Colton's Folly (Native American contemporary romance) (16 page)

“And someone’s got to watch the boys meantime.” Finally Abby offered a suggestion. “What if we talk to Dorrie and Slow about leaving the boys at the ranch for the summer? Maybe without having to worry about them for a few weeks things will be easier. It could give them a little breathing room, don’t you think?”

It was agreed that when Dorrie and Slow returned Emma would explain to them why Abby had taken the boys to the ranch and present the offer of a summer out there, if Hank agreed. That was the easy part and they all knew it. Getting Slow and his family on their feet would be another problem entirely.

After the meeting Abby made her way down the street toward her house. Deep in thought about the day’s events, she failed to notice Cat step out into the street until she was only a few feet away from him.

“What the hell is going on around here, Abby?” Startled, she stumbled against him, only to have him hold her at arm’s length.

“What are you talking about?”

“Where did you put Doretta’s boys? Someone said they saw you loading them into the jeep to take them somewhere. That true?”

“Y-yes.”

“Well? Where? And it better not be some damned bureau boarding school, I warn you. If you did anything to break up that family I’ll see that you regret it.”

Abby responded angrily. “Just what is it you think I did with them?”

“How the hell should I know what you’d take it into your head to do?”

Furious with him and his readiness to think the worst of her, angry with herself for jumping in and creating the misunderstanding in the first place, she said the first and most ludicrous thing that entered her mind. “I sent them away to the boarding school in Rapid City! Okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

Abby saw the Tallman house just ahead and, quickly changing her mind, went into the stable to saddle Ghost, tying on a bedroll and hanging a canteen from the saddle horn. Cat followed her inside and stood, hands on hips, a silhouette in the brightly lit doorway.

“Just who do you think you are?” His voice was deep and angry. She knew she had been childish and would have called back her words, if that had been possible. At the same time she wanted to throttle him for believing such nonsense.

“What gives you the right to play God?” he went on. “To stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong and make judgments about things you can’t possibly understand? If that family had problems, we would have helped them. We take care of our own. I thought you knew that.” He ran his fingers through his hair and added in a tone of exasperation, “But then, how can I expect someone who’s never had a family or belonged anywhere to understand?”

Astounded, Abby stared at him, her eyes wide, all color drained from her cheeks. All she could think was that she had to get away, but suddenly his hands were on her arms like rawhide bands. She looked down and, without warning, violently jammed one boot heel into the instep of a moccasined foot. He growled in pain, but let go of her. She led Ghost outside in a blind rage, fighting for air to clear her head.

Silently she mounted and rode away, trying to focus through the tears that streamed down her cheeks. Eventually they would all get together: Dorrie and Slow and Emma and the school board
--and, of course, Cat--and the truth would come out. Now she needed only to get away from the source of her misery.

If just once, he’d given her the benefit of the doubt and waited for an answer to his question instead of jumping to conclusions.
And if only she’d remained calm enough to set him straight instead of losing her temper. They seemed to bring out the worst in each other, like two kids in a schoolyard brawl.

She rode in the direction of the ranch, where there were people who cared about her, people who would welcome, not wound, her. Momentarily oblivious to the scenery around her, she let Ghost’s slow, gentle movement calm her; before long her body’s systems had settled back to their normal rhythms. Her mind remained a confused mass of anger and frustration, bitterness and indignation, as she struggled to accept that she had confided in him and he had used her painful memories to attack her. Once more she had trusted, and once more she had been betrayed.

“Well,” she said aloud, “to hell with him.”

At the ranch gate, some five miles from the house, Abby met Hank, who rode up on a roan stallion.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I’m here to act as escort,” he answered.

Abby made no attempt to hide her surprise. “How did you know I was coming out?”

“Cat called,” he said with a shrug. “Said you might show up, and to make sure you waited for him. He’s anxious to talk to you.”

She reined Ghost in, causing Hank to stop, too. “What’s wrong, Abby?”

“I just remembered that there’s something I need to do.” Without another word she turned Ghost and headed for Twin Buttes, leaving an astonished Hank watching her back.

As she and Ghost moved along at an easy pace, she made her mind a blank, concentrating on the setting sun as it turned the sky to bronze and the clouds to deep, burnished gold. It hung low for a few moments, a ball of glowing yellow-orange, then slipped behind the earth. As if loath to relinquish its power, it sent fiery streaks of red and violet light shooting upward to crown the curve of the horizon like a ruby and amethyst tiara. The afterglow died slowly, fading first to lavenders and pinks, and then to grays that took over the entire sky and darkened until all color was gone.

The world was almost totally black, with no moon or stars to shed light, when the rain began. First the fat, cold drops of moisture fell, slowly, randomly and without any force. Then jagged streaks of lightning split the blackness, to be followed by rolls of thunder that moved in across the prairie. The rain increased steadily in intensity, and finally gusts of wind whipped sheets of water in swirls around her and set the grasses and underbrush swaying and tossing wildly.

Blinded by the wind-driven rain that drenched her and stabbed at her face and eyes with needlelike sharpness, she understood why a hat was the first thing a westerner put on in the morning and the last thing to be taken off at night. Had she been wearing one at that moment, its broad brim would at least have shielded her eyes, enabling her to see. The best she could do was to trust Ghost’s surefootedness and periodically wipe her eyes and try to focus through the downpour, hoping to spot some vaguely familiar landmark.

Her attempts proved futile until a sudden bolt of lightning hit about three hundred yards ahead of her, illuminating the countryside. She picked out the rock formation that contained the hidden pond and realized that she had overshot the reservation gates. Rather than continue searching in the storm, she decid
ed to head for shelter. As she and Ghost moved south, she gave the animal his head, hoping fervently that they were following a true course toward the hills. They never made it.

