isn’t used to women like this—older women who are rugged and strong, who have a natural instinct to help out and take care of someone else. She reminds her briefly of the first girl she ever kissed.
Trinity was a girl full of defiance, passion, and everything Victoria was taught to shy away from at nineteen. Memories of stolen moments under the beating Arizona sun still linger in her head a year later, long after she and her family packed up and left for the next no-name town. This woman appears to be much calmer than Trinity had been, not to mention much older, but the undercurrent of something Victoria couldn’t name is still there in the back of her mind, intertwining the two.
Her hands are maddeningly gentle as she shrugs off her big jacket, moving to drape it over Victoria’s shivering frame. Victoria sticks her arms through the sleeves, nearly moaning at the fabric still warm from the woman’s body heat. It immediately helps her feel a bit less like she's about to turn into a living popsicle. The woman pulls it tighter around Victoria before zipping it up to her chin.
“Poor thing. You must be freezing,” the woman mutters to herself while shaking her head. Victoria can’t remember the last time someone spoke to her like they wanted to take care of her. The urge to brush off her words is strong. Her brain is practically hardwired to deny all efforts of help, doomed to see accepting it as a weakness. She has been taking care of herself since the day she got dropped off at university. Yet, this woman’s tone holds no pity or condescension, only a tender note of protectiveness Victoria doesn’t want to deny herself.
The woman tugs the collar of the jacket up around her neck even more before grabbing the spare bandana from her pocket and holding it up to Victoria’s face. “Lift your hair for me, baby.”
Victoria complies, not feeling up for questioning someone who appears to know exactly what to do right now, or someone who calls her baby. Something about her overall demeanor makes Victoria feel safe. The gentle voice and warm hands are a lifeline tethering her jumbled brain from the storm raging in her mind.
Her gloved hands wrap around the back of Victoria’s neck, and she has to hold back a sigh when her fingertips brush her skin while tying the bandana in place. The touch, even though her hands are covered by fabric, makes sparks dance on her skin. She tilts her head to the side to make it easier for the woman to secure the knot, and to her surprise, the woman lets out a quiet hum at the motion. She pulls it over Victoria’s nose and mouth to shield her from the icy wind whipping around them.
“There we go,” she says, smoothing Victoria's wet hair back from her face with a touch so soft Victoria has to put all efforts into not leaning into it further. “I bet that feels better, yeah?” Victoria nods, and the woman grabs the metal water bottle before scooting back a few inches. A strange ache blooms in her chest, already missing the proximity. “Now, about this leg…”
“It’s a shallow cut, not a big lac, so I won’t need to stitch it up or anything. Right now all it needs is pressure to stop the bleeding and something to clean it,” Victoria says, watching the moment the stranger’s eyes widen in surprise. “I’m a doctor. Well, student doctor, but still…doctor.”
She holds her breath, waiting for the inevitable doubt to cross the woman’s face. It was either that or a, but you’re so young! She hears both responses far too often. She looks her age, and it isn’t often people meet a twenty-year-old doctor. To her surprise, the woman’s reply is neither of the two.
“Well shit, that’s impressive. We need more doctors in this town, that’s for sure. I’ll wash it with water and get some blood off you before putting something on it. I have stuff you can use to clean and fix it up back at the house. Does that sound good?”
Victoria nods, and the woman takes her water bottle and pours it on her leg, the blood washing off into the snow below. The woman then lifts the hem of her sweatshirt up a few inches to grab the bottom of her worn shirt, and to Victoria’s shock, rips a strip of fabric right off the bottom. The tearing noise echoes in the silent forest around them. She can see a sliver of the woman’s stomach illuminated by the flashlight resting in the snow. Victoria’s eyes catch on her defined v-line disappearing under the waistband of her boxers and jeans. The muscle and trail of dark red hair makes her mouth water. She fights the urge to lick her lips, as if she was some starved animal laying eyes on a meal.
To Victoria’s disappointment, the woman lets her sweatshirt fall down after a moment. She takes the strip of fabric and reaches for Victoria’s upper thigh. “Can I?”
It’s rare Victoria is met with such nice manners, especially from strangers. The consideration throws her off for a beat before she responds. “Yeah. Thanks.”
The woman’s gloved hands lift her leg off the snowy ground, the warmth of her grip making Victoria all but melt into her touch. She wraps the strip of fabric around her upper thigh, securing it around the cut to stop the bleeding. It would work until Victoria could fix it herself later. With two light pats on her leg, the woman releases her grip and looks back up to meet her gaze.
“Alright. That should hold until I get you home.” Home coming from this woman’s mouth sounds a hell of a lot better than it did in Victoria’s own head. “I got a spare lead in my bag for your horse. I can tie it to Janie over there. Are you good to ride double with me? I don’t want you on your own in the saddle right now.”
“Okay. That works. He uh—he isn’t good around new people, though,” Victoria warns, gesturing towards where Crash was now huffing and stomping his hooves. The stranger’s horse, she assumes is Janie, is simply standing right where she left her, unbothered as ever. The idea of riding double with the woman makes her brain light up a bit. Minutes of being pressed up against those hard lines of muscle on the woman’s stomach isn’t exactly the worst solution in the world. “So be careful.”
