Somewhere, thousands of feet above American soil.

Stuck in my seat, I looked up absentmindedly at the far screen, in which colourful people were moving about apparently without purpose, at least without any that could keep my attention.

The soft snore that was coming from the seat beside me lulled my bored mind into escaping to other places, other times. 

I thought about another flight, back from our first trip together to France with John, the first time when we had been in Luberon with some of our friends, for the Man's show.

We were on our way back home from France, alone on a flight, John and I. I mean... we were not alone in the plane, but it was one of those few flights where we were without our friends.

We had been lucky enough to have a seat available beside us both and John had encouraged me to lie down and rest my head on his lap. After the excitation of the show, those crazy days spent with our friends and the flu that I had caught just before leaving, I was pretty worn out, so I didn't argue and was soon fast asleep.

Safe and warm on my comfortable human pillow, I must have slept several hours probably. 

 

What woke me up was the sensation of being shaken... which was in reality not a sensation but a fact. We were going through turbulence. John's big hands were stroking my hair nervously and I could feel that he was tense, the muscles of his thigh against my cheek being now uncomfortably taut.  I looked up and the tension I could see on my companion's handsome face confirmed for me what I already knew. My poor love had never liked much to fly and he was trying to face this turbulence alone, like the brave and caring man he was.

So I decided to help him to relax, my own way. It was not too difficult because my face was not too far already from my aim. But I can tell that there was still a lot of work to be done to get him where I wanted him.

I decided to do my best to set this straight, if I may say so. 

John had covered me with his blanket while I was sleeping, so it was easy to slip my face under it to get a little privacy in the achievement of the pleasant mission I had entrusted myself with.

When he felt me move and got what I had in mind, his whole body stiffened even more than it already had before. Except the part that interested me. He grunted, surprised, and his hand stopped stroking my hair to grip it and slightly pull my head away from its destination, making my face emerged from under the blankets.

"Not here. Not now!" he rumbled lowly. 

I didn't say anything and gave him what was intended to be an innocent smile but might have looked rather wicked instead, and thought: "Oh yes, here. And now!"

I tried a gentler approach but he knew already that I was not going to put it down, so to speak. 

My hand under the blanket ran languorously along his thigh, massaging imperceptibly his flesh through the soft fabric of his trousers. It worked. In spite of his first reluctance, his legs betrayed him and instinctively parted slightly, as by their own will, giving me the better access I needed. I resumed my... job with a smile. My poor nounours had already lost the fight, and didn't do anything anymore to stop me. I had such a good knowledge of his body now that I knew precisely which button I had to push to get the expected effect. Men are so predictable in the hands of the women they trust enough to give full access to their body, heart and soul.

 

What? You think I was wrong? Isn't it what they encourage us to do during the flight? Relax? Well, I was just helping my anguished man to relax and get through an uncomfortable moment for him, with a massage as good as any other. Probably even better, if I can judge from the soft moans that were now slipping out of his lips, and the look on his face, eyes tight shut. I was so focused on my aim that I have no idea if the flight attendants or other passengers around us had noticed anything, but frankly, this was, and still is, the last of my worries.

 

I couldn't stop the turbulence, but I could certainly try and make my man forget about them.   

And forget he did. 

And relaxed he finally was. 

Mission accomplished

But it was not going to happen now. 

First because this present flight was crowded and there was no way I could move a finger without attracting the attention of the old lady sitting at the other side of John and who was watching him sleep with tenderness. And lust, I can tell!

No, no, no, don't try and fool me, old ladies have fantasies too, I am sure of that... and, frankly, I hope they do. But, even if it made me smiles and I found it touching, I was trying to chase away the unwelcome images that came to my mind of that respectable lady and my sweet bear, together. You can call me sick, but a woman is a woman forever, no matter how old she becomes.

But I'm being sidetracked here. 

The second reason why I was not going to help my man to relax today was that he already was. Relaxed. Very much. A snoring relaxation. Which didn't stop the old lady from eyeing him greedily... I admit that I reacted childishly, but well, I am also a woman, so I pointedly bent over him and pulled up to his shoulders the blanket that had slipped down to his waist during his sleep. I then kissed his cheek very softly so I wouldn't wake him up. He didn't even stir. Then I gave my sweetest (and most insincere) smile to the old lady. In my mind, I was pulling out my tongue and sending her that thought: "You can perve all you want, but he is mine!" Bad Clarity! Non mais!

If she thought that the fact that he had carried her bag up to the overhead bin, helped her to adjust and buckle her security belt, put that same bag down a while later because she needed a handkerchief (to wipe her glasses... how urgent!), put it back up, then helped her to unfold her blanket because she couldn't open the plastic bag (come on, she was not as weak already!) would give her some kind of ownership on my man, she was soooo wrong!

