Authors: Lois Greiman
Finding Home (6 page)
“Leave 'em be so's you don't get yourself dead?” Tyler guessed.
“They're as worthless as tits on a boar. And nothing wants to be worthless.”
“Well, some things don't have no choice,” he said.
She looked him in the eye, caught the pain behind his careful façade, and shook her head. “You're wrong there,” she said and set out to prove it.
C
HAPTER
7
HAPTER
7
T
he scruffy red dun turned out to be more tractable than any of the others. Once he recognized the seductive sound of grain rattling in a bucket, he allowed Casie to slip a halter behind his ears and tie him to a stout post in the newly emptied pen.
he scruffy red dun turned out to be more tractable than any of the others. Once he recognized the seductive sound of grain rattling in a bucket, he allowed Casie to slip a halter behind his ears and tie him to a stout post in the newly emptied pen.
That accomplished, they brushed him for a few minutes, Ty with a currycomb, Casie with a shedder blade. Even in his neglected condition his shaggy winter coat was coming out in clumps. It swirled around them in dusty clouds, granting him a sleeker look after just a short while. His tail, however . . . Casie stared at it in dismay. Well past his hocks, it was little more than a solid mass of burrs, but that would have to wait. Today she would ride. After all, she might never again find that blend of courage and craziness that was necessary for such an undertaking.
Dusting off her mother's rough-out seat, Casie eased the barrel saddle onto the gelding's back. He lifted his head and flicked his ears, but his eyes were calm, and he was standing square, not humped or stretched as if he was ready to hop.
Replacing the halter with a bridle was a nonevent. He accepted the bit like a seasoned show horse, but Casie was still nervous. Then again, why wouldn't she be? She wasn't entirely insane. Maybe.
“You sure you want to do this?” Ty asked.
“I'm sure I don't.”
“Then why are ya?”
Holding her breath, Casie stepped up to the dun's near side, flexed the stirrup toward her, and realized that he posed a pretty good question. In fact, perhaps she should turn the gelding loose and consider it over a cup of hot coffee and a freshly bought Oreo. Then again . . . “Maybe it's time to take some chances,” she said.
“Couldn't you take some that ain't so likely to get you dead?” Tyler asked.
“Later,” she promised, and gathering the reins just above the animal's hopelessly tangled mane, pushed her weight gingerly into the stirrup.
The gelding stood perfectly still. Casie exhaled, then shifted her right foot back to the ground. “Thata boy,” she crooned. “That's my boy.” He flexed his neck and watched her. She kept her attention on that one visible eye, alert for signs of trouble, but the horse seemed calm. Calmer than she was, at least. “Maybe we'll call you Tangles, huh?” She kept her voice melodious as she pushed gently back up. When there were no deadly repercussions after three more tries, she swung her right leg carefully over the cantle and settled into the well-worn saddle. Tangles lowered his head like a worn-out puppy.
Grateful to the core of her being, Casie held her breath and gave him a gentle squeeze with her legs. He ambled off as if he'd been under saddle every day of his life. She exhaled carefully, settled deeper into the seat, and silently marveled at the thrill of having a horse between her and the ground. It felt right. Like finding home. Like breathing. Stifling the unexpected feelings of euphoria that threatened to bubble into a giggle, she asked for a trot. And that was even better. The gait was flat-footed, ground covering, and smooth as whipping cream. Not a show-horse jog, not a namby-pamby, we've-got-nowhere-to-go limping shuffle, but a long-strided working trot. She turned toward Tyler, no longer quite able to control her grin.
“Looks like we've got
one
that's been trained atâ” she began, but just then there was a click of noise from behind her. Jack yipped. A light flashed. And the dun heaved into the air like an erupting volcano. Back humped, head down, he shot toward the sky. Casie grappled for the saddle horn, for the mane, for anything, but she was already off balance, her right hand loose, her legs flapping.
one
that's been trained atâ” she began, but just then there was a click of noise from behind her. Jack yipped. A light flashed. And the dun heaved into the air like an erupting volcano. Back humped, head down, he shot toward the sky. Casie grappled for the saddle horn, for the mane, for anything, but she was already off balance, her right hand loose, her legs flapping.
