His legs moved as he pushed himself forward a bit, then he slid out from under the baler and sat up, cradling his right arm against his chest. “Thanks,” he muttered.
Shannon knelt down beside him. “Can you move your arm at all?”
“Not yet, but I’ll be okay. Just give me a minute.”
Shannon ignored him, peeling his rolled-up shirtsleeve back a little more. She drew her breath in sharply when she saw the maimed limb. “Daddy, your arm’s broke.”
“Just wrap it up, it’ll be fine.”
Shannon stood. “I’ll bring some ice. That’ll help with the pain and swelling. But then we’re going to the hospital.” She didn’t wait to see him shake his head or hear his next argument. She ran out the open door of the tractor shed and sprinted all the way to the house.
At the hay truck she paused briefly to tell the haying crew what had happened. “Get the rest of the hay in, and then Kitty’ll feed you. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I owe you boys big-time and I’ll sing at your next gig. Just say where and when.”
Kitty’s face fell when she heard the news. “Oh, Shannon, I’m sorry! I’ll watch Rose for you.”
“No need, she can come with me, but if you could just feed the crew when they’ve finished, I’d appreciate it. I’ll be back as soon as I can, but it’s a long haul to the hospital, and he’s going to need a cast put on that arm. It’ll probably be several hours. Don’t wait supper on us.”
Shannon retrieved the ice cube trays from the freezer as she talked, cracking the ice into a plastic zippered bag. “Rose, get your jacket, honey, we’re taking Grampy to the hospital. He hurt his arm and they need to fix it.”
She gave Kitty a hug before shepherding her daughter out to the car. “Thank you so much. I couldn’t have managed without you.”
The drive to the hospital in Cody took an hour, during which Rose was the only one who talked, and she talked nonstop. “Look Grampy, there’s the house where Momma said we should be living,” she chirped as they passed Billy Mac’s place. “I like it, don’t you? It’s real pretty and I like how the creek runs right past it.” Then, a few miles later, when they passed the general store, she read the sign beside the door out loud, working her way through the syllables. “Ice...cream...cones. Is that right, Momma?”
“That’s right, Rose. Willard’s General Store has everything.”
Rose narrated the entire sixty-mile journey, reading every sign, counting every cow, naming every horse and asking where every side road went. The wait in the ER was mercifully brief before the staff whisked her father off, grim and grumbling, to get X-rays and have his broken arm set. Shannon and Rose plopped down on some chairs in the near-empty waiting room. “Will Grampy be okay?” Rose asked.
“Yes, sweetie, he’s going to be fine.”
“He’s real grumpy.”
“Well, his arm and the baling machine are both broke. He’s grumpy, all right, but he’s going to be okay. The doctor will fix him up and he’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.”
Even from inside the hospital they could hear the long, loud rumbles of thunder. Shannon sighed. Well, they’d gotten six hundred bales in the barn before the baler broke. That wasn’t bad. Matter of fact, that was really good. And if it poured cats and dogs, they could ted the field of cut hay again, dry it out good and bale it when it was dry. They’d need all the hay they could stuff into the barn if they were trying for a big BLM contract.
Shannon sat up with a lurch. “Oh, no.”
“What is it, Momma?”
She looked at Rose. “I forgot all about Project Mustang,” she said. “Billy and your grampy have five wild horses to gentle in just four weeks, and now your grampy’s hurt. Billy won’t be able to do it on his own.”
Rose slipped her little hand into Shannon’s. “Don’t worry, Momma,” she said. “I’ll help.”
* * *
RALPH’S TRACTOR AND baling machine arrived at the McTavish ranch not long after Billy did. Ralph’s tractor was a new John Deere that could travel at thirty miles per hour on the black road, and he pushed it getting back to the McTavish ranch. The thunderheads were boiling up black over the mountains and the breeze was picking up when Ralph started baling. The haying crew worked nonstop and flat out. Jeb drove the flatbed truck right behind Ralph’s tractor, all hands working furiously to load and stack the bales on the truck as soon as they came out of the baler.