And it's without mentioning that after having kept him occupied with her little shrivelled person's needs, he had had to listen to her talking about her grandchildren she was going to visit, and look patiently at the many pictures of her as many grandchildren. She probably had been part of the reason why he was sleeping now. She had bored him to sleep! That man is so kind and patient, he deserves a medal.

And, when I saw her pat his thigh so many times while talking to him, besides trying to repress an intense animal desire to bite that old wrinkled hand, little evil me couldn't help thinking that, if there really was something after life, she had just lost part of the angel ring that she had probably been after all her life, and that St Peter had kept in store for her all these years, at Heaven's gate.

But enough with the old lady! By the way, I had given her in my mind the ridiculous old French name of  Gudule (which is, in fact, Belgian, I think). I don't know why, I felt that name fitted her perfectly. Should I add that it was the name we generally gave, when we were kids, to people we wanted to make fun of? Nahhhh!

Where was I? 

Ah yes. I was going to behave because my man was fast asleep. Good on him. Or too bad for him. I didn't know what would be better for him. Anyway, he was sleeping. I looked at him with more attention. His long eyelashes fluttered, his breath was sometimes uneven, his sleep was not a peaceful one. I knew each of his breaths and those were telling me that he was not really having a nightmare, but that it was an agitated dream and I wondered if it was an unpleasant one. But, when I saw a little smile appear on his lips, then widen, I was relieved and a smile of my own came to my own lips. My eyes caught the old lady... Gudule, also smiling at him. This time, my smile to her was sincere and I felt bad for having had nasty thoughts about this respectable grandmother (even if I couldn't forget that this same respectable grandmother hadn't failed to pet my man's butt discreetly when he got up to go to the bathroom! I had seen that!)

So he was dreaming. I knew that, if I had waken him up because I thought he was having an unpleasant dream, he would have said that he was not dreaming. He thinks he never dreams, even if I keep on explaining him that it's not possible, that everybody dreams, we just don't all remember our dreams, that's all. He's mostly a very reasonable man, but sometimes reacts like a child, thinking that, if he pretends it doesn't exist, it just does not. So he has decided that he never dreams. At least, since he had found out that our common nightmare was actually not a nightmare, or rather, not of the dreamy kind. As usually, he had closed down to all this, as I had apparently done, and pretended it was over, as if it had not happened.

But it had. And we would never be the same again. None of us, and I was not only speaking about the two of us. 

But I didn't want to think about this anymore. It was over. Well no, it was not over, but I didn't want to think about it. Not now. Maybe not ever again. I was not sure that it helped, thinking about it again and again. What did that change? What could we change? Everything had already been written down in the big book of our lives, and there was nothing we could do to erase the past. All we could do was to forget it, or better, if we could, learn from it, and try and make a better future for us and the ones we cared about.

And enjoy the present... as much as we could.

What had happened, had happened. The result? The only person I talked to anymore, I mean about personal things, was John. And he was less and less here lately, spending more and more time at work. He said he had been away so long that he had to make it up for the ones who had done his job while he was gone. I could understand that. But I missed him most of the time. And when he was here, he didn't talk much. He had always been a man of few words. Except when he was deeply moved, sometimes, he didn't seem to be able to stop talking. He then said that he had just used all his credit of words for one whole week, and it always made laugh!

So, I didn't talk much anymore to anyone. Not about the things that really counted. Oh, I was still listening to people. And talked with them... about them. But I avoided talking about me, about us. Nobody knew what had happened to us after everything seemed to have been back to normal for everyone.

Besides, my best friends had their own worries, so I didn't want to add mine, ours, to theirs, it would have been unfair. Even if I had been able to, it was too soon. This belonged to us only; and we were not ready to share it yet. At least, I was not. I doubted John had told anyone either. All we could do now was rub ourselves, just the two of us, in our very personal grief in our worse moments, or, in the best ones, pretend that everything was now back to normal for us too.

It was not. 

But we did. Pretend. We both became good at it. And, in a way, that was sad. We used to be so open about almost everything! 

On the positive side, I had just found kind of a help. Well, was it truly a help? I didn't really want to think about this either now. But I had found out, in those great days we had just spent with some of our friends during that first trip to New Orleans for work, that alcohol could numb the pain, and keep me from thinking. Nothing new here, I agree. But I had never felt the need to use it before. I wouldn't say that it had become a need, but it was such a relief that it could very easily become one, with time. I wouldn't have admitted that to anyone though. Not even John. Particularly not him.

I was having too much time on my hands and nothing that could distract me during that interminable flight. Most passengers were sleeping, the staff was nowhere to be seen, there was still nothing that interested me on the screen, I couldn't get my attention either on reading.

I had tried, a while before, to ask for a glass of something strong, I don't even remember what, but, when I had seen Gudule's cold and disdainful look on me, I had blushed and cancelled my order. I generally don't mind much others' opinion if I really want something. But what that old woman's look on me was expressing was only the reflection on my own opinion: I was not worth this man. She was right.