Tangles's hooves hit the ground like pile drivers. The impact jarred Casie to the marrow of her bones, but she found her balance enough to stay with him as he leaped back into the air, spine arched, head between his legs. The world soared in a rush of colors as a thousand sensations exploded inside her. For a moment it was as if she were truly alive for the first time in years. As if every pore was open, every capillary pulsing. And then she was off, somersaulting through the air before landing on her back with a jolt hard enough to rattle her teeth.
“Are you all right?”
“Casie!”
“I'm sorry.”
Dismembered dialogue bombarded her from every direction. For several seconds she could neither distinguish the speakers nor ascertain when they had arrived, but after a few disjointed seconds she realized that someone was leaning over her.
“Case!”
He was diabolically good looking. That was the first thought that fluttered through her brain. Handsome and rugged and a little wild eyed. But Richard Colton Dickenson had always been dangerously attractive. Even when he'd put crickets in her milk carton and salt in her orange juice, he'd been a risk-taking little Adonis who fired up her imagination andâ
“Holy hell, Head Case, what were you thinking?”
Dickenson's harangue managed to yank her unacceptable thoughts to a careening halt. She tried to sit up.
“Lie still!” he ordered.
Something pushed her back down, or maybe she just failed to complete the movement. It was surprisingly comfortable lying in the muck, kind of soft, relatively warm.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. It wasn't all that easy to speak, which meant it was entirely possible she had cracked a rib. Or two. Or twenty. How many ribs did people have anyway? If she remembered her equine anatomy correctly, horses had eighteen pair. Ten floating and eight true. She scowled, mind wandering. Or was it ten true andâ
“What am
I
doing?” Dickenson's voice was raspy. “What the hell are
you
doing?”
I
doing?” Dickenson's voice was raspy. “What the hell are
you
doing?”
She took a tentative breath. It didn't feel great. In fact, it felt a little like bad-tempered needles were being shoved into her trachea, but her legs felt fine, her arms didn't hurt, and she was reasonably certain her head was still attached. Yee haa! “You said the horses were broke.”
He sputtered something inarticulate. It might have been a whole string of curse words she'd never heard used with such cavalier disregard for the English language. “I said
I
was broke,” he railed. “I said a couple of them had been
ridden
. I don't even know which ones.”
I
was broke,” he railed. “I said a couple of them had been
ridden
. I don't even know which ones.”
“That one has,” she said and tried to nod toward the just-abandoned dun. As it turned out, Tyler was standing nearby, eyes wide, face pale. “For a couple seconds at least.” She shifted her gaze to the boy. “Hey, Ty,” she said.
“You okay?” His voice was gruff, his body stiff with nerves.
“Sure. I'm fine,” she said, and lifting her right hip a little, nudged a stone out from under her back. Her smile came with surprising ease. Holy hell, what a thrill. “How are
you?
”
you?
”
The boy stared at her a second, then shifted accusatory eyes to Dickenson. “You shouldn't have never dumped those horses on her,” he said. “She's got enough problems without 'em.”
“Well, I didn't think one of them was stupidity!” Dickenson shifted his gaze back to Casie. “I never thought she'd be dumb enough to just hop on 'em.”
“She ain't dumb!” There was sudden passion in the boy's voice, anger in his eyes as he stepped forward, fists clenched.
“Hey. Hey!” Surprised by the sudden volatility that bubbled around her, Casie tried again to sit up. Marginally successful, she crunched over her ribs and attempted to ignore the slicing pain. “Let's not get all worked up over . . .” She drew another careful breath and realized she could suck in a little oxygen if she was really careful. Things were looking up.
“Everything's fine. I'm fine. The horse is . . .” She glanced toward the dun, which was trotting nervously along the fence line, and stopped short. A girl in a multicolored stocking cap, striped leggings, and army boots stood on the far side of the fence. Jack was next to her, front paws braced on the lowest rail, tongue lolling with joy.
“Geez!” Casie said and pressed a palm carefully to her aching side. “Did you sell tickets to this event or what?”
The guys looked at her, scowled at each other, then looked at her again, doubts clear in their identical expressions.
“The girl,” she said, peeved that she had to explain. It wasn't as if she was being nonsensical. “Who invited the girl?”
