Back in the Saddle

by Ruth Logan Herne

  “Now Colt here’s told me that I’ve got the job for the houses no matter what folks decide about the big project, so it’s not like I have a horse in that race.”

  Folks around the room nodded their understanding.

  “But I love this idea. And what my old basketball buddy won’t tell you is that he got the idea when he found out Coach Irvine had to move nearly forty miles away to be cared for. Most of you know the coach. You know he’s a man who gave life and love to this town and community. When Colt found out about that, he went right out, used some of his fancy New York connections—”

  Colt rolled his eyes and the crowd laughed.

  “—and got these plans sent in overnight. Now that’s action. And that’s all I’m going to say about that, but action wins my vote every time.”

  The mayor started to stand, but Nick leaped to his feet in the audience. “Colt, gotta go! There’s been an accident at the ranch.”

  “Go.” Josh motioned to the plans. “I’ve got this.”

  Sam might have been worried about walking slow getting to the meeting, but there was nothing slow in his gait as he rushed to the nearest door. Colt followed.

  As soon as they were outside, Nick pulled up alongside them with the SUV. Colt opened the front door for his father, waited until Sam was in, then closed the door and jumped into the backseat. “What’s happened?”

  “Cheyenne.”

  Colt’s mouth dried out and his chest went tight. “How bad?”

  “Don’t know. They called an ambulance.” The shrill sound of an oncoming siren punctuated his words. “She’s unconscious.”

  “Unconscious?” Colt leaned forward. “How does a kid go from being just fine an hour ago and now she’s unconscious?”

  “She was trying to ride a horse.”

  Cheyenne…

  A tough, angry little girl, abandoned by her mother and thwarted by her well-meaning father. A totally stubborn, in-your-face Stafford who wanted exactly what her father loved—a chance to be part of the Double S. If only Nick had given her some leeway. Some hope.

  The lights of the ambulance and the accompanying sheriff’s car flashed ahead of them, lighting their way back to the ranch. As they made the turn just beyond the cedar-sided Catholic church, a glint of light flashed off the bronze cross.

  Colt bit back recrimination. If the kid knew how to ride properly, she would have been a whole lot safer on the ranch. But right now he needed to shut up, pray, and get ahold of Angelina.

  His call went straight to voice mail. He tried again. Same thing.

  Calm down. Take a breath. Your brother needs you. Remember that whole thing about how often you should forgive your brother? Put him first now. Him and his beautiful, naughty little girl.

  He refocused his attention on his father and brother but couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong—really wrong—with Angelina.

  “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding”…

  The next verse talked about straight paths. Colt had never taken a more convoluted route to get to a straight path in his life, but maybe that’s how it was supposed to be.

  They pulled into the ranch drive right behind the ambulance. The sight of Cheyenne on the cold, hard ground broke his heart but not his resolve. No matter what else happened, once Cheyenne was well enough to mount up again, he’d be teaching that girl to ride, no matter what his stupid brother said.

  Angelina decided it was better to help Lucy get Brendan Bennett out of whatever trouble the kid found himself in than listen to Colt spew pretty promises he didn’t mean. She slung her purse over her shoulder and followed Lucy into the upper wooded area north of the middle school.

  Tears were streaming down Brendan’s face when they reached him. “I didn’t know. Honest, I didn’t. I thought it wasn’t any big deal, I swear!”

  “Turn off the tears. Get ahold of yourself.” Angelina pulled out her no-nonsense cop voice as though she used it every day. Hysterics and apologies wasted precious time.

  He sucked a deep breath and regained some control.

  “What’s happened? Who needs help?”

  “Mark.”

  “The Battaglia boy,” Lucy offered. “His older brother trimmed trees for me last year.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know exactly.” Brendan looked about to lose it again, but a sharp look from Angelina had the boy squaring his shoulders. “We were on top of the ridge, and one of the guys from the canyon offered us ten-dollar hits.”