So I put on my headphones that immediately delivered me the deep voice I needed to hear. It never failed to calm me, that voice, coming from that character who had become my reason of living, my light through real life... or what I consider as such, whatever other people out of our world would call it; or through those songs whispered in my ears by the actor/singer who had started it all.

At least, it kept away the bad memories, and all the questions about the present. And the future. 

That's what I thought, but, after a short while, my unruly mind started to wander again. 

We did love each other maybe more than ever, at least I did... but were we still good for each other? Had what we had lived together, and separately, driven us apart? If we couldn't talk anymore about what counted, then, what counted anymore?

Not again!!!! Always these same old questions! This was precisely the dangerous ground I didn't want to step on. 

Too late. 

Or maybe not. When the song "High horse Honey" poured itself into my ear, it slowly numbed my fears and worries, and my mind drifted to other memories, once more.

Memories from a few weeks ago. 

From one of these times when we had tried to rebuild ourselves. 

One of these times when it had felt like it was before, for a while. 

One of these times when we allowed ourselves to have hope again in the future.

Hope. Not expectations that could very well never be fulfilled.  

"I'd like to but... I wonder if it's not a little too early... you know, I'm not sure I'm ready yet. Maybe I need more time... Yeah, yeah, I know, it's been two years already, but... yes, sure, I do trust you. Yes, maybe it would be time for me to take that big step, but... I don't know. Maybe you're right, maybe it's time. Yes, I'd love to do that with you.

... John? I won't probably have to tell him anything. You know him, as long as there is a game to watch on TV, he will be happy. But what about you? Isn't it going to be a problem for you? You can make yourself free? Oh, she's away for the day? When? Tomorrow? Okay then. ... I'll be there. Meet you at the stables.

Oh... did I tell you that I love you! I really do, East!"

 

I hung up the phone and turned with a big smile on my face... to find my stunned self face to face... well, face to chest more exactly, with my husband's big shape.

He was there, at the entry of the kitchen, where he had probably come to get a cool beer after work (I had not heard him come in at all), while I was on the phone. Whether that man could move very noiselessly when he wanted to, or I was getting more and more distracted... or deaf?  I couldn't explain why, but I felt immediately guilty... and reacted as if I was. Guilty.

 

It looked like it was becoming a habit now. For the second time in a few weeks, he was catching me talking about him or things that were worrying me with someone else. Things that I should have talked about with him instead.

Not, as I said before, that I confided much myself to other persons, but I had, once tried to talk to Bou... or at least, Cort and she, in spite of their own worries and troubles, had tried to make me talk about whatever they could feel was bothering me. I was worried about us, or rather me not being able to resume our intimate relationship again. I didn't manage to express it, not even to Bou, but John had caught me telling her that I was worried about him. He had been very tender and understanding, but I could see that it had hurt him that I hadn't talked to him first. Fortunately, if I still couldn't find the right words, we had found another way of expressing our feelings again right after.

 

Life has taught me something... well, along with one or two other things, I guess. When I was younger, I thought that the biggest proof of love was to say absolutely everything to the other. Then, I learned that, in many cases, the biggest proof of love was precisely to try and spare the other from as much worries and pain as you can. At least, that's what I thought.

And what I generally did, more or less efficiently. 

But maybe was I wrong? Because the problem is that it generally hurts more the ones you're trying to protect when they find out. 

Better not been caught, then. 

 

It was not really about that, on this day, in the kitchen after I ended that phone call with East. But, it had had the same effect on John. The hurt look that he couldn't hide fast enough for me not to see it, froze my smile on my face. How would I have felt if I had heard him plan something with someone else, something he would have not told me about, something in which I was obviously not going to be involved?

Probably exactly like him right now. 

 

Anyway, he soon bravely managed to hide his hurt look and a smile appeared on his lips. A smile that didn't reach his eyes. 

"So you're going out tomorrow?" 

"I, um, yes." 

I knew it was a dumb answer and it sure didn't help to clear up any possible misunderstanding. But I was not able to say anything else at that very moment.

Can I admit without feeling too ridiculous (or even with) that, even after all these years spent together, that man can still impress me and make me feel, unintentionally I know (I think?), like a little girl. Particularly when he looks at me silently. I feel like his intense look is searching my soul. I don't know why he impresses me so much, it's probably just because of who he is, of the power that emanates from him, even if he seldom uses it and is, most of the time, the most gentle of men.

"Without me?" 

He made me jump. But I answered defiantly, with a self assurance I was far from really feeling then: 

"Why? I shouldn't?" Ooops, another bad answer. I winced mentally at this one. 

He raised an eyebrow. 

Touché. 