They glanced away, supposedly found the person in question, and stared in tandem silence.
“Oh,” Tyler said finally, then cleared his throat and shuffled his feet a little. “That's Em.”
Casie exhaled very carefully, nodded just as tentatively, and shifted her gaze back to Tangles. He had stopped finally to stare at her, reins dragging and eyes rimmed in white. Poor thing. She shouldn't have ambushed him like that. Should have lunged him first to wear him out a little. Maybe long-lined him under saddle. But where was the fun in that? She stifled a grin, realizing the boys might think her concussed if she smiled at that precise moment.
“She needs a job,” Tyler said.
Casie brought her mind regretfully back to the subject at hand. “What's that?”
“Emily,” the boy said. “She needs a job. And she's real smart.”
“So is
she,
” Dickenson said, nodding in Casie's direction. “Didn't do much good.”
she,
” Dickenson said, nodding in Casie's direction. “Didn't do much good.”
She ignored him, concentrating on Tyler. “Can she break horses?”
His expression was comically dubious. “I don't think so.”
“That makes two of you, then,” Dickenson said.
“You're an idiot,” Casie countered. Turned out it was easier to speak her mind when her ribs were on fire and she'd just ridden a tornado. Maybe she should have tried equine suicide earlier.
“You said you was trying to sell the place,” Tyler said. “I thought maybe she could help get things cleaned up. She'll work real cheap.”
Casie glanced at the girl again. She was the approximate size of a postage stamp. “How'd she get here?”
“She's older than she looks. Old enough to drive.”
Casie stared. The girl had a hand on Jack's head and was watching her with wide eyes and a worried expression. “Are you sure?”
“She's eighteen.”
“Then shouldn't she be in college?”
“Dad says folks can learn more from using their hands than they'll ever learn from sitting on 'em.”
She snorted. “Yeah, well, your dad's a morâ”
“Hey, now!” Dickenson interrupted. “Maybe you should relax for a minute, Case.”
She opened her mouth.
“Be quiet,” he insisted, dark brows raised toward his ubiquitous Stetson. “Rest.”
Casie skimmed the boy's face. The bruised skin beneath his left eye seemed even darker in the glare of the slow-melting snow. She exhaled carefully, feeling unfortunately maternal. “Are you all right?” she asked.
Ty's expression softened for a second, but he scowled finally and straightened his spine. “You're the one just got yourself bucked off.”
“Is that what happened?”
From the corner of her eye she could see Dickenson scowl. “Caseâ”
“I'm kidding. I remember it vividly,” she said and sighed. “Help me up.”
“I think we should call an ambulance.” Somehow the girl had appeared to Casie's left and stood peering through the rails like a kid might gaze into a tiger cage.
“We ain't in the city, Em,” Tyler said. “It'd take an ambulance half a forever to get here.”
“She's right,” Dickenson said, scowling at Casie. “You could have spinal damage.”
She stared at him a moment. “I'm fully aware what kind of damage I could have sustained, Dickey,” she said, and gritting her teeth, reached for a rail to pull herself into a straighter position. The world swam for a moment, then settled in. She blinked once. “No ambulance,” she added, and tightening her grip, pulled herself to her feet. The earth dipped wildly, but she stayed with it this time.
“I've got a friend from Tulsa came off a horse like that,” Dickenson said. “Gave up ridin' broncs when he lost the use of his right leg.”
Casie's stomach jerked nervously, but she shuffled closer to the fence. “Wimp,” she said, then bent carefully between the rails and ambled toward the house with clenched-jaw determination.
Dickenson caught up to her with what seemed like galloping speed. “What the hell's wrong with you?”
She glanced at him. Even that hurt. “I just got bounced off a horse. I thought you'd noticed that.”
“I mean this weird-ass attitude.” He nodded to where Tyler stood talking to the girl some yards behind them. “Were you going to call Gil Roberts a moron?”
“Maybe.” And wasn't that odd? She'd probably never called anyone a moron in her entire life. Even the morons. But hell, she'd just ridden a damned bucking horse. A girl that rides a damned bucking horse should be able to call someone a moron now and again. “Who do
you
suppose gave him the shiner?” she asked and focused on her destination.
you
suppose gave him the shiner?” she asked and focused on her destination.
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