Hidden Truths (7 page)

Amy had seen it often on the ranches and farms in the
neighborhood. She couldn't stand watching it again.

Without hesitation, she ducked between two corral rails.

"Hey!" A man gripped her arm. "What are you
doing? This is no place for a woman. If you want to watch, do it from outside
the corral."

Amy narrowed her eyes and glowered at the hand on her arm.
"I don't want to watch."

The man scratched his head. "What are you doing,
then?"

"That's Amy Hamilton, Buzz," someone shouted.

The hand withdrew from Amy's arm. "So your