Picture 3

Disclaimer: my characters, my story.

PC Sarah Westmoreland let out a breath, watching it steam up the cold air in tendrils. When she was a kid, she'd pretend it was cigarette smoke; those were the days, when smoking was chic and glamorous, not an anti-social serial killer. She raised her gloved hands and blew on them in a vain attempt at warmth. At least it wasn't raining. That would be miserable. The horse beneath her twitched his head, and she reached down to pat his thick, muscular neck.

"Good boy, Argo"

Argo. The only thing he had in common with his namesake was his horseness. Just like the only thing she shared with Xena was her double X chromosome. And her blue eyes. Jesus, she'd kill for those long legs, thighs you could crack a man's skull with. But legs like that should only be used for good: wrapped around the gloriously sweaty back of a beautiful woman. Sarah shifted in the saddle. Now was not the time for such thoughts. She still had six hours of her shift to go, half of which would be taken up with the Boxing Day match.

There had been a time, before Sarah was in the job, when the mounted police were needed for crowd control. The local derby was a needle match between AFC Broadhaven and their inland rivals, Ashford Town. Running battles would erupt along the front, benches smashed up, shop windows shattered. Now it was much quieter and the police were merely a traditional festive fixture, like Santa in his department store grotto, the Sound of Music on the telly. It was for the best, she guessed, but she longed for a baton charge just to break the monotony.

"Sarah?"

Hearing her name said out loud snapped Sarah out of her dream. She scanned the crowd for who'd spoken; there she was, standing right next to Argo, her head level with Sarah's knee. Like a lot of people, she was wearing the blue and white hoops of AFC Broadhaven, but rather than the usual synthetic material, hers was the heavy cotton of a 1950s replica shirt. Bought several sizes too large, Sarah estimated, so that she could wear layers underneath for insulation. A knitted hat sporting the club's emblem, a little golden three-masted galleon, was pulled over hair Sarah knew was a rich chestnut, the dark blue bringing out the dazzling green of her eyes. What was her name? Nic. That was it

"Hello, Nic"

"You never said you were a copper"

Sarah listened for any hint of reproach in the statement. She hadn't lied to Nic, but it was possible she had evaded the truth. She wasn't ashamed of being a police officer or a lesbian, but the two weren't always compatible. Nic, however, was smiling. O god, that smile. She remembered that very clearly.

Christmas Eve. Dorothy's nightclub was packed to the rafters with both men and women intent on having a good time. Sarah was no exception. She'd pulled the Christmas shifts, but hadn't minded. Christmas Day at the station was always a chilled out affair, certainly preferable to being in the strained atmosphere of her parents' house. Working the next two days hadn't put Sarah off going out, getting drunk and dancing with a stranger whose hair was the colour of conkers. Sarah hadn't told Nic she was a copper because they'd hardly spoken at all. It was a clich to say they let their bodies do the talking; it was a clich but it was true. Hard to imagine it now, Nic was dressed for the cold after all, but under all those layers was a tight body. Sarah's fingers tingled when they remembered the feel of Nic's back through her thin shirt. Other, more urgent, parts tingled when they remembered the press of Nic's thigh between her legs as they barely moved on the dance floor.

"Nice horse"

"You wouldn't think that if he was bearing down on you with me wielding a baton"

Nic frowned.

"Are you planning on doing that?"

"Sadly, no"

Nic was running her knuckles along Sarah's riding boot. She should stop her, really, but she didn't want to. The other woman was doing it discreetly, no one else could see. The pressure felt good against her calf, her thighs tensing against Argo's flank in response. Sarah's voice was shaky when she spoke.

"Hadn't you better get in?"

Nic sighed.

"I guess I should"

She dropped her hand and moved to join the throng massing towards the turnstiles.

"Nic"

The hope in those green eyes was almost Sarah's undoing.

"I'll still be here afterwards"

There was that unforgettable smile again.

"You will?"

Sarah nodded.

"Nic"

"Yes?"

"Merry Christmas"

Sarah sat and watched Nic until she lost her in the sea of fans; even rising up in the stirrups she couldn't make her out from the other blue and white shirts. With a sigh, she dropped down into the saddle. Argo snorted.

"What?"

He shook his head in response>

"Yeah, well, what would you know?"