"Well, nothing wrong with it. Except that I had planned something. And it would have been great if you had told me before. Isn't that what wives and husbands are supposed to do? Communicate?"

"Really?" Clarity, shut up! I yelled silently to myself. But I went on: 

"It has just been decided now. I was going to tell you, if you only had given me time!"

"Really?" One point for the adverse party. 

Even. 

But I didn't give up and, as if it was not bad enough, I just heard myself add right after: 

"Of course, you have applied it to yourself by telling me what you had planned for tomorrow, have you? And that had probably been planned for a long time?"

Oh God.... Now could I please be swallowed into the bowels of the Earth?

"Good point, sweetheart" and an amused smile lightened unexpectedly his face. That man will never stop to amaze me! 

He came closer to me, put his arms around me, and bent his head to talk lowly into my ear, in that husky voice of his. I hardly heard what he said, troubled by the effect that voice never failed to have on me, and the feeling of his warm breath in my neck. He was playing with me, I knew it. He knew I couldn't resist him when he was doing that.

"So what's that important thing you're planning to do with someone else tomorrow?"

I put my hand on his chest and pushed him away from me so I could think clearly again and said in a very assured voice: "No, you first! What had you planned without telling me?"

... At least, that's what I did in my mind. Because, in reality, I heard my little girl's voice use my unwilling mouth to answer him: "I was really going to tell you, it's not a secret, you know".

I hated myself instantly! Why should I feel guilty about that? How did he manage to do that? 

He went on, with that same deep low voice, almost a whisper: "Then if it's not a secret, what about telling me, and I'll tell you what I had in mind myself?"

Okay, apart from his closeness and his voice, it looked like he was playing fair now, so I could come clean with him too. Besides, I was sincere, it was not mean to be a secret, I just thought he wouldn't be interested at all by this, I knew it was not his cup of tea. Each time he had done it, it was only for me, and he had paid it dearly after.

Besides, to be totally honest, I was not so sure I wanted to do it, so I was not ready to discuss it with anyone. 

Him included.

But then, my devilish feminine mind took over, and I decided to play a little trick on him. After all, wasn't it what he had just done with me, using his effect on me to get what he wanted out of me? Well, he was going to get it, but my own way.

I placated my most charming smile on my face... which was not too difficult because his hand was now rubbing my back slowly.

"John, chéri... I thought you wouldn't be interested in it, but, in fact... nothing would please me more than you coming with me tomorrow. Would you?"

"Well, I might if you only tell me what it's about."

"But you said you had something else..."

"Just tell me."

"Okay then... East has found one of Altair's brothers. He proposed me to ride him whenever I wanted. He might even be for sale. It's been almost two years since... since he left me. Altair. I thought maybe it was time for me to ride again. But... "

I swallowed hard and realised that I was not playing a trick at him at all and not fooling him, but I had been fooling myself all along before. Now, I was being completely sincere.

"... But I wouldn't want to do it alone. I don't know if I can do it. East kindly proposed me to come with me, but... but I realise that, as much as I like him, it's not him I need by my side at that important moment. At least, important for me."

I'm not sure I realised then what I was unconsciously implying in that request, that need of him to do again something that had ended badly. To get back in the saddle again. In all meanings of the expression. It would mean more than just riding again for me, it would be a new beginning. One of a many that needed to be done to have a chance to resume our happy life again.

"I know you're not much of a rider, but I'm sure that East would choose a big gentle horse for you"

"Big?"

"Okay, I take that back... gentle will be enough. What do you think? You think you could do that for me? I know you will be sore after, but we don't have to go fast. And... "

I ran my hands playfully but softly even so on his buttocks and felt him shiver...  I so like to feel him react under my touch.

"... I promise you that you'll get exactly the massage you'll need so much after... you know how good I can be at that, don't you?"

I felt him shiver again. He tried to clear his throat but his voice was husky again when he answered me. 

"Yes... Yes. You know that I will always be here for you when you need me.  To go through the worse and the better together, whatever it could be."

He had already told me that before, several times, and recently just after... our biggest loss.

 

Losing the horse had changed completely my world and I had stopped then to be what I had always been, all my life, even before I could own a horse: a rider, a horsewoman, it had always been my identity, what and who I was, what I was leaving for. By losing it, I had felt lost myself; I didn't know who I was anymore. But, fortunately, I had John, he had been here for me. Until we had been separated, then gathered again to face our biggest loss, common this one, and that had almost torn us apart.

Because, as the loss of the horse had make me feel no rider anymore, the loss of our baby made me feel no woman anymore. And, this time, I had refused John's help, thinking that he needed his strength to heal himself, and I was not able to help him. How could I? I was not even able to help myself! And, mostly, I thought that I was not worth it, that I didn't deserve him anymore. That feeling was probably still in me today.

 

But now, maybe it was time for me to try and rebuild myself, to regain that horsewoman identity that was mine before? 