  “And you took it?” Angelina made sure her tone said that was about the stupidest thing she’d ever heard. “¿Cuál es su problema? ¿Por qué haría algo tan estúpido?”

  “Huh?”

  She paused, remembering that she wasn’t dealing with Latino street kids in Seattle. “We’ll discuss your lack of intelligence and gratitude later. Where’s Mark?”

  “He was up there.” He pointed up the hill. “He can’t breathe right, and he sounds funny. He looks funny too. I ran for help, but when I got back, I couldn’t find him.”

  She raced up the hill, followed by Lucy and Brendan.

  No Mark.

  She turned toward Brendan. “Where is he?”

  He shook his head, scared. “He was right here. I swear. He—”

  A sound came from the woods to their left. Angelina darted toward the noise, pushing through needle clutter and thin broken weeds. While the town was still bathed from the westward-angled sun, the forest was dark and chilled. “Mark! Where are you?”

  No answer came. She held up a hand to pause their progress but heard nothing further. She pulled out her cell phone, hit 911, and then choked back angry words when the phone refused to connect. “Lucy, do you have a cell phone?”

  She shook her head. “Can’t afford one.”

  Brendan held up empty hands. “My brother said I don’t get one until I can pay for it myself.”

  “Lucy, go back and tell Colt we need an ambulance up here now. Suspected heroin overdose, possibly fentanyl laced. You.” She motioned to Brendan. “Stay with me. I’ll kill you later.”

  He gave her one quick nod, fear and remorse covering him like a shroud.

  Lucy turned and pushed through the forest toward the road while Angelina prayed they would find the boy alive and get him to Ellensburg before it was too late.

  “What do you mean they’re gone?” Lucy looked around, but Wandy was right. There wasn’t a Stafford in sight.

  “Nick got a call that someone was hurt up at the ranch,” Wandy Schirtz explained. “He and Colt raced out with Sam.”

  “We need an ambulance,” Lucy announced from the back of the room, interrupting the speaker. Mr. Hammerstein was seated in front of her, and Mark Battaglia’s mother was just beyond. “Mr. H., call 911. Mark took some sort of drug, and he needs help. Mrs. Battaglia, you better come with me.”

  “My Mark?” Fear and shock widened the woman’s eyes. “Mark would never do something like that. He—”

  As Mr. Hammerstein stepped out of the way to make the call, Wandy reached out a hand to Mrs. Battaglia. “We won’t fret about the whys and whats now, Catherine. If Mark needs help, he gets help, no matter what. You go with Lucy.”

  Two volunteer fire department medics stepped up to go with the ladies. They hurried up the hill, and when they crested the top, Lucy pointed. “In there. Brendan Bennett and Angelina Morales are trying to find him.”

  “We’re here!” Angelina called the words as soon as she heard footsteps pushing their way. “Follow my voice. We’re—”

  The men crashed into view just as the fire siren sounded a second time.

  “I hope that ambulance is quick,” she told them. “We also need to alert the local police, sheriff, and the state police to the possibility of fentanyl-laced heroin being sold to local teens.”

  She relaxed a little when she heard the shrill of an approaching ambulance siren. But when it shrieked by, she stared, dumbfounded. />
  “Not our ambulance,” said the first volunteer. “That’s a different call. We’ll have a backup from Moore’s Ambulance here soon.”

  The slow response was unacceptable. “He could have been dead before anyone got here.”

  The EMT eyed Mark and shook his head. “He’s coming around, so I think he’s going to do all right. Maybe not an overdose after all.”

  Mark was doing better because Angelina carried an overdose kit and an EpiPen in the zippered compartment of her purse—cop leftovers from her former life. But what if she hadn’t been equipped to help? What if she hadn’t been there? Mark would be dead, another young life snuffed out by one stupid, foolish teenage decision.

  The mingled sirens of a police car and the commercial ambulance raced toward their location. Within minutes a gurney had been brought into the woods, the boy locked and loaded into the back of the rescue wagon, and his distraught mother tucked inside.