They got one last full load of hay on the flatbed and watched the sky turn green and dark as they headed for the barn. Bolts of lightning streaked down from the massive thunderheads. Jeb drove the truck right inside the barn and cut the ignition just as the clouds let loose with hail and rain. For a moment they all just listened to the wrath of the storm pounding the barn’s steel roof, then they looked at each other and grinned. They were tired and covered with hay chaff, but they’d done it. They’d gotten the hay in, every last bale, and just in the nick of time.
It was a triumph that would have been celebrated with greater enthusiasm if Shannon and her father were there, but Kitty handed out the promised ice-cold beers and fed them a royal cowboy barbecue while the storm blew through.
Afterward, their stomachs groaning from all the good food, they took their beers out onto the porch and watched a magnificent sunset blaze over storm-washed Wolf Butte to the west. They all felt pretty good about the day, and were so tired the conversation was sparse, but no words were necessary.
Shannon arrived back at the ranch a good hour after Ralph, Kitty and the four band members had departed. Billy was sitting on the top rail of the corral when he saw her headlights come over the rise and descend into the valley. He slid to the ground and met her car up at the ranch house.
“The hay’s in, all of it,” he told them before either could ask. McTavish climbed out of the passenger seat, arm in a cast, and went inside without a word. Billy nodded to Shannon. “There’s ribs and beans and salad and a whole apple pie waiting for you. We ate the other pie and almost ate the second one, too, but Kitty put her foot down. You hungry, Rose?”
Rose yawned as Shannon released her daughter’s seat belt. The little girl climbed from the back seat, blinking sleepy eyes. “C’mon inside.” He took her hand and led her up the porch steps and into the kitchen, where Tess slept curled on her dog bed in the corner, so deaf she never woke when they entered.
McTavish had gone upstairs. Shannon paused, listening to his footsteps in the hallway. “He’s not in a very good mood,” she apologized.
“Can’t imagine he would be,” Billy said. “He’s nursing a broken arm, along with being worried about the hay and wondering how he’s going to gentle those mustangs.”
Shannon sighed, running her fingers through her hair. “Run upstairs and wash, Rose. I’ll get supper on the table. Tell your grampy he should eat something.” She looked at Billy and smiled. “Thanks for holding the fort. It was a miracle, everyone showing up like that and getting the hay in the barn. At least now you can feed those mustangs, even if you can’t get them trained on time.”
“Oh, we’ll get ’er done. I was down there tonight talking to them. They’re all excited about the idea of carrying people around on their backs.”
Shannon laughed. “I bet they are. Did you show them your fancy belt buckle and tell ’em you used to be the best cowboy in the rodeo? Did you warn ’em that resistance is futile?”
“Nope. I fed them some excellent hay and gave them some clean, cool water. Their whole world’s just been turned upside down. I don’t blame them for thinking we’re the enemy, but that’ll change.”
“You better hope so. Four weeks?” Shannon shook her head. “Daddy won’t be able to help much, not with a broken arm.” Rose came down the kitchen stairs without her usual bounce and sank into a seat at the table with a big yawn. “Where’s your grampy?”
“He says he doesn’t want any
supper.”
Shannon pulled the tray of ribs out of the oven, forked some onto a plate, put a spoonful of beans next to it, a plump biscuit to the side, and grabbed a knife and fork from the silverware drawer on her way toward the kitchen stairs.
Billy fixed a plate for Rose while Shannon went upstairs, but when he set it in front of her, she just yawned again, blinked up at him and said, “I’m not hungry, either.”
Shannon came back down the stairs, holding the untouched plate of food and wearing a frown. She looked at Rose, sighed and set the plate on the table. “All this wonderful food Kitty cooked and we’re too tired to eat it. Rose, go up and get into your jammies.” Without a word of protest, Rose slipped out of her chair and climbed the stairs even more slowly than before. Shannon watched her out of sight and then gave Billy a rueful smile. “We’re not very good company, are we?”
