When he walked into barn, he saw her over in front of Pal’s stall, petting his nose. His stall door was open. She could have opened it or Pal could have. Pal had figured out years ago when he was a young colt how to open his stall door. Roger didn’t care. He knew when he came out to the barn Pal would be there or he soon would be back from one of his adventures. The black stallion knew where home was.

"Beautiful." Her lilting voice was pleasing to his ears.

"Yes, they are." He was thinking how beautiful she was standing next to Pal. A beautiful woman, a beautiful horse. They complimented one another.

She giggled. "We thank you."

"My pleasure, I assure you."

Roger walked to the back of the breezeway and pulled a dusty sheet off a sulky. "I bought this at a ranch sale a few years back."

Reaching down he dragged a wood box out from under the railings. He opened it up and held up a bridle and harness. "I’m afraid there isn’t a whole lot that will work."

Roger laid a martingale, bridle, and a harness out on the top of the sheet he had laid on the floor after pulling it off the sulky.

The woman shook her head. "Not exactly designed like you had drawn. I think you need some help."

Quickly Roger looked up at the woman. "I’m a little short on funds. I spent most of the year working on a story that didn’t sell. I don’t know how long I can afford you. Even at forty dollars a session it’s going to go quickly."

She walked over and picked up the bridle and held the bit up to her mouth. "What do you need a model for if you don’t have a complete picture. Is this how you want me to pose?"

"No, I mean, it was an idea. I guess I was wrong. I’m sorry I took up your time. It was a mistake." Roger could see he had made an error in looking for a model when he really didn’t have any of the equipment for her to work with.

"I know a man who can help you. He lives in Mexico. Would you care to take your ideas and drawing to him and see if he can make what you want?"

Roger was shaking his head no when she put the bridle in her mouth and clamped down with her teeth.

He was sure the world had stopped along with his heart. He only heard the roar in his ears as his eyes focused on the black haired beauty with the bit in her teeth. She was racing with the wind, her hair flowing out behind her as the sound of her hooves made a staccato rhythm on the roadway. Her hips swinging gracefully with each…,

"Then it’s settled? We will drive down to see the craftsman."

Roger blinked; it had been all in his mind. He had to see if he could make it a reality no matter the cost. "Yes."

"When?" She was waiting for a time.

"Could we do it now? As soon as I pack a few clothes? Or, I’m sorry, you probably have things to do? You could give me his address and I could drive down myself." Roger was calculating the miles and roads in his mind waiting to figure out how long it would take to drive down to see the craftsman.

She laughed. "I thought I was the model. I think I should go along to make sure things will fit."

Swallowing, Roger nodded in agreement. "But of course. I hadn’t thought about that. I guess we are back to the time. When would it be okay for you?" He was hoping she didn’t say it would be a month or two. By that time she could possibly be out of the mood or have moved on.

"Right now? I’m packed. How about you?" She laid the bridle down on the sheet before walking out the barn door.

Chapter 7.

Thirty minutes later Roger had tossed extra hay into Pal’s feeder, stuffed clothes in an old duffel bag, and the two of them were headed south in his jeep. They were headed for a low water crossing into Mexico. He probably should have drove the fifty miles east to the border crossing but it would have taken a couple extra hours and then there were a million questions customs wanted to ask before they went into Mexico.

The woman directed Roger across several cattle guards, a lot of back roads, and through the driveway of a ranch house before they were up on a paved road. Over a hundred miles and many hours later she had him turn off the highway onto a dirt road headed into the badlands.

They wound their way into the canyons for miles and Roger was beginning to question the sanity of this idea. Granted the woman left her Lamborghini in his driveway but this could be a ruse to get his jeep. If someone killed him in this part of the world, who would know? He was ready to stop and turn around when they came upon a little village in the middle of god only knew where.

The woman pointed to a Cantina. "They have rooms there."

He pulled up in front of it beside the mules and donkeys. "Where are we?"

"Mexico." She swung her legs out and reached back in for her soft bag and purse.

"I know that. Where in Mexico?" Roger admired her figure as she was sliding her purse strap upon her shoulder.

"You may have the kidneys of a truck driver and don’t need relief but I do. Meet me at one of the tables in forty minutes." She turned and walked into the Cantina

"Wait." Roger grabbed his duffel bag and walked into the open door of the Cantina.

An old man was sitting at a table eating. A beautiful, slender, tall Spanish woman was sweeping the floor. There was an open door leading to the left and one at the back. The room was otherwise empty. "Where did she go?"

