Hidden Truths (20 page)

They ran side by side, following the trail of hoofprints
without talking. Words weren't necessary.

Or they were too angry to talk. The horses were the result
of several years of hard, patient work.
No one's going to take them from us.

They splashed through a small creek and jogged up another
hill. Dancer whinnied.

"Hush, boy," Luke murmured.

Behind Phin, Lancelot whinnied a greeting too.
"There!" Phin pointed.

Directly below them, a young warrior led Raindrop while an
older man with feathers woven into his silver hair sat on Midnight's bare back.
Two young women ducked fearfully behind the horses.

Luke lifted her rifle and aimed but didn't shoot yet. Out of
the corner of her eye, she saw Phin do the same.

The old warrior pointed his own rifle at them.

Was the old, muzzle-loading musket still functional? Luke
didn't want to find out the hard way.

"These horses are mine," Luke shouted, mixing
English and the Shoshoni's language. She pointed at Midnight and Raindrop.

The younger warrior shouted an answer and lifted his bow. An
arrow was already notched, ready to fly at them.

"They said they found the horses wandering without an
owner," Luke translated, not looking away from the Shoshoni.

Phin ground his teeth. "Liars."

"They are offering to give us Raindrop but refuse to
hand over Midnight."

At least they had good horse sense. Raindrop was a good
horse, but Midnight was worth twice as much as the spotted gelding.

Luke shook her head. "I get them both, and you get to
stay alive," she shouted down the hill.

The warrior's hands tightened around the bow.

Sweat trickled down Luke's back. Her index finger crept
around the trigger. "Last chance," she called, again mostly in the
Shoshoni's language. "Give me the horses, and I'll give you our
saddlebags."

The young warrior shook his head. His left arm with the bow
inched higher. Now he was aiming directly at Luke.

Midnight pranced forward, snorting beneath the unfamiliar
rider. The silver-haired Indian urged him to the younger man and laid a hand on
his bow arm. He talked in rapid syllables.

At Phin's glance, Luke shook her head, indicating that she
didn't understand either.

The younger man swung up on Raindrop's back. Snow and mud
flung to all sides as the gelding loped up the hill.

Luke sighted down the barrel. Her finger tightened around
the cold metal of the trigger.

Next to her, Phin cocked the hammer of his rifle.

"Wait," Luke said. "Not yet."

The warrior pulled Raindrop to a halt in front of them. He
thrust out his hand.

Phin flinched. "What does he want?"

"I offered them our saddlebags in exchange for the
horses," Luke said.

"Our saddlebags?" Phin kept aiming at the warrior.

"The saddlebags with our provisions," Luke said.
"Don't you see how thin they are?" They'd probably been hiding out in
the mountains all winter, keeping out of the way of the soldiers from Fort
Boise so they wouldn't be relocated to a reservation. "Give them your
saddlebags." Luke threw hers at the warrior, who had to take one hand off
his bow when he caught it.

Phin stepped next to his gelding and untied the saddlebags.
At the last moment, he stopped. "Wait." He stuck his hand into the
saddlebags.

The warrior squinted, ready to let the arrow fly at Phin
should his hand come up with a weapon.

The skin on the back of Luke's neck itched.
"Phin," she whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

Phin pulled out his hand. Instead of a revolver, he held a
tintype.

Before Phin slipped it into his vest pocket, Luke caught a
glance of her family. A traveling photographer had taken the picture last
summer. She hadn't known Phin kept a copy in his saddlebags. Over the sight of
her rifle, Luke grinned at him. "I always knew you had a crush on my
wife."

"I don't," Phin said, red-faced. "There are
hostile Indians around, so can we discuss this later?"

"Oh, don't worry, he won't tell Nora." Luke nodded
at the warrior.

Phin gritted his teeth and handed over the saddlebags.

The young warrior slid off Raindrop's back. Cautiously
eyeing Phin and Luke, he put the saddlebags over his shoulders and walked away.

Luke pointed her rifle at the older Indian, who was still
riding Midnight. Would he keep his promise and let the gelding go, or would he
try to ride off and hide in the mountains, where they might never find him?