And maybe after, I would be able to rebuild myself as a woman again? 

I felt that the second would be the logical follow-up to the first, and that I could only do that with John's strong help. 

With him, and for him. 

He had already done that when we had met, changing me into a real woman. I knew he could do it again. And I was almost convinced that it would help him too. Finding again the woman that he had loved would help him to feel again like the man that he had been before, and still was.

Before I failed him and concentrated only on my little selfish person. 

 

His voice interrupted again the course of my thoughts...

"... after all, isn't that what Monsieur le Maire (I so love his accent when he tries to speak French, he's making such an effort to pronounce it right... and he generally succeeds!) had told us on our wedding day?"

And he slapped playfully my bottom, ending that moving moment for both of us. I was so surprised that I didn't even react. 

"You're really going to ride with me?"

"Isn't that what you just asked me to do?"

"Yes, but... I thought that you.... you had other plans?"

"Well, yes, I have tickets for a game tomorrow and I wanted to share what I like the most with the person I like the most right after it..." He winked at me with a smug smile "I meant the other way around, of course!"

I slapped playfully his arm. 

He became serious again...

"But..."

I stopped smiling too and looked in his eyes, waiting anxiously for what was coming next.

"... but now I know I'd better go there with Bou or Wildie, they understand  the rules better than you anyway, and yell so much better at the referee! Although, I admit I like to see his face when you curse at him in French!"

"Oh you!!!" I started to push him away from me, for real, this time. How could he keep on joking when I was expecting something serious from him! 

He grabbed me and kept me forcefully but gently at the same time against him.

"Hey hey hey! I was just kidding! Of course I'll ride, even if that means I will have to give up any sitting office job for weeks after that, or, if absolutely necessary, will have to equip my office armchair with a dozen of cushions! And you know I will never hear the end of it from the guys after that! But, see? I'm ready to face all this. For you! Aren't I a brave man? And the best of husbands? I think I should write a guide: 'How to sacrifice the skin of your butt for your woman's wellbeing'... not sure yet about the title, might get it put in the wrong category in the bookstore... and get us reproaching looks again from our charming neighbour, Miss Churchmousey there... I should think better about that title! Any suggestion?"

Wow! Another full week of words credit gone! Or maybe even a month!

This time, I punched (softly) his tummy! Got to love that man!

He got serious once more and caressed gently my face with the back of his fingers. 

"What I really meant is that, as I said, I wanted to share what I like the most, after you, with you... but now, I think it is as much, if not more important to share what you like the most... after me, of course!"

 

That's how we found ourselves on the day after, in the middle of the country, perched on two very different horses. 

John's one, named "Buttercup" was a big (sorry, John, but he was big indeed!) friendly animal, with gentle eyes and ears that moved along with his lower lip at the rhythm of his steps. I even wondered if he was not sleeping while walking. He was totally impervious to my own young and proud mount who was prancing nervously by his side.

My horse,Tornado (I must absolutely change that name if he's going to be part of the family someday!) was a smaller copy of Altair, but had as much temper as him, even if less comfortable. But I thought I could get used to him... hoping that he could get used to me!

As for East, I think he didn't mind at all not being part of this little expedition. He trusted me with the horses, and trusted John to make me feel better about that renewed contact with the past. He was himself more than happy to get back to a little work he had started to surprise Wildie. Behind his taciturn appearance, he is the sweetest of the men... well, after mine, but I am probably biased. A little.

Although he was trying hard to look like he was enjoying it, John first seemed to be rather nervous when he climbed on his big horse and left East's ranch to head to the wilderness. He was nervous both about the horse's possible reactions, his own equilibrium on that unstable moving mass, but I could also see that he was worried about me. He trusted me as a rider, but I admit that the departure had been rather agitated, the young horse bucking and trying to impose his will on me.

When my horse finally relaxed, so did John. And a while later, he almost seemed to be bored. 

But, when I decided to test my horse's reactions and abilities by making him turn around trees, cross springs, climb hills and other difficulties, John's sportsman's spirit took over and he and his gentle Buttercup were soon trying to follow us, and even to race us! We both, or should I say, the four of us, got caught in that game and were laughing hard about it (well, John and I were laughing... although I think the horses did too, their own way). I sure was laughing seeing John bounce on the back of the big animal, but always managing, who knows how, to stay on it! That man is so very resourceful!

 

After a while, the horses started to breathe hard and to show some foam on their neck and chest, so we slowed down and got back to calm. 

John probably didn't feel it when he was caught in the action, but now, he realized that this activity had put some strain to muscles that were not used to work in his yet sportive life, and he was starting to ache badly. To be totally honest, so did I. Getting muscle aches for a rider is like being seasick for some sailors, you don't get it anymore when you practice, but have to go through it again when you get back to it again after a long time of inactivity.