The old man never looked up. The woman kept on sweeping, Roger tried again. "Uh, comprende Senorita, poor fa vor, Senor."

The woman pointed to the door to his left with her broom. "Si, Senorita."

"Por fa vor." Roger headed for the door.

"Kom is ta, amigo. You need a room?" A man was behind a table in the middle of a hallway.

"Si, I need a room. Did a Senorita come this way?" Roger looked at the man. Obviously not the Hotel Ritz but he had been in worse. The place looked clean.

"Senorita is in second door down hall. Your room will be the first door. You have dinaro?" The man held out his hand.

"Yes, how much?" Roger reached into his pocket and waited. He didn’t want to show the man money until he was told prices. In these kinds of places the prices fluctuated depending on how much the traffic would bear.

"Ten American Dollars for six nights." The man waited with his hand held out.

He almost had his money out when he stopped. "Bath and meals? How much?"

"Thirty American Dollars for six nights?" The man motioned he wanted money to grace his palm.

"And the woman?"

"Price for two people for six nights. You have other women?" The man looked up at Roger to see if he had miscalculated the number of people.

"No others." Roger counted out thirty dollars and dropped it in the man’s open hand.

Magically the money disappeared. "First door. Two meals a day."

Roger wasn’t sure he wanted to stay when he dropped his duffel bag in his room. It had a pan for a sink, a pitcher for water. That water was for washing and drinking he was sure. There was a bedpan for nighttime emergencies. That meant the bathroom was an outhouse in back. Roger shook his head. He had been in worse places.

Chapter 8.

He was back in the Cantina before forty minutes were up. The woman walked in wearing a poncho that draped down to her knees. She was wearing high-heeled black boots. Roger did a double take. It wasn’t the five-inch stiletto heel that caught his attention; it was the silver spurs she was wearing. Cowboys wore spurs a lot of the time in Roger’s part of the world. The thing was, their rowels were blunt or rounded. In spite of what non-cowboys thought, spurs were more for decoration and nothing more. Only the cowboy who had a mean streak wore a spur with a sharp rowel designed to punish a horse as the cowboy tried to inflict pain. Cowboys would never admit they usually wore spurs to hear them jingle as they walked. That wouldn’t be the big tough cowboy image most everyone thought of.

She motioned with her left hand for Roger to follow as she walked out the front door.

He caught up with her halfway down the street. He could have been blind and followed her. The jingle of her spurs with each step was plain as thunder in the sleepy little village. They passed a couple stores before she turned and walked into the cool shadows of an open door.

"This is where the craftsman lives. Raul, I brought you a customer."

Roger stepped inside the door and stopped. He wasn’t sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. There were silver bridles, Conchos, and spurs hanging on the wall to his right. An ornate tool engraved saddle with silver trim on a rail further back. A plain working saddle to the left of the first. On the left side of the room were workbenches and tools.

An old man came into the room from a doorway at the rear. "Ah, Senorita Toesta, how good of you to stop by and let these tired old eyes see you again. How have you been? Why do you not come and see me more often?"

She pointed back at Roger. "I brought you a customer."

He looked up at Roger and wiped his hands together. "I see. So what is it you need, Senor? You wish a bridle for your horse or a saddle maybe? Are you looking for spurs or maybe something else?"

The woman slid her right hand out from under her poncho and held out Roger’s sketchpad. The one that had been lying on his kitchen table that morning. She flipped to the back pages. "This is what he would like for you to make for him."

Roger was obviously shocked and the old man obviously wasn’t.

The old man nodded. "I see. I can do that. Very interesting idea."

He looked up at the woman. "And who is going to be wearing my work?"

"Me."

Roger wasn’t sure if he saw a hint of a smile on her face or not.

"I will be paid double for my skill then shan’t I. When do you require the product?" He looked over at Roger.

"As soon as you can." It was the woman who answered the old man.

The old man reached out and took the sketchpad. "I shall begin immediately. I need measurements."

She lifted the poncho over her head and Roger choked. She was wearing black boots and spurs, spandex tight jeans, and a white blouse that was painted on. When she unbuttoned her blouse and laid it off to the side with her poncho, his mouth fell open.

Chapter 9.

