by Brenda Mott
Wade parked and walked up the sidewalk to knock on the front door. “Clem!” he called. “It’s Wade Darland.” He rapped with his knuckles once more. No one answered. Descending the steps two at a time, he hurried toward the round pen, more worried about the horse and Tess’s frame of mind than he was about trespassing. He knew she hadn’t given the matter so much as a thought, especially since Ferguson was a small town where neighbors were usually welcome. Not in this situation, however, he’d wager.
Behind him, the sound of the back door finally creaking open reached his ears.
“Who’s out there?” Clem called gruffly.
“Wade Darland, Clem!” Wade repeated, tossing the words over his shoulder. He reached the round pen, and the sight before him sickened him beyond belief. Apparently, Clem had taken his spite out on his horse once the sheriff’s deputies departed.
The liver chestnut lay on his side in the dirt of the enclosure, eyes closed, three of his legs bound with a stout cotton rope. The gelding’s side rose and fell as he drew strained breaths, grunting in pain and resignation. Welts lined his chocolate-colored coat, some of them caked with blood. His head, restrained by a strong nylon halter and rope, was tilted at an awkward angle where he’d fallen while dallied to the post dead centered in the pen. It was a wonder the animal hadn’t broken his neck.
Cursing, Wade ducked through the fence rails and dropped to one knee beside Tess. He laid his hand on the gelding’s neck. The chestnut’s skin was clammy to the touch. Wade cursed again and stood, simultaneously pulling his pocketknife from his jeans.
“Cut him loose!” Anger choked Tess’s voice, and her hands shook.
Wade sliced the rope in a sawing motion, taking care to ease the colt’s head gently to the ground as the rope gave.
“Hey!” From outside the corral, Clem McMurty shouted.
Heavyset, shoulders wide, he moved quicker than one would have expected for a man his size. He had a good seventy pounds on Wade, but Wade had him in height by about three inches. Fists tight, Wade rose and pivoted on the balls of his feet to face Clem as the man roared forward like an enraged bear.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Clem demanded, climbing into the corral. “You’re trespassing. Get away from my horse!”
Wade pressed his mouth into a line, holding his temper with every ounce of restraint he possessed. More than anything, he wanted to haul off and pop Clem in the face. But as satisfying as he knew hitting the jerk would be, he also knew it wasn’t the way to handle the situation.
“I’d say you’re the one who needs to get away from the horse,” Wade told him. His pulse pounded in his ears. “Maybe I ought to tether you to that pole and give you a go-round with a buggy whip so you can see how it feels!”
“You want a piece of me?” Clem’s eyes glowed with anticipation and a smirk pulled his mouth out of shape. He stood knees bent, arms extended, and motioned for Wade to come closer. “Come on, Darland, let’s go.”
Tess’s kick to the seat of his pants took Clem totally by surprise. The sole of her booted foot connected with his backside—none too gently—and he tumbled forward, pitching to the dirt on his hands and knees.
Instantly, Tess was in his face. Bent at the waist, she pressed her nose all but up against his. “You want a piece of someone, try me.” Her voice was calm, level, all the more riveting than if she’d shouted the words. “You lowdown, son-of-a-black-jackal. You want to charge me with trespassing? Why not add assault and battery while you’re at it, you scumbag, pond-sucking jerk.” She moved even closer, her forehead a gnat’s hair away from Clem’s. He’d risen to his knees, and now he lost his balance once more and tumbled backward. He landed on his butt with an “Oomph.”
“Geez, lady, take it easy.” He glared at Tess. “I ain’t gonna fight no woman.” His eyes shot daggers from her to Wade, but Wade could see Tess had taken at least some of the wind out of his sails.
“No,” Tess said, “and you aren’t going to lay one finger on a helpless animal again, either.” She stood over him with booted feet spread and planted, arms crossed. “How much?”
“What?”
“You heard me. How much for the horse? And don’t try to gouge me, or I’ll go ahead and let the sheriff handle this. You and I both know he won’t be leaving with a warning this time.”
Clem looked as though he wanted to protest. He glanced over at the chestnut, who remained lying on his side, though Tess and Sharon had already freed the horse’s legs from the rope.