We rode silently side by side for a while. I felt better than I had felt in a long time. My senses were being assailed by all these sensations I thought I had forgotten forever: the rhythm of the horse in the small of my back and that I could feel in my whole being, the fresh scents of nature opposed to the strong one of the sweating horses, the sound of the soft wind in the trees, the birds songs, the burbling of a stream, the soothing sight of those spring prairies almost too green to be true.

I started to feel alive, to feel whole again.

"Say sheriff... isn't your horse a bit difficult to handle?"

"Huh?" John looked down at the quiet animal that seemed to be sleeping while walking again, its head down. 

I winked at him devilishly. 

"Let me help you, will you?" and, before he could react, I had jumped in front of him on his horse. Poor Buttercup lifted his head again, surprised by that assault and sudden extra charge on his back, but he was probably less surprised than his rider. My horse lightly shied at my brisk and unexpected stunt, but he was rather tired too and soon looked for security and put himself nicely behind his big fellow, his nose in his tail. I tied his reins around my wrist to have both my hands free for whatever I had in mind.

"Hey! What...?" But, before John could say anything else, I shut him down with a deep kiss.

When he could breathe... and speak again, he kept on protesting but less convincingly.

"This is not..."

But again, I didn't let him finish.

"Yes, I do know that your horse's head is not this way, cowboy. But yours is. You don't worry... let me just... handle... this. As for you... just try and stay on the horse.

"Listen Clarrie, I don't think it's a wise thing to do...we..." the rest was lost in another kiss.

 

All I can say about what happened next is that it was intense and powerful, enhanced by the horse's movements, and the feeling of his strong muscles under us. I wouldn't say that it was really easy and comfortable, but it certainly fired both imagination and senses.

Now, as for the question that I know comes first to your dirty minds... whether we managed to do it or not... I'd quote someone we all know... "it's not your business!"

John, lost in that special moment, probably forgot what East had told him about the only thing that gentle Buttercup couldn't stand. To regain his balance, he put his hand behind him, on the large horse's back and the big animal bucked immediately, just once. But it was enough to make us lose our equilibrium... and get very, very uncomfortable.

As if to make things worse, John instinctively started to squeeze the horse's flanks with his muscled legs, to try and stabilize our wavering selves. The poor animal, still upset by the lack of respect these weird humans had been paying to him, thought he was now spurred and started to canter, followed by young Tornado who was reluctantly dragged behind, not understanding what was going on.

I reached behind me to shorten the reins that John had left loose these last minutes, while he hold on my waist for dear life and started to bounce even more, dangerously...and painfully for both of us. 

I tried to catch him with my available arm, but John is big and I was torn between trying to slow the horse down and keeping my lover in the saddle, so to speak. But we couldn't do much in that position, at least, nothing really efficient.

The horse under us started to panic more and more. 

"Stay with me, honey, stay with me!" I told John to encourage him in his efforts to stay on the horse. 

"OUCH!" The horse, tired of feeling me pull on his mouth to try and stop him but also, I must confess it even if I'm not proud of it, to help us both to stay on his back, had shaken his head violently, and twisted my arm painfully.

John surprised me once more. Forgetting completely about his painful and dangerous position, he bent over me, caught the reins I was on the edge of letting go and pulled with all his strength on the horse's mouth again. The incongruous thought came to my mind, at that very moment, that he could very well have pulled a few teeth out of the poor animal's mouth. But animals lovers, be reassured, he did not!

His courageous intervention was successful and the big animal finally slowed down. 

Things were a little better now and we both started to breath again, relieved. We slowly and carefully moved to try and get back to a more... um... regular, position.

But the horse, whose head was still kept up by John's strong handle on the reins, stumbled then on a fallen branch, shaking us both again unexpectedly, when we were in the most vulnerable position. John's arms made desperate and violent movements to keep his equilibrium and stay on the saddle.

Behind us, Tornado got scared by the brusque movements and shied away, violently this time, tugging hard at my arm that was holding his reins, like his friend Buttercup had done with my other arm a while before (it was not my day!) It made me lose my equilibrium for a short while. But it was enough to accelerate John's slipping movement to the right side of the horse...

... and, what fatally had to happen... happened...

 

A while later, two horses out of breath but, if animals can have human feelings, that looked rather happy with themselves, came back to the stables... alone.

 

And, even later, it was almost night, East found us limping slowly back to the ranch, supporting each other, and not proud at all of ourselves! 

"But, what...?" It took only one look at us and our torn out clothes for East to guess that we had been up to no good... or tried to be, and a big smug smile started to broaden on his lips.

"If you say one word..." grumbled John.

My first moment of shame passed, I got East's playful and understanding wink at us both, and I pinched John. He turned at me like if a snake had bit him... but it was enough to make him realise at last the ridiculous of that situation, and we all burst out of laughter together.

