Page 55 of His Worst Crime

twenty-nine

The detritus of a recently devoured meal was scattered before them on the table in the open-air courtyard lying between two of the masia’s protective wings. Over against one wall, a bed of reddish coals still glowed under its ash mantle on the brick barbecue where Ramon had cooked them up a seafood arròs for four.

“In this part of the country we just call it an arròs,” Àgata was saying to Davey, opening a fresh bottle of the Catalan bubbly cava.

“And we cook it in an earthenware pan,” Ramon said, pouring the last of the old bottle into Davey’s glass. “Paella is the name of the metal pan they use down in Valencia.”

Paella or arròs, Carme, Àgata, Ramon and Davey had made short work of it, the earthenware dish now empty but for a crust of crispy golden rice still clinging to its sides.

“It was delicious,” Davey said, picking up his glass and taking a sip. “What I want to know is when we can take the horses out again?”

“You know what the doctor said,” Ramon warned. “We need to wait for those spells of dizziness to get less before you get on a horse again.”

Davey huffed. “I feel fine.”

“Davey, why do you think we’ve brought Boira down here?” Carme asked.

“Yeah, thanks, Carme, I mean I’m really grateful,” Davey said. “I’ve missed working with her, and it means so much to me to be able to finish breaking her in.”

“What if you blacked out while we were riding?” Ramon added.

“I won’t.”

“You don’t know that.” Ramon paused, also taking a sip of cava. “Be patient. We have time. I don’t have to be back at work for two months. We can just stay down here and take our time.”

“But I want to ride!” Davey growled, standing up impatiently.

“That’ll come… in time.”

And when Davey wavered on his feet, Ramon’s arm was already there, supporting him. “See? Let it take its time.”

“That arròs was delicious, Ramon, thanks,“ Àgata said. “Come on, Carme, help me with the plates. And then do you want to take a walk down to the beach before it gets too dark to see?”

“We’ll do it together,” Ramon said, getting up. “Then we’ll all go.”

“No, you boys sit here. You’ve done your duty as chef, Ramon, and you need to take care of this invalid here.”

Davey just snorted. Instead of sitting down again when Ramon did, he kept leaning against the table, helping the women stack the dishes before they carried them into the kitchen. Then he turned to Ramon with a gleam in his eye:

“How about another sort of riding then?” he asked, approaching Ramon and slipping one leg over his thigh so that he was straddling him, his hands on his policeman’s shoulders.

Ramon smiled as he reached for Davey’s hips, slipping his fingers through the belt loops on his jeans. “That could work. If you get dizzy, at least I’ll be here to catch you when you fall.”

“Right, I’m just so dizzy.… My copper… what terrible crime did you commit to be lumped with looking after this dizzy blond?”

“Whatever I did, I’d do it again in a flash.”

Davey sat down on Ramon’s thighs, so that their paquets, both packaged in denim, nestled against each other.

“Well,” Davey said, grinding himself sensually into Ramon, “let’s test out just how well we can ride tonight…”

Ramon was nodding and about to say something when they were surprised by Àgata’s return, a cloth in her hand to wipe down the table.

“Save it, boys, till you’ve got a room,” she smirked. “We’ll be out of your hair tomorrow morning, and then you can do all the riding you want.”

“Sorry, Àgata!” Davey said, laughing as he slipped off Ramon, unsuccessfully trying to hide his erection with one hand. “I just got dizzy and this nice policeman managed to catch me as I fell.”

“Yeah, a likely story,” Àgata harrumphed, very obviously focusing on cleaning up the table and not whatever Ramon and Davey were trying to cover up in their pants. “Shall we leave for the beach in five minutes?”