  Rye Bennett, who had arrived as the cop on duty, looked shocked, tired, and overwrought as the ambulance pulled away. He turned toward his younger brother, and instead of beating sense into him, Rye crossed the narrow space between them and took his fourteen-year-old brother into his arms.

  And then he cried.

  Brendan cried right along with him. Long minutes later Rye loosened his hold, stepped back, and finally noticed Angelina. “Why are you here?”

  His question made no sense. “Lucy came to find me when Brendan told her something was wrong.”

  “No, I mean—” His expression darkened, and he jerked a thumb to the police car. “You need to come with me. There’s been an accident, Angelina. Cheyenne Stafford came off a horse, and they took her to the hospital, unconscious. I—”

  Her heart froze. Her fingertips buzzed. Dear God, no. Not Cheyenne. Not Nick’s beautiful, headstrong, animal-loving daughter. While I was in the woods fighting for one child’s life, one of my sweet babies was waging a battle of her own.

  She hurried to the police car, praying. Brendan hopped into the back. Rye got behind the wheel and broke every speed limit to get her to the hospital emergency room. Turn by turn, all she could think was how they couldn’t lose Cheyenne. How this family had lost too many of their own by death or abandonment. She thought of how badly Sam wanted to become the God-fearing parent of a normal family. Losing Cheyenne would destroy that too—which meant they couldn’t lose her. She prayed. She prayed loud and long and didn’t pause until Rye pulled up to the ER door. “Go. I’ll park.”

  She raced into the hospital, looking left, then right.

  No Staffords.

  She charged the desk. The admitting nurse drew back and looked a little nervous. Angelina didn’t much care, and she wasn’t about to be put off. “Cheyenne Stafford.”

  The nurse stayed calm but sent a “stay close” look to the security guard just inside the door. “Are you family?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mother?”

  “Aunt.”

  The nurse scanned her computer screen, which, of course, had no aunt listed. Angelina could tell she was about to refuse to give her information when Rye came in behind her. “Colt says she’s in the PICU, third floor. And he’s going to talk to you about keeping your cell phone on and charged as soon as Cheyenne is out of the woods. He said he kept trying to get you but got no answer.”

  “Thank you, Rye.”

  “No, thank you.” Gratitude and respect deepened his expression. “I don’t know what you gave Mark, but Brendan said he was near death until you did it. Whatever you did, Angelina, God bless you.” He squeezed her shoulders, and she didn’t miss the emotion in his eyes. “Take the red elevator up. I’ll be up once they’ve got Mark settled.”

  She hurried off, found the red elevator, and hit the button.

  Two kids, nearly dead. Two beautiful souls, almost extinguished because of stupid human choices. If Cheyenne was all right—

  No, when Cheyenne was all right, she was going to make sure the girl learned everything she needed to know about riding, ranching, roping, as Murt had suggested. On a busy ranch, staffed with cowboys, there were plenty of teachers on hand if Nick wasn’t willing to do it himself. And if she had to stay longer to make sure it got done, she’d do it.

  Nick might hate it, he might hate her, but right now Nick’s anger was way better than a child’s funeral, and she had every intention of telling him that.

  Once they knew Cheyenne was going to be okay.

  —

  Colt was pretty sure his heart ceased beating when he couldn’t contact Angelina.

  It started again when she walked through the third-floor elevator doors. He wanted to yell at her for not picking up her phone, for not texting him back. But first he needed to hug her, so he did.

  He held her close, glad she was there, and when his heart calmed, he stepped back, keeping his hands on her shoulders.

  “How is she?” She pointed to the double doors of the pediatric intensive care unit where Nick was just visible. “How bad is it?”

  “The fall knocked her for a loop. She was unconscious, then woke for a little while, then out again.”

  “Concussion, I expect.” Sam had appeared from the coffee cart around the corner and handed them each a cup. “I’ve had a few of those. Nick and Trey both had one growing up. Not you, though.” He met Colt’s eyes, and though it wasn’t an expression Colt had seen all that often, he knew it was a shimmer of pride that brightened Sam’s eyes. “Best seat in the saddle, then and now—except for Murt. That’s a gift from your mother. Lots of folks ride horse. But there’s only a handful that ride with the horse.”