A few tense heartbeats later, the old man dropped to the
ground. Midnight, freed of his rider, loped over and joined the other horses,
not wanting to be left behind.

Luke knotted a rope halter around Midnight's head while Phin
did the same with Raindrop. "Come on," Luke said. "Let's go
before they change their minds and decide the horses are worth the risk of a
fight with two armed white men."

They swung into the saddle, eager to get some distance
between them and the warriors.

Finally, miles away, Luke slowed Dancer and looked at Phin.
"About the tintype. Why do you carry that around?"

Phin sighed. "I swear I'm not in love with your wife,
boss." He fished the tintype out of his vest pocket and rubbed his thumb
across one of the faces.

Nattie?
Luke narrowed her eyes, then told herself she
was imagining things.

"It's just that you are the only family I have,"
Phin said.

"I hope you know we consider you part of the family
too."

"Yeah."

Luke directed Dancer next to Phin's gelding and gave Phin a
pat to the shoulder. "Thanks for not letting the Shoshoni have the
tintype."

"Uh." Phin put the picture back into his pocket.
"You're welcome, boss."

"
M
AMA?"
AMY KNOCKED on the bedroom door and waited, as she'd been taught from early
childhood.

"Come on in," Mama called.

Amy opened the door. "How's the head?"

"I'm fine. Just a slight headache."

Hesitating, Amy stepped closer. "I know we told you to
go lie down and rest..."

Mama sat up in bed and patted the empty space next to her.

Half-forgotten childhood memories resurfaced. With a grin,
Amy sat on Papa's side of the bed, letting her booted feet dangle over the
edge. The pillows still smelled of Papa and the bay rum Mama applied to his
cheeks after shaving. Except for the smell of horses, it was the most soothing
scent Amy knew.

"Any news about Adam?" Mama asked. "Did the
sheriff catch him?"

"No. The sheriff said now that he had his revenge he's
probably halfway to Canada by now. He would be a fool to stick around until
Papa comes home."

"What is it then, sweetheart?" Mama picked a blade
of grass off Amy's chaps.

Self-doubts wrestled with pride and won. "I know I'm
supposed to run the ranch right now, but I need some advice," Amy said.

Mama turned until she was facing Amy. "Running the
ranch doesn't mean you can't ask your old mother for advice."

Amy snorted. "You're not old enough to be put out to
pasture, Mama."

A gentle laugh tickled Amy's ears. As a child, she had often
lain awake at night and listened to Mama's laughter drift upstairs, mingling
with Papa's lower chuckles.

"You think your father makes all the decisions alone?
That he knows everything? Never doubts himself?" Mama shook her head.
"He asked me for advice a few thousand times. The first few years here in
Oregon, your father and I worked side by side every day. I learned how to split
corral rails and drive a hay wagon. Your father was never too proud to ask for
my help or my opinion. We make the big decisions together. That's what marriage
and family is all about — helping each other."

Amy straightened her shoulders. "We need a new barn.
Dotty and Nugget still haven't had their foals, and I'd like to keep Zebra
confined to a stall until her leg heals."

Mama nodded for her to go on.

"So we've got two options, both of them bad." Amy
worried the edge of the covers between her fingers. "If we split the logs
to rebuild the barn ourselves, it'll take us forever. And we can't keep up with
the rest of the work at the ranch, so we might lose the first cut of hay."

They couldn't afford that. The hay fed their own animals
later in the year, and they also made a nice income by selling hay to the
farmers higher up in the Cascades.

"I don't think your father would want us to do
that," Mama said.

"No." But Papa wouldn't be too fond of option
number two either. "We could order the planks and board for the new barn
from the sawmill, but we don't have that kind of money lying around. In fall,
once we've auctioned off a few of the foals, we could afford it, but not
now."

"Socks already had her foal," Mama said. "We
could sell him."

An image of the colt's large white blanket flashed through
Amy's mind. "I don't know, Mama. Papa might want to keep him. He's got
really nice colors, and in a few years, we're gonna need a new stallion. An
untrained foal wouldn't cover the costs for the new barn anyway."

"What about the yearlings?" Mama asked.