Shifting unconsciously in my seat, I smiled again at the thought of this whole funny, not so sexy and stupid adventure! 

East is a great guy, he hadn't said anything to anyone. I was not even sure he had told it to Wildie, although I doubted he kept anything hidden from her, not after what had happened to them when Wildie's past had got back to them. But, even if he had, I was not worried too much about that, and trusted them both to keep it quiet. They knew that the others would never leave us alone with that stupid story if they ever knew.

A flight attendant offered us drinks. I looked at John who was still sleeping. I was tempted again to ask for something that would help me to sleep too, but one more look from Gudule and I gave up again, shook my head and thanked him, burying myself again deep in my thoughts.

I finally hadn't bought the horse, Tornado. I was still unsure I could be back to my own self again, and it had taken me such a long time that his owner had taken him back and sold him to someone else, in spite of East's insistence.

I was not too sad about it, because he had told me that he had been sold to a teenage girl who had fallen in love with him at first sight, like I had with Loukid and, then, Altair, the two brothers that had filled successively and successfully my rider's life with happiness and pride.

Would the fact that I had not been able yet to resume my life of rider mean that I would be as unsuccessful with my life of real woman? I mean, lovemaking is not the only thing that keeps a couple together.

Did I really have what it took to make a man such as John Biebe happy? 

Oh no! My mind was drifting again to unwanted grounds. 

Yes, we had lost a baby... and, in spite of what the doctor had told us, and what John kept telling me, I still felt it was my responsibility.

But I had accepted that now. Not that it made it easier for me, but I could deal with it, day after day, at least, I was doing my best to. 

I had accepted that and the fact that wherever and whenever that baby had been conceived, John was still the father. 

What was more difficult for me to deal with now was the loss in itself. The loss... a single word that can express so many different kinds of pain, all overlapping each other, which makes them more difficult to heal, or rather to relieve a bit, I suppose.

The first expression of that loss was the one I had been feeling from the very beginning; it might even have been my first thought when we had been told what had just happened.

John's loss. His own pain. 

The loss of what and who could have made him whole again, as a man, as a father. 

It hurt me to look at him each day and think that, instead of these extra wrinkles I had added on his forehead lately, there could be another light in his eyes when he would bend over his daughter's cradle on the morning and kiss her tender cheek before going to work (my silly and troubled mind had decided from the beginning that it was a little girl).

Giving birth is not like making a cake. You've messed up with the first one, you try another one, and another until you succeed. 

I dreaded to try again; I didn't think then that I would ever be able to. 

And that had been part of our problem in the first times.

 Instead of living that together, sharing the pain, it had kept us apart, or rather, I had kept us apart. I was even afraid of making love again, because I couldn't help thinking of the possible consequences.

And I thought neither of us would be able to face another possible loss again. 

I still had that feeling today. But I had dealt with it, and knew that life is a road full of intersections. At each of these intersections, you have to make a choice, knowing that it could be a bad one. But, you can't just sit here, you have to go ahead, to walk along that road, and make those choices all along.

I had made now the choice of trying again. Some day, when we would be ready. 

For John. 

And maybe for me too? 

One of the other expressions of that loss was rather new to me. I mean, it hadn't come right after, it had taken me time to realise it. 

Immediately after that pain of having hurt John, the pain, the guilt, the fear and all that came with it, had come that selfish pain of having lost someone I now loved without even having known her, and without even having known she existed when she was still alive.

And this was where came that other pain, that other feeling of loss, of failure. 

It hurt me deeply to think that this poor little being, even if we don't know what and how they feel when they are that little, had started to be loved only when she stopped to live. What had she done to deserve that?

That thought really disturbed me and broke my heart. 

And then, there was my own loss. This was not the first time I had to face grief. But I had never accepted these losses as mine before, even when they were very close ones, probably trying to keep the pain away. I've always had someone around me who I thought had more reasons than me to be hurt by this loss, someone I tried to protect, to take care of, so I would silence my own pain.

This time was no different. 

But this time, I knew that, not only I had right to mourn, but I needed to. I had to accept this loss as being mine too. It was a necessary way to recovery.

But how can you grieve someone you haven't even met? That baby was gone as discreetly as she had arrived. And all was left for us to mourn was emptiness.

I couldn't help wondering, and I was sure it was in John's mind too, first, if it was really a girl. How were her eyes? Plain brown like mine or with her father's beautiful changing color and intense and caring expression? Would she have had her dad's soft and shiny chestnut hair? If she had lived, would have she accompanied her father to the hockey game and curse as loud as him to the referee? Or would have she asked for a pony as soon as she would have been able to speak? Or both? Or none of these and would have had desires of her own, like most children. Parents often dream that their children had the same passions as they have or had, but it scarcely works that way, and the kids generally want something their parents can't understand... and, preferably, something they can't have.