  He reached around and withdrew his wallet from his back pocket. There, in a dingy plastic old-style photo holder was a picture of Colt and Christine, sitting horseback, just before her death. “This is how it was.” He pulled the picture out of the sleeve and handed it over. “And how I’d like it to be again.”

  He wasn’t talking about the horse or the pose or the fact that Colt and his mother sat saddle the same way. He meant the loving look in Colt’s eyes as he smiled down at his father, who was taking the picture. A little-boy look so pure and sweet that Colt’s heart ached to see it.

  “You look so happy.” Angelina touched his face. “And cute.”

  Regret deepened the lines in Sam’s face. “We were happy. And then…” He paused. Sighed. “We weren’t.”

  The thin picture felt heavy in Colt’s hands, weighted with responsibility. His father was asking for another chance. Not a second chance; he’d had plenty of those over the years. But another chance. Maybe his last one. “…as we forgive those who trespass against us…”

  Old words. Wise words. Simple and spot on. He looked down at the picture, then up at his father. “I’m willing.”

  A slight smile eased the lines on his father’s face. “Me too.”

  Nick burst through the double doors. “She’s awake! She knows me, she talked to me, and she’s awake!”

  “Thank God.” Sam Stafford reached out and grabbed Nick into a hug, awkward and rusty from disuse. “Can we see her?”

  “For a few minutes, two at a time.” A young woman moved their way and extended her hand. “I’m Dr. Fuller. Yes, she’s awake, and I expect that what we had was a mild to moderate concussion.”

  “Mild? Moderate? We almost lost her, for heaven’s sake!” Indignation hiked Sam’s voice beyond hospital-friendly levels.

  The look she gave Sam shushed him right quick. “My rodeo, my rules, Mr. Stafford. Those are medical gradients, not insults. And if you want to see your granddaughter—”

  Sam held up his hands in apology. “Sorry, sorry. Old habits die hard. I’m fine, Doctor. Really.”

  Angelina frowned at him. “You need more practice on this whole calm and patient thing.”

  “I aim to see he gets it,” Colt whispered, just loud enough for Sam to hear.

  “And the next time she gets on a horse,” the doctor continued, “make sure the helmet is securely
fastened.”

  “There won’t be a next time,” Nick declared. “There shouldn’t have been a this time.”

  “Oh yes there will.” Angelina parked herself in front of Nick. “I’ll make sure she learns from the best of the best, right there on the family ranch. That will be my goal before I move back to Seattle.”

  Move back to Seattle? Over Colt’s dead body. He didn’t want her in Seattle. He wanted her with him, on the Double S. He’d made the decision to stay here, to be part of Gray’s Glen. Could she seriously still be thinking of going back to the city?

  But no way was he about to interrupt her speech, because his brother looked pretty sheepish, and the woman was on a roll.

  “We’ll teach her to ride, curry, pick hooves, rake straw, and pitch manure because there’s nothing more dangerous on a farm or a ranch than a person who knows nothing about a farm or a ranch.” She leaned closer, and Colt was pretty sure his brother quaked a little. It made him feel kind of good to see it. “And don’t for one minute think you can stop us. I rode herd on the toughest streets of Seattle for years, and I can go a round or two with a grudge-holding cowboy.”

  Nick stared at her, then looked at the stark hospital corridor stretching to his precious child’s room. He gripped his hat tighter. “You’re right.”

  Humble pie.

  His brother Nick was eating a big slice of humble pie, and Colt didn’t even dare call him out on it because he was so stinkin’ happy that Cheyenne was going to be all right.

  “Dad, come on back,” Nick said. “Then Colt and Ange can say hello to her.”

  “Five minutes.” The doctor wasn’t all that big, but she talked big, and Sam and Nick both nodded.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Colt started to turn toward Angelina as Rye Bennett came through the elevator doors. “How’s she doing?”