Sharon spoke, quiet anger lacing her voice. “You don’t have to pay this rattlesnake for anything, Tess. You know when the authorities come out, they’ll take possession of the gelding. You’ll end up with him anyway.”
“She’s right,” Tess said to Clem. “Only, I don’t feel like waiting for the wheels of justice to roll. That horse needs me now, so I’ll ask you again. How much?”
“Oh, I don’t think old Clem wants much at all for this gelding,” Wade said, moving to stand beside Tess. “As a matter of fact, I’m thinking that by the time you figure in the cost of vet bills, feed, et cetera…” He waved a hand in the air, as though calculating. “Why, I’m pretty sure this check ought to cover it.” He slid his checkbook from his pocket and scribbled out a good portion of what he’d gotten for the saddle that day. “I mean, considering the fact that if we do call the sheriff out here, you’re going to be facing a mighty stiff fine besides having your horse taken from you…well, you get my drift, don’t you, Clem?”
Clem’s face turned the shade of a purple cabbage. “Yeah, I get your point,” he said. He stood and dusted off the seat of his pants.
Wade signed the check and tossed it at him. “I trust you’ll call the brand inspector in the morning.” According to Colorado state law, no sale of a horse could be complete without the brand inspector examining the animal. “Oh, and one more thing.” He pointed a finger at Clem’s chest. “If I ever hear so much as a whispered rumor about you treating another animal like this, you’re gonna find out what abuse really means.”
Turning his back on the man, Wade knelt beside the chestnut. The horse’s breathing seemed to be coming closer to normal, but he still made no effort to rise. “Hey, fella,” Wade soothed, stroking the gelding’s neck. “You’re going to be all right.” He looked up, straight into Tess’s eyes. Her expression was a mixture of anger not yet spent and gratitude.
“Thanks,” she said. Then she turned to Sharon. “Would you mind calling Doc Baker? You might have to go to the neighbor’s house.”
“I have a cell phone in the truck,” Wade said.
Sharon nodded and headed in that direction. Clem stomped back to the house and slammed the door without another word.
“Want to help me see if I can get this poor horse to stand?” Tess asked. Her green eyes filled with concern and compassion and Wade’s heart raced. He’d figured her for the type of woman who had spunk, but seeing it firsthand…
“Sure thing.” He stepped up beside the chestnut and took hold of the halter, steadying the gelding’s head as Tess tugged gently but firmly on the severed lead rope.
“Come on, boy,” she coaxed. “You can do it.”
“Up you go, fella,” Wade said. He gave a pull, and between their efforts, the gelding scrambled to his feet and stood looking around, wary, shaken.
“Attaboy,” Tess crooned. Sadly, she petted the horse’s neck, being careful not to touch any of the welts that lined his body. “I still can’t believe anyone could treat an animal this badly. No matter how many cases of abuse and neglect I witness, it never fails to make me sick to my stomach.”
Wade stepped up close to her and tilted her chin with one forefinger. “Remind me never to make you mad,” he said. His pulse skittered, both with the aftermath of his anger at Clem, and with the feelings Tess stirred in him.
She fixed her eyes on his, and he studied the look in them, imagining what it would be like to lower his mouth to hers and brush a kiss across her l
ips. A kiss that might deepen and turn to something more serious. A stroke of tongue against tongue, Tess’s body pressed against his. Warm and firm…
Wade swallowed. His pulse throbbed in his temples with the finesse of a snare drum, and his brain seemed to have gone numb. He pulled back and lowered his hand, pleased by the flicker of disappointment he thought he saw in Tess’s eyes for a brief moment.
“You saved one more, and I’m betting that’s something that never ceases to make you feel good.” Talk about feeling good, he couldn’t think of a time he’d felt better…and it had nothing to do with the horse.
Tess pursed her lips as though tasting the kiss he’d imagined, and the idea that she possibly shared his fantasy set him on fire all over again. For a moment, he thought she was going to say something to him like Make sure you keep your lips to yourself, cowboy—and your lustful thoughts, too.