Yes, these were part of the many expressions of our pain. Pain that we now were, at least, able to share with each other, mostly. Even without much words. Five months after, we were not doing too bad, I think.

Even if we would never be the same again, we were recovering slowly, trying to rebuild something with what was left of both of us. Allowing us to express the pain freely with each other was part of that process.

We didn't mourn all the time, of course, we also allowed ourselves more and more to have fun and good times. Probably not enough, but we tried. 

Really.  

And, when one or the two of us felt the need, we let our feelings run freely. And it helped. It was still not enough, but it helped. I knew it would be a long process for both of us, with ups and downs, not always at the same time, fortunately.

But we would stay united to face this together, as a couple. A couple that had survived that new ordeal, a couple still deeply in love with each other. 

Of that, I was sure. 

I thought. 

What about the others? 

Even if we could say it to other people, even close friends, how could they understand that the pain was still as present five months after, that it might even be worse sometimes? Worse in a good way, precisely because we now allowed the pain to surface, in private.

People generally feel sincerely sorry for you at first when you lose a dear one, but then, life is going on for them, and they expect you to do the same. 

But you can't. 

Because, for you, life will never go on. It will never be the same for you. You will never be the same. You're not resuming your life, you're starting a new one, with a new you, a you that has been amputated of someone, of something irreplaceable... A you that has been weakened, then reinforced.

But each time, you leave a piece of yourself behind. You replace it by a new scar. But scars generally are first more sensitive than regular flesh, then, with time, less and less.

And, in a way, nature does its job well. I remember my father telling me that. You feel less and less, until you feel nothing anymore. 

Why do most old people seem to be not very sensitive to others anymore? It's probably because they have left so much of them behind that they can't feel much anymore.

Thinking about old people made me think about our "good" old Gudule again, and I instinctively turned my face to see what she was doing now. 

Her head was now resting on John's shoulder and it was her turn to sleep peacefully, just a few minutes before we started our way down to our final destination! John was awake now. He looked at me sheepishly and made a face meaning something like "What could I do?"

My sweet man! He never could resist children and old people! 

My look went again from John's face to the old lady's one. Her face at rest was so peaceful, it almost looked childish in spite of all her wrinkles, the result of a life of happiness, pain, fears, worries, grieves, joys, disappointments? It probably could be me or any of our friends in a few dozens of years.

What did I know about her? 

Nothing. 

I knew nothing about her, but, in spite of that, I had been successively hating her and being moved by her. 

I was not better than most people, driven by my own feelings and using the others as an excuse to express them, or even only to feel them. 

Suddenly, my heart felt for that old lady who had been sticking to my man from the beginning of the trip. And I was ashamed of my bad feelings, my jealousy. What harm had she done?

A little human warmth, that's all she was looking for. 

And I was suddenly glad that, consciously or not, my sweet bear had shared the warmth of his generous big heart with her. It was not a big deal for us both, but it might have been much for her.

I looked up at John's face again and noticed that he was watching me. And, seeing the slight smile on my lips, he smiled at me too. 

I so do love that man!

Yes, we had lost part of us. Forever. But we had still plenty to do and plenty to give. 

To each other, but also to the others around us. 

And maybe to another little one? Some day? 

A few hours later, we were back home. 

We had had a lot of fun during that trip we had just made with our friends in New Orleans. I was supposed to work there, but, fortunately, the working schedule had been light and left me time enough to spend time with John and the friends who had joined us there.

Back home, John and I felt both a little lost together, finding ourselves face to face again, alone with our coats of duties, worries, memories and fears. 

So, when John suggested that we had dinner on that first day in Uma and Andy's restaurant, I jumped again like a silly little girl, threw my arms around his neck and kissed him... like a little girl, on the cheek!

And, when Angel and Jack announced their wedding we had been all looking forward, and Ann suggested there that we had a whole week in New Olreans again, with all the girls, for Angel's hen party, I could have kissed everyone!

I think I did. 

Life goes on, and life can be good again. In spite of what we all have to go through.

Our grief was not worse than most of these men, these women around us had been through. There is no contest in unhappiness. And they were able to laugh, to joke, to enjoy each of these big or little moments life can offer us sometimes, as long as we open ourselves enough to see them... and catch them.

I looked at that man beside me, who was the light that brightened my life, who was both in front of my to show me the path, and behind me to support me when I stumbled, and by my side to share everything, together.

Yes, life was going on and could be good again. I had admitted that. 

Or had I? 

What was sure was that I was going to have fun with my girl friends. Even if that also meant spending a week away from the only one person in that world with whom I had shared my grief.

I knew I was going to miss him, I knew it was going to hurt me, to hurt him too, maybe. But maybe was it for the best for both of us?

Friends... and rum... maybe was it what the doctor ordered?