A streak of lightning struck the ground directly in their path. Ghost screamed in fright and took off in an uncontrolled dash to escape. Abby tried to attune her own senses to his to anticipate his movements, but his fear made him more alert, allowing him to sense and avoid obstacles she couldn’t see because of the rain and darkness. She could do no more than hang on.

He jumped a shallow streambed and Abby froze, pulling back on the reins as if she were an inexperienced rider. Ghost reared and seemed to slip backward; she let up on the reins, and he scrambled for footing, pulling himself up the muddy bank.

Abby lost her seat and tumbled down into the swiftly running stream. Buffeted by the rough water, she found it impossible to maintain her balance long enough to find a handhold. Finally she let the current take over and, like a bobbing cork, rode the waters downstream on her back, her arms out to her sides ready to grasp at any overhanging branch or outcropping.

She felt a change in the current and turned her head; suddenly a huge shape swirled in the water and caught her on the temple with a sharp crack. As she felt herself losing consciousness, she grappled to hold on to the object, and continued to cling to it as it was carried on its way.

Just after daylight Abby came to, aware of a variety of sensations: the rain pelting her already drenched body, so that she felt the beating of the drops on her, but not their wetness; the rush and power of the waters that tossed her about; the rough texture against her cheek of the log to which she had clung all night; the dull ache in her head where she’d been hit; and the lack of all feeling in her arms, which had remained locked in the same position through it all, and in her legs, from their submersion in the icy water.

She opened her eyes slowly and tried to clear her vision, but the effort only intensified the pain in her temple, and she closed them with a muted curse. She tried again after a moment or two, letting her eyes react slowly and naturally. This time her focus improved enough that she could make out her surroundings. The log that had both injured and saved her had become wedged between the sides of the gully. Already partially submerged, it seemed in danger of disappearing completely beneath the rising water.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” she whispered aloud. “I’ve got to find a way out.”

Slowly, painfully, she moved her arms, loosening her hold on the log. Ignoring a sharp jab in her midsection, she began to pull herself along, hand over hand, using every ounce of upper body strength to compensate for her useless legs. The rough bark ripped at her, and a long, jagged splinter embedded itself in one palm. She ignored the newest discomfort and kept going until she finally reached the embankment. Then, fingers digging into the mud, grasping at clumps of grass and exposed roots, she clawed her way upward.

Without being able to use her legs to push from below she quickly exhausted her slim reserves of strength. Frustrated and angry, she clung to the side, her cheek against the damp earth, forcing herself to wait, to rest before trying again. The next attempt brought her halfway out of the water, but an overhang blocked any further progress. She moved cautiously to her left, slithering sideways until she found a place where the embankment rose in a smooth sweep of earth.

Here she inched her way upward, and, finally, totally exhausted and struggling for breath, the muscles in her arms and shoulders like jelly, she gained the high ground. She lay on her stomach, too tired to move and thoroughly disgusted with her body’s inability to respond to her will.

“Mind over matter,” she muttered weakly. “That’s all it should take. Mind over matter.”

Circulation was returning to her legs, bringing with it the excruciating torture of renewed feeling. In addition, her left knee throbbed hotly. She made a move to roll over onto her back to investigate and was stopped short by a tearing, grating sensation and a sharp pain that cut through her middle, driving the breath from her lungs. She gasped in surprise and doubled over on her side, with her arms pressing tightly against her rib cage. A soft moan escaped her lips, and tears filled her eyes.

After a minute or so she wiped them away with the back of her hand and, breathing cautiously, lay flat, staring up at the clouds scudding across the gray sky. The rain had stopped, she thought irrelevantly, and then, in a soft whisper, she chided herself, “Well, Abby, you seem to have something of a problem here. What now?”

“Now, to find a way back home,” she answered herself. “That’s what.”

She sat up very slowly, keeping her body straight and stiff to minimize the pain in her ribs and the dizziness caused by even the slightest movement. She saw a small boulder a few feet away and hitched her way across the distance so she could use it for a prop. Then she leaned back and took silent inventory. Severe headache, dizziness and nausea coupled with double vision, and, she remembered vaguely, occasional blackouts
--a concussion, perhaps? Intense pain in the midsection, difficulty in moving and breathing--it had to be one or more broken ribs. And then there was her knee

She reached gingerly into her back pocket and pulled out a small hunting knife, which she unfolded and used to slit the leg of her jeans. She gently prodded her injured knee. It was swollen and discolored and hot to the touch. That could mean anything from a bad strain to torn ligaments.

She leaned back against the rock once more and grimaced, unsure of whether to laugh at her predicament or cry. “You didn’t leave much in working order, did you?” She grimaced. “What a klutz!” Getting home now would take some doing.

A wave of blackness overtook her suddenly, and she struggled to stay conscious. No! No! her mind screamed silently. Don’t let go! But her exhaustion had left her few resources with which to fight, and she felt herself slipping under, her stubborn protests echoing in her mind until there was nothing.

Sometime later a voice as deep and velvety as the night penetrated the layers of dreamless sleep and touched her mind, willing it to respond. “C’mon, Abby, it’s time to wake up.”

She stirred and opened her eyes to find Cat staring down at her, his eyes black and angry.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was husky and weak.

“I’ve been looking for you the whole damn night.”

“How did you find me?”

“I thought you might head for the pool, so when I didn’t find you there, I started backtracking. I was just about to change direction when I heard you cry out.”

“I don’t remember that. How undignified.”