“I’ll get you a cold beer. Come sit on the porch for a while. You don’t have to talk. Just sit and relax.”
“That sounds great.”
They sat side by side in the velvety darkness, looking out at the dark silhouette of the mountain range standing beneath a spangle of bright stars. Billy could hear the soft hoofbeats of the mustangs in the corral, restlessly pacing the perimeter of the fence, yearning for their freedom and for the band members that were lost to them forever. He felt a twinge of sadness at their fate. The West wasn’t big enough anymore for herds of buffalo and wild horses. All the wild was being tamed out of it.
“There’s no saving this ranch gentling mustangs for the BLM,” Shannon said softly. “Billy, if Daddy doesn’t let them put those wind turbines along that ridgeline, he’s going to lose this place. Even if I had the money right now, which I don’t, he’s too proud and stubborn to accept my help, and if what Kitty told me today about that energy project is true, you’re fighting a losing battle. The wind developer has all the money and all the lawyers and all the power behind them. She doesn’t like the wind project, either, but she admits it’s a hopeless fight.”
“Maybe so, but a person has to fight for what he or she believes in. It may seem like a David-and-Goliath type of battle to you, one we can’t win, but we’re going to try. And I have an idea that might keep this ranch on its feet without wind money.”
Shannon sighed. “You’re as crazy as my father.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“OUCH, ROSE! Quit kicking me,” Shannon protested, struggling out of the depths of sleep to escape her daughter’s vigorous thrashing. She opened her eyes, shocked to see that it was already morning.
She pushed up on her elbows, squinting toward the window. A light breeze stirred the curtain and dawn colored the sky beyond in shades of pale yellow, pink and violet. It was morning, all right, and here she was, lying abed on a struggling Wyoming ranch just like a rich, spoiled country-and-western singer from Nashville when she had an important job to do.
“Rose, time to get up,” she said, throwing the covers aside and sitting up. Her daughter mewled in her sleep and pulled the covers back over herself. Shannon’s bare feet hit the cool floor and she dressed in haste, wondering if her father was already up, if Billy was out with the wild horses.
She felt a sense of urgency as she swiftly washed up, brushed her hair back into a ponytail then grabbed her boots and descended the stairs. The coffee in the pot on the stove was still hot. She crept to the kitchen window and looked toward the corrals. Yep. Both of them were already out there.
She sat down, pulled on her boots, poured herself a cup of coffee and carried it with her as she walked toward them. Her father was standing outside the round pen, watching Billy work with one of the mustangs. She joined him, leaning up against the fence and taking her first swallow of coffee. The smells of fresh-cut hay, leather and horse manure, dust and morning dew mingled with the aroma of fresh-perked coffee. Ranch smells. She’d missed them.
“Morning, Daddy,” she said. “How’s your arm?”
He kept his eyes narrowed on the mustang that Billy was moving around the pen. “It’s still broke.”
“Probably half healed by now, tough as you are.” Shannon took another swallow of coffee. “I can help with the horses.”
He looked at her, but this time she was the one who kept her eyes straight ahead, watching Billy work the dun-colored mustang first one way around the pen then the other. Billy still had a way of moving that caught her eye just as much as the beauty of the wild mustang did. “You haven’t been around horses in ten years,” he said.
“Neither has Billy, and he hasn’t lost his touch. I watched Mom make magic with horses while I was growing up. Maybe some of her talent rubbed off on me.” She turned her head to gaze up at him. “You have four weeks, Daddy. I’m offering my help.”
They measured each other in the early morning light, then both looked to Billy and the mustang again. The first splinters of sunlight crept across the valley and turned a plume of dust kicked up by the mustang into a molten glow of fire. “I guess this means you’re staying four weeks, at least,” McTavish said.
* * *
SHANNON HAD ALMOST forgotten what it was like to be a rancher’s daughter, but it all came back to her quick enough. She hadn’t forgotten how to lug five-gallon buckets of water, clean stalls, brush horses, saddle and bridle them, and ride. Her first day working on Project Mustang was long and physically exhausting but very rewarding.