Instead, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and she reached up to touch her bottom lip in a way that he found sexy. He wanted to grab her wrist and kiss those slender fingers of hers, one at a time. Lord help him. He had to stop this. He cleared his throat and forced his thoughts back to the horse and the conversation at hand. “That’s what drives you to do this work, isn’t it?”
“You’ve got that right, cattleman,” Tess said. Then her smile widened. “Looks like Macy has herself a new horse.”
The full realization of what he’d done hit him. Macy was going to go nuts. Wade grinned. “Looks like.” He continued to eye Tess.
A new horse for Macy. And for him, a bad and definite case of the hots for his daughter’s 4-H leader.
CHAPTER FIVE
MACY WHIMPERED in her sleep.
Her arms and legs felt heavy when she tried to move them. Why wouldn’t they work right? She needed to run. Had to warn her mother of the danger that lay just around the bend.
The train tracks crossed the road above, stretching as far as she could see both ways. In the distance the engine’s whistle blew—a ghostly sound that made her shiver. Fighting to get her arms and legs to work, she moved through the thick grass of the field below the tracks. Her ankles caught in each tuft, toes snagging, causing her to stumble. She had to reach the road in time….
Her mother’s blue car grew closer, headed for the railroad crossing. Macy could see her behind the wheel, though her face wasn’t clear. What she saw in detail was her mother’s hands, knuckles white as she gripped the steering wheel. She was focused on nothing more than getting home. She seemed unaware of the train.
The car picked up speed. The same car Macy rode in with her mother when they went to the grocery store to pick out cereal and cookies and the big red apples Macy loved. The car she liked so much because it had a huge back seat where she could bounce…up…down…up…while her mother piled bags of groceries all around her until she felt safe and concealed, where she pretended to be a soldier hiding in the jungle of paper and plastic. And the seat belt—when her mother said, “Buckle up, cupcake”—that was really the safety strap that belted her into her fighter jet.
But she wasn’t in the car now, and this wasn’t a game. Macy saw her mother pull up to the railroad crossing and gradually slow. Yes! Macy tried to shout. That’s it. Stop. Just stop, Mommy, please.
She could make out her mom’s long, blond hair, scooped up in a ponytail, just like her own. And then, behind the blue car, a pickup truck came to a halt. Clem McMurty climbed from the truck, his face scrunched and mean-looking. He clenched a buggy whip in one big fist, and he began to snap it in the air as he walked toward her mother’s car. “Go!” he shouted. “Just go.”
No! The word caught in Macy’s throat.
Fearfully, her mother looked over her shoulder at Clem, then back at the railroad tracks. The warning lights began to flash above, bells clanging, hurting Macy’s ears. The black-and-white striped barrier trembled, prepared to lower.
And Mommy stepped on the gas. Sped onto the tracks.
The train whistle blared. The engine was no longer in the distance. It was there. Right there. Bearing down.
The train slammed into the car with the horrible screeching of metal upon metal.
“No!” Macy screamed, and sat up in bed. Her hands shook. Beneath her the sheets lay damp with sweat. Tears burned her eyes. Her stomach churned.
She hadn’t dreamed about her mother’s accident in a good long while.
“Macy?” From the hallway, her dad called out to her. He rapped on her door, then pushed it open. Light flooded the room as he flicked on the switch. He wore a pair of pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, and his hair stood up. He looked worried, and at that moment Macy loved him more than anything in the world. He was always there for her. Always.
“Honey, what is it? Are you sick? Did you have a bad dream?”
She nodded yes to both. Her stomach felt horrid, but she knew the churning would stop as soon as the bad dream faded. She hated the nightmares when they came. Sometimes she had good dreams of her mom and of Sarah: she and Mommy holding hands, walking through a field of wildflowers…she and Sarah riding their horses in the sunshine….
But sometimes, like tonight, they were bad. Sometimes in the dreams Sarah was sick, her hair gone from the cancer medicine. And when those dreams came, they were often followed by ones of the accident that had taken Macy’s mother from her. The accident that had been her fault, though no one knew it but her. Doing what she always did when the thought pushed its way into her head, Macy blocked it. No, no, not my fault. Not my fault…
But it was.