Roger wasn’t sure he slept at all that night. He lay awake, thinking of the woman the old man called Toesta. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid his eyes on. Other men could admire their boob babes who had basketball size breasts. Roger wasn’t into breasts as the point of attraction for women. Some men thought wide hips made a female sexy. Roger didn’t buy that one either. The small waist? That was a take it or leave it option as far as Roger was concerned. What made a beautiful woman in Roger’s mind was the total package. And he was sure he had seen the ultimate total package.

The next day was a slow starter. Roger was looking at his watch when he managed to pry his eyes open.

"Almost eleven. I’ve killed half the day and haven’t even begun."

He slipped out of bed and felt his face. A half-hour later he had shaved and was wishing for a shower but that would have to wait for tonight. The bath consisted of walking out back to another building where someone would be building a fire under an old bathtub to warm the water. A clean shirt and lots of deodorant would have to substitute.

Roger walked down to the woman’s room and knocked without receiving an answer. He retreated to the room with the tables. Not really a dining room but it was the idea. Finding a chair at one of the three tables he waited.

The tall woman he had seen sweeping the day before approached him. "Lunch." It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

Roger nodded. "Si, lunch. What do you have?"

She left. Roger figured she had forgot him before she returned with a plate of brown beans, tortillas, peppers, and warm milk.

"Senorita?" Roger wanted to know about the woman before he ate.

"Si, Senorita." The woman turned and left.

Roger was wishing he had practiced his Spanish a little harder. Most of the locals didn’t speak English and he most certainly had a very limited vocabulary of Spanish. He finished his meal before walking back to the woman’s room and knocking. With no response he decided to walk down to see what the old man was doing.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he walked into the old man’s shop. The woman’s back was to him but she was obviously naked from the waist up. Her long black hair hung freely down her back. The old man was doing something in front of her face.

"I tried knocking on your door but there was no answer. Have you eaten yet? I had some brown beans and they were great."

The old man shook his head. "She can not answer you as I have fitted the bridle. Would you care to look?"

"Uh, you sure she won’t mind?" Roger wasn’t sure he should be looking or not.

Laughing, the old man nodded. "You are a strange one. It is your ideas and you are not sure you should look? Unless I am mistaken Senor, she will not be able to put the bridle and harness on or take them off by herself. That was the idea was it not? If I am mistaken and have not interpreted your drawings right then please tell me now."

"Well, yes, it was the intention. You don’t want your PonyGirl running off." Roger felt embarrassed to be sharing so much of his drawings with the old man. Before, when he was doing the drawings, he felt it was a great idea. Now he felt unsure.

"Then come up here and see if I am following your drawings as you wish." The old man smiled as he stepped back from the woman.

Roger walked around in front of the woman and blinked in an emotional rush. The woman was wearing a silver bridle. Her long hair hid the leather strap going around the back of her head that held it in her mouth. There was a silver chain fastened to the bridle at each side of her mouth, formed a wye up to the bridge of her nose, where a single silver chain went between her eyes and over the back of her head. Obviously it fastened to the strap that went around her head. She had a silver chain that hooked to both sides of the mouthpiece and circled under her chin.

The old man reached up and put a finger in one of the bridle bars where the reins would fasten. "Bridles for people and those for horses are not the same. The roller fits between the cheek and the teeth and crosses at the back of the mouth, where a bit is attached. If a person still has their wisdom teeth, then there is no room for the roller behind the teeth in the back of the mouth. The majority of you Americans have your wisdom teeth pulled when they start coming in, so a bridle fits nicely without pulling teeth."

Roger admired the intricate craftsmanship of the bridle and the design engraved in it. He was also admiring the woman. She was so beautiful.

Chapter 10.

Six days later, they were headed back to New Mexico. Sharra was giving directions to Roger, which roads he should be taking. Roger had learned that much about her during the stay. His drawings had come to life for six hundred dollars. Roger was well pleased. The old man had done a lot better job then Roger could have imagined.

Once home, Roger pulled out his billfold and retrieved three hundred and twenty dollars. His finances were thinning. He handed the money out to the woman. "I’m sorry there isn’t more but we agreed on forty dollars a session be it an hour or a day. You have been with me eight days. I owe you three hundred and twenty dollars."

Sharra looked at the money and then up at Roger. "When would you like to try out your equipment?"

His heart leapt up in his throat. He was unsure if he wanted to proceed now that he had come this far. "Uh, when you feel like it, I guess."

"Now?" She waited for an answer before getting out of his jeep.

"It’s been a long day. Are you sure? I mean, anytime." Roger was hoping she would but it had been a long day. Surely she wanted a rest.

"Let me go take a nature break and I’ll be back."

Roger watched her walk into the house, his heart racing a hundred miles an hour. He figured he was more scared about this than she was. He got out and walked around to the back of the jeep and lifted out the wooden box. Carefully he carried it to the barn, opened it up and waited.

She walked out of the house and up to the barn. "You want me to help with the hooves or do you want to do it all?"

"If you don’t mind, I could use help." He pulled the boots out of the box. They pointed down to hooves with small horseshoes on the ends.

"Sure." She closed the lid on the box and sat down, pulling her own high-heeled boots off and slipped on the leather boots, her foot pushed straight down ballerina style into the hoof part of the boot. She tightened the lacing on the side until the boot could not slip on her leg. Sharra stood up on her hooves and began removing her clothes.

"Uh, for now, could you leave on the panties and bra?" Roger was shaking all over.

"As you like." She slipped off her blouse and her jeans.

Roger opened the box and stared. "What part should I do next?"

"Why don’t you do my hands so I can’t get away and then the bridle." Sharra held out hands.

The silver wrist bracelets easily slipped on and clicked shut with the precision of the craftsman that made them. He pulled her hands behind her back and locked her wrists together.

"Open, please." When she opened her mouth, he slipped the bridle in and gently pushed to make sure it was in proper before he lifted her hair and pulled the strap around the back of her head. The chains over the bridge of her nose and between her eyes were next. Then the chin chain.

"Nod your head if I hurt you." He snapped a two-inch wide, intricately engraved, silver band around her neck and it snicked shut. He lifted her arms up behind her and fastened a short silver chain to a loop on the back of the neckband.

"You okay?" Roger wanted to make sure she wasn’t hurting. The position he pulled her arms up looked painful to him. Funny but it looked great when he was drawing these kinds of pictures of PonyGirl. He knew the mind never got the full impact of an imagination extreme until one tried the fantasy. That was the reason he needed a model. He wanted to make sure the idea worked.

Sharra could moan but talking was out of the question with that bit in her mouth. Guttural sounds were the limit. She couldn’t move her tongue around to form the words. She was also beginning to drool. The bit caused the mouth juices to flow and kept her lips from closing.

"You ready?" Roger took the reins and led Sharra fifty or sixty feet out in the desert. He dropped down to his knees and put the hobbles on her ankles so she couldn’t run off.

He left her there as he went to get his notes and sketchpad from his workshop. When he returned, Pal was standing beside his PonyGirl. It was a contrast Roger had never considered drawing but here it was, and it was great. Roger set up his chair, his easel and got busy. Pal had to be first because he might decide to move away.

It had grown dark and the desert was turning cold when Roger noticed Sharra was shivering. "I’m sorry. I forgot. You’re cold of course. I bet you’re hungry and need a break. Let’s get you out of that getup."

Minutes later he had led her back to the barn with Pal following along. It only took a few minutes to remove her harness and bridle. He noticed she was having trouble moving her arms. "I guess they are numb from being pulled up behind your back. We won’t do that any more. I’m sorry I made you stand there for so long. You should have told me you were chilling."

She glanced sideways at him as she slipped her blouse on. "Talking isn’t an option in that rig. Did you get your drawing finished?"

"Almost, I will have to finish it up tonight but it was great. Pal was the added bonus. He made the drawing come to life." Roger was down on his knees helping removed her hooves.

"I’m glad I could be a part of that. When will you need me again? Tomorrow?" She slipped on her skintight jeans, blouse, and then her high heeled boots after she removed the spurs.

"Oh no, I have enough here to keep me busy for a week. Come back a week from today and we will work on another part of PonyGirl’s attire." Roger picked up PonyGirl’s bridle and boots and carefully packed it all back in the box.

"I’ll have the sulky ready by then." He turned to look at Sharra wondering if she would ever come back after tonight?

"Sounds like a plan. You going to use the rings?" She laid her right hand over her right breast.

"I’m not comfortable with that idea. It looks great on paper but…, I think I can work around it." Roger felt embarrassed again.

"We’ll see. Next week then. What time?" She was waking out of the barn with Pal walking along at her back.

Roger had never seen his horse take to a stranger like that, but then he had never seen a woman like Sharra. "Whenever you get here. I’ll be ready."

She raised her right hand in acknowledgement before she slid into the Lamborghini and drove off.