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The body in the water petrified her. Leilah watched the wispy tendrils of hair waft around its head against the steady pull of the current. She crouched by the water, her senses still raw from the stolen hour of passion. Her lover walked her to the boundary fence and left, his footfall heavy against the distance he must cover before home. His kisses left a warmth on her tender skin which the sight of the cadaver in the stream robbed with ease.
“What do I do?” Leilah whispered to the cool night air. She brushed a quivering hand across her forehead and peered into the water again, hoping the body had disappeared like a dream. It bobbed there, mimicking the action of a yellow boat tied to a pier. A sheen of terror coated her skin with dampness. She rose and peered through the darkness, knowing she wouldn’t see her lover’s retreating back. He left ages ago, stealing a last kiss before pinching her slender bottom with a snort of laughter. He didn’t know that Leilah had stayed out longer, enjoying the balmy night air and listening to the faint strains of distant thunder. He didn’t hear her strangled squeal at the sight of the dead body floating face down in the gully.
Leilah stood and clung to the fence to steady herself. Her hands shook. “Fingerprints!” she hissed, lifting her fingers from the wire. Her breath hitched in her chest. The consequences of sneaking out after dark hit her with full force. Many times during the summer of passion, her brain ran through scenarios of Hector discovering her immorality. In her mind’s eye, she saw him lift a gun and blow her lover’s face clean off his shoulders. Through all her worrying and stress, she never imagined this.
The hard ground promised to protect her. Grass scorched by the hot sun wouldn’t betray her footsteps from the copse of willow trees at the thickest part of the riverbank where she lay down an hour earlier. She wondered if they left any evidence of their tryst, the thought choking her.
A soft whinny rose on the breeze and the idea came, stealthy like a thief sneaking into her consciousness. Leilah pulled her skirt into place and readied herself. Her underwear felt damp and the familiar soreness comforted her. Hector couldn’t know about her nocturnal wanderings. Not now. Not ever.
Leilah put her plan into action. Trudging the two kilometres up the mountain, she left the gates open behind her. She cringed at the eager snort of her father’s favourite stallion, knowing the moment he scented the mares. She herded the nearest females into his enclosed paddock. Experience told her they coveted the wispy tufts of grass at his disposal, but Hector had fortified the wily stallion’s boundary fence to stop him jumping out. “The grass is always greener on the other side,” she whispered to herself. She knew it wasn’t true. Not always.
Two of the mares ran from him, the other three edging nearer the post and rail fences. A pale Arab tail streamed in the darkness and Leilah winced. Hector would do more than freak out when his prized possession delivered a crazy half-Appaloosa foal. She heard the indignant squeal as the stunning mare found herself bailed up against the fence with nowhere left to run. A two-year-old streaked through the last gate in the distance and headed towards the stream, stirring up the dust on the way to Leilah’s guilty riverbank love nest. Halting at the gate onto the farm next door, the paint horse’s white rump glinted in the moonlight.
The stallion mounted his conquest at the top of the rise and impaled her, nipping her neck and shoulders in his excitement. She stilled beneath his muscular bulk and waited for the ordeal to pass. “Sorry,” Leilah hissed into the darkness. “But it’s fun if you do it right.” Her cheeks flushed with the memory of gentle hands caressing her thighs and she silenced the lewd thoughts.
She passed the pen containing the gelding Hector spent the day teaching. “Not you, girl,” Leilah whispered to the little mare in with him. Her toffee nosed owner would bad mouth her father from one side of the Waikato to the other if she sent her horse for breaking and fetched her back in foal. Both horses snorted and pawed the ground, sensing the tension in the mountain air. The gelding’s muscles jerked in fear, watching wide eyed as the stallion finished his first round of insemination.
Leilah burst up the porch steps and yanked open the sliding door. “Dad!” she yelled. “Dad!”
Hector appeared from his bedroom, a rumpled tee shirt covering his upper body. Muscular legs poked from the stubby shorts he wore to bed. “Leilah?” His hair stuck up on end and sleep blurred his vision.
“Red’s out.” She hid her shaking hands behind her back. “I heard him running and went to check.”
“Why didn’t you shout me?” Hector snatched dirty jeans from the back of a chair and hopped around, shoving his feet through the legs. “Why are you still up?”
“I heard him running!” Leilah infused pique into her tone. “I told you, I went outside to see why.”
Hector’s eyes narrowed, but his daughter’s windswept hair and rumpled appearance convinced him. “Okay.” He snatched his boots from inside the door and jerked his head towards the sideboard. “Grab the torch.”
Leilah jumped to attention and yanked open the top drawer. The heavy torch tested her clumsy reflexes and she dropped it with a clatter onto the threadbare carpet. Hector shot her a look of annoyance. In one stride, he reached her side and snatched it up, hefting it easily in his strong hand. The tendons bulged in his forearms and Leilah gulped. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, kōtiro.” He ran a hand through his messy hair, leaving it spiked at the front. “Where did you see Red go?”
“The bottom paddock.” Leilah examined her dusty boots. “I followed him down, but left the gates open in my panic and the mares followed.”
“You left the gates open?” Hector’s eyes narrowed and anger flickered across his face. “What the hell, Deleilah?”
She inhaled and her nostrils flared. “Sorry!” she snapped. “Find him on your own then!” She turned away, her shoulders shaking with the stress of the night. An hour ago, she lay in a sensuous embrace, pleasure filling her body. Only the ache of terror remained in its place, driving her to the edge of insanity.
“We’ll talk later,” Hector snapped, whirling around on his heel.