Her dad sank onto the edge of the bed and wrapped his strong arms around her. He gave her a squeeze and rested his chin on top of her head. “It’s okay, sunshine. It was just a bad dream. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He ran his hands up and down her arms, warming the goose bumps. Then he pulled back and gave her a sad little smile. “You want some water or something?”
Macy felt silly. She wasn’t a little kid anymore. In the dream, she’d been small, but in reality, she was almost in middle school. Too old to cry out in the night for her daddy. “I’m okay,” she said, pushing her hair out of her eyes.
“You sure?” He sounded worried.
She nodded. “I’m sure.”
Still, he hesitated. “You want Smokey or Bandit to sleep in here with you?”
Now she knew he was worried. The red heelers were working cow dogs, and they stayed outside, where, according to her dad, they belonged. The only times he’d ever let them stay in was five years ago, right after the accident, when Smokey and Bandit were pups and they’d slept in a box, one next to Macy’s bed, one beside Jason’s.
And again when Sarah had died.
Macy quirked her mouth in a smile. “I’m not that upset, Dad.” She let her grin widen. “But if you really want to let Smokey and Bandit in, that’s okay by me.”
He chuckled and rumpled her hair. “Maybe I overreacted a tad.” Then he frowned. “What was your dream about, honey?”
She sobered. “Mom. And Clem McMurty.”
“Clem?”
“Yeah. I guess it was sort of a dumb dream. He chased Mommy with a whip and made her…made her drive onto the train tracks.”
“Oh, Macy.” Again, her dad held her, giving her a bear hug of a squeeze. He looked at her, his expression serious. “You’re upset about what Clem did to the horse. That’s what made you have the dream.”
“It was really mean,” she said.
“It was. But Clem’s not going to hurt Diego anymore. He’s your horse now. You named him and everything.” He smiled.
Warmth spread through her tummy. “Yeah, I did. And I’m going to show him how to not be afraid.”
Her dad kissed her forehead. “Good. And you don’t be afraid, either, ’kay?”
She rubbed her nose with the palm of her hand. “Okay.”
He rose. “Want the hall light on?”
“No. I don’t need a night-light.”
“All right.” He pointed one finger at her
. “But no more bad dreams, you hear?” He gestured toward the powder-blue dreamcatcher that hung over her bed. “You let that do its job.” He put his hands on his hips. “Wait a minute. I know what the problem is.” Reaching up, he took hold of the dreamcatcher with both hands and blew a huge puff of air across it. Cheeks bulging, he did it again. Then he grinned and stood back. “There.”
Macy giggled. “What are you doing?”
“Blowing off the dust and cobwebs,” he said. “That was obviously why your dreamcatcher wasn’t working right. It got clogged up. But it’s fixed now.” He gave her a wink.
“It’s supposed to catch the bad dreams in its web, Dad.”
“Yeah, but not on a spiderweb.”
Macy giggled again. “Thanks.”
“’Night.” He headed for the door. “Call me if you need anything.”
“I will.” He started to close the door.
“Dad?”
“Yeah, honey?”
“Can you leave it open?”
“Sure.” He pushed it wide and winked once more.
Macy smiled. “Good night.”
“TESS!”
Macy’s shouted greeting drew Wade’s attention, and he glanced over his shoulder and spotted Tess’s Dodge heading up the driveway.
Turning her back on him and Jason, Macy ducked through the fence rails of the round pen and ran toward the truck, calling to Tess through the open window. “Hurry! Come look.”
Her excitement stemmed from the fact that Diego had begun to warm up to her. The liver chestnut now stood in the center of the round pen, lead rope attached to his halter, ears shifting back and forth as though to determine what new and possibly dangerous event might be in store for him. Wade soothed the horse with reassuring words and a gentle hand, then shook his head and grinned.
In spite of her undying loyalty to Amber and love for her, Macy had already grown attached to Diego. She’d come unglued when she’d heard what Clem had done to the chestnut, but her anger had turned to excitement when she found out the horse was now hers. Still, it bothered Wade that the incident had given his little girl nightmares. He had to admit he’d had his doubts about whether he’d done the right thing, not in rescuing the horse but in buying him for Macy.