Amy had thought about that too. "They're not ready to
be sold either. They'll bring more money with a bit more training." Only
one option remained. "We could sell one or two of the older horses."

Mama's eyes darkened. As much as she insisted she was not a
horse person, she loved each and every one of their horses. "Which
ones?" she asked.

It had to be a gelding. The mares were too valuable for the
ranch's future. "Perceval, maybe, and..." Amy swallowed.
"Cinnamon. He's a good horse, but he's getting old."

Gently, Mama squeezed her hand. "Oh, Amy."

Amy forced back tears. Cinnamon was the first horse she had
ever owned, the first foal she had helped birth, and the first horse she had
trained.
Don't be stupid,
she admonished herself.
Ranching is a
business. Papa told you that from the start. It's a bad idea to get too
attached to a horse you might end up selling.

"When Measles died, your father cried all night even
though that mare had a good, long life," Mama said into the silence.

"Really?"

"I know he pretends to be this tough rancher, but it's
his soft heart that makes him so good with the animals — and that makes him the
person I love. It's all right to be sad, Amy."

A shaky breath escaped Amy's lips. "I am sad. But it
needs to be done. We need that new barn, and we can't wait until next year."
She kissed her mother's cheek and climbed off the bed. "Get some more
rest, all right? I'll handle things."

*  *  *

Rika folded her arms across the corral rail and enjoyed the
warming rays of the rising sun.

The sight of the barn's black remains made her sad, so she
avoided looking in that direction. Instead, she kept her gaze on the horses
wandering around in the corral. Watching the horses soothed her in a way Rika
never imagined. While all the names and horses had been a blur to her in the
beginning, she was now learning to tell them apart.

The horse rolling around in the mud, adding even more
splotches to the spots in her coat, was Nora's mare, Pirate. Snowflake, the
brown mare who rubbed her lower lip over another horse's back, belonged to
Nattie.

Ruby, Amy's fire-red mare, swished her tail at Cinnamon,
causing him to trot away from the patch of grass she wanted for herself.

"Hey there," Rika murmured when Cinnamon stopped
in front of her and stuck his head over the corral rail. After a moment's hesitation,
she slid her palm along his neck and scratched the spot Amy had shown her. He
wiggled his lower lip and moved his head as if he wanted to return the gentle
rubbing.

Rika combed her fingers through his mane. A few
cinnamon-colored strands had been singed by the fire, and she shuddered to
think how close he had come to being hurt or worse.

Cinnamon's soft nicker made her look up.

Amy stood next to her, looking at her with a strange
expression.

"Oh. I didn't hear you."

Still not saying anything, Amy leaned her arms on the top
rail. Together, they watched the foals frolic around the corral under the
watchful eyes of their mothers. "I'll probably have to sell him," Amy
said.

Rika startled. "Who?"

Amy rubbed Cinnamon's smooth head. "Cin."

Dread gripped Rika. She liked the gentle gelding. "This
isn't because he threw me off, is it? That wasn't his fault."

"It's not that. We need the money to build a new
barn."

Their gazes slid to the charred beams.

Rika glanced back at Amy, who refused to look at her. Moisture
shone in her eyes.
It's breaking her heart,
Rika realized,
and she
doesn't want me to see.
Her own heart ached too. "I wish I had some
money."

"I already stole money from you once," Amy said.

"You didn't steal it. You used it to save Mouse."
Amy might be a little brusque sometimes, but her love for the horses was pure
and unselfish like no love Rika had ever known.

They stood in silence.

The rattling of wagons and shouts of "whoa" made
them turn around.

Two wagons, loaded with boards, planks, and joists, rolled
into the ranch yard. Riders on horses crested the hill, and women carrying big
baskets walked toward them.

"What's this?" Rika asked.

Amy frowned. "I have no earthly idea."

Hannah, the friendly woman Rika had met at the dance, was
the first to reach them. She handed Amy her basket. "Here," she said.
"Your favorite pie."

"You're bringing me pie?"

"We're bringing you a new barn." Hannah winked.

Rika's gaze flew to the loaded wagons.
She can't really
mean...?