“I’ll be alright, darlin’.” The woman stands up and walks towards Janie, grabbing a spare rope tied to the side of the saddle, before turning back to Crash. Shockingly, Crash doesn’t freak out, instead grumbling and shaking his neck out as Cassie secures the rope around his saddle. She leads him over to her own horse, knotting the rope a few times before coming back to stand over Victoria. “Can you walk?”
“Yeah. I just need—”
She doesn’t finish her sentence before the woman extends a hand down to her. Victoria is thankful for the bandana that hides the small smile blooming on her cold lips. She puts one of her freezing hands in the woman’s gloved one, definitely not dwelling on the fact the stranger’s big palm all but engulfs her own, before she’s pulled up gently. Her legs, still slightly numb and aching from the fall, almost send her falling back to the snowy earth, but a firm hand lands on her waist.
“Easy now, take your time.” The woman’s voice is right in Victoria’s ear, murmuring only inches away from her. The hand at her waist is solid in its grip, a steady, warm pressure that Victoria wants to sink into. Her other hand lands on her shoulder as she helps to steady her. Victoria takes a tentative step forward, putting all her efforts into not toppling, and starts to shuffle slowly over to the horses. “That’s it. I got you.”
Her words are the balm of encouragement Victoria needs after the night she’s had. After a few more steps, they reach Janie. The woman hops up into the saddle with ease, sitting far back to leave a small spot for Victoria. She looks down at her, one hand still on Victoria’s shoulder, the other now resting at her side. “Ready?”
Victoria stops for a second, noting with a small smile that the red of the stranger’s hair matches the coat of her horse, before looking up at her and nodding. She reaches down and before Victoria can blink, she’s hoisted up into the saddle. A quiet oof escapes her mouth as she’s set down, her brain reeling at the casual way the woman lifted her with no strain.
She shifts in the saddle, trying to get more comfortable, but all it does is push her further back against the woman. Her strong, thick thighs bracket Victoria’s own, the worn leather of her chaps rough against her bare skin. She’s warm and solid against her, the heat from her body sinking through the borrowed jacket. She can feel the rise and fall of her chest and her warm breath on the back of her neck. Up close, the smell of sawdust and leather mixes with the scent of her own blood and the trees surrounding them.
Victoria finds herself leaning into her, if only to get more comfortable for the ride ahead. The woman shuffles in her seat, and after a second reaches around Victoria to hand her the gloves she had on earlier. “Put these on.”
“It's fine. I can’t possibly—”
“You’re shaking, baby. Put ‘em on.”
The baby is what does it, that and the fact her fingers are about to fall off. Victoria exhales, a cloud of white puffing in front of her through her bandana, and slips the gloves on. The leather lined with fur on the inside instantly helps to warm her up some more. “Thank you, seriously. I really appreciate it.”
“It’s nothing. I wish I had more to give you.” The woman reaches around her again to grab the reins, and Victoria notes the exposed skin of her hands. Worn, silver rings decorate each finger, looking both rough and delicate at the same time. Her pale skin is littered with various tattoos covering parts of her fingers and knuckles. They trail around the top of her hand and under the sleeve of her sweatshirt, the rest hidden from view. Her fingers, bigger than Victoria’s own, grip the reins tightly before signaling to her horse to start trotting. Victoria swallows, turning her gaze up ahead to the raging blizzard and pushing back the image of the woman’s thick, long digits.
“Hold on to this,” she says in Victoria’s ear, guiding her hands to the horn of the saddle. Victoria listens, gripping the leather for balance as the horse speeds up. She’s grown up riding, can maneuver a horse better than most people twice her age, but never ridden double. It’s intimate in a way she’s never experienced before in her lonely, desolate life.
The woman nudges her horse into a full canter now, making the snow hit them impossibly harder as they ride on, Crash following close behind. Victoria shivers, ducking her chin and squinting her eyes against the frigid wind. The woman leans forward and pulls the collar of Victoria’s jacket up higher. “I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry. Just a little longer.”
Victoria holds on to the light at the end of this awful day—the concept that in a few short minutes she’ll be walking into a warm home with a woman who makes her body feel alive in ways she’d thought would never happen again after Trinity. It sounds like the start to one of the bodice rippers she bought in a thrift store in Oklahoma a few years back. Her parents frowned on any reading that didn’t teach her something, medicine specifically, but they didn’t know the battered two dollar book she kept hidden in the bottom of her backpack taught her more about herself than anything she’d ever read.
This woman with her kind words and warm touch is making Victoria feel like she’s back in her bedroom alone with that book cracked open and a hand between her thighs. It’s a startling thought, and likely one that only made itself known due to her exhausted, freezing brain. Sitting nestled between the stranger’s strong thighs, feeling her warm chest against her cold back, and her big, tattooed hands resting only inches away from her bare thighs, Victoria doesn't think she could fight the feeling if she tries.
After another minute of riding, the woman’s voice breaks through the pressing silence. “I never got your name back there.”
It's almost funny, despite the circumstances, that they’d skipped such a basic formality. She’s on the back of this woman’s horse, wearing her jacket, on the way to her home, and Victoria didn’t even know her name. The absurdity of it all nearly has her breaking out into laughter. “I’m Victoria.”
“Nice to meet you, Victoria. I’m Cassie.”