She used Sparky as her link to the dun mustang Billy had been working with, saddling the old gelding and then leading them both out of the corral. She took old Sparky and the dun for a long amble up beyond the tractor shed, down to the creek to splash in the water, something she knew all mustangs loved to do, then along the road that led to the ranch. She carried on conversations with both horses, sang a few songs and leaned over from time to time to let the shy but curious mustang smell her hand. She remembered words her mother had told her once.
“A horse doesn’t care how much you know, Shannon, but they always know how much you care.”
People do, too, Shannon thought as she rode old Sparky for the first time in many years, leading the wild mustang beside him. When she returned the mustang to the corrals, Billy was still there, working with another.
She handed him the lead rope to the dun, and he handed her the rope to another mustang he’d been working with. No words necessary. They exchanged a nod and a brief smile, and she reined Sparky around and started out again at a slow walk, teaching the second wild horse to follow along using a calm, steady cow pony who’d done it all. By ten o’clock she’d taken five horses for a walk, and the fiery little bay mustang was her last of the day.
“You’re right about this one, he’s tough headed,” Billy said. “He struck at me twice and tried to bite. Better let me take him. Getting these mustangs used to a rider on horseback’s the hardest part.”
“Hand him over,” Shannon replied, reaching for the lead rope.
She took two half hitches around the saddle horn. The rope was long enough to give the mustang some play if he spooked, but not so long he could pull Sparky off his feet. She nudged Sparky off at a slow walk. “Easy, now,” Shannon said in a soothing tone to the mustang as Sparky plodded along. “We’ll bring you down to the creek and you can splash like the others did. I know you’re wilder than wild and wanting your freedom back, but sometimes in life we don’t always get what we want.”
It was plain this mustang wanted nothing to do with her or Sparky. He kept the rope taut, eyes wild and ears pinned to his head, as she towed him like an ornery mule toward the creek. He was a handsome horse with a thick, long mane and tail, a proud crest, bright eyes and a coat that reflected a brilliant shine where Billy had brushed him. He was built well and moved beautifully, but some of the mustangs were wild to the core and would never lose their rebellious spirit, and Shannon sensed this might be one of them.
He balked, reared and dragged all the way to
the creek. It was a challenge maintaining control of him, but when Sparky plodded into the clear shallow water at the old fording place, the bay mustang’s nostrils flared to take in the smell, his ears spooned toward the sound of the rushing stream and for a moment he forgot all about Shannon and Sparky.
The water mesmerized him. He pawed at it, sending plumes of spray flying. Shannon played out a little more rope and was so preoccupied with watching the mustang that she never noticed the dark-colored SUV approaching on the ranch road until it stopped behind them and the driver hit the horn three times to get her attention.
The three short blasts on the SUV’s horn threw the mustang into an explosion of motion. He reared, spun and jerked Sparky right off his feet. Old Sparky went down hard as Shannon threw herself out of the saddle, then he rolled onto his chest, trying to lunge to his feet when the mustang pulled him over again.
Shannon grabbed the saddle horn and, with her other hand, struggled desperately to unwrap the rope. It took what seemed long minutes to get them undone and the two horses free of each other. She caught only a brief glimpse of the mustang streaking up the bank, long rope snaking behind as he galloped away at great speed.
Sparky surged to his feet dripping with creek water. Shannon led him to the bank and was checking him over for injuries when she heard the rattle of loose stones above her. She looked up to see the driver of the SUV making his way toward them, his face a mask of concern.
“You okay?” he asked. “I didn’t mean to spook the horse. Sorry about that.”
Shannon bit back a sharp reply and ignored him. She stroked Sparky’s neck and he rubbed his head against Shannon’s shoulder as if reassuring her. She gathered the reins and lifted herself into the saddle while the man stood watching, his expression apologetic. He was dressed in urban cowboy attire, not a speck of dirt on his shiny brand-name boots. Midthirties, good-looking in a smooth, polished way. “I’m really sorry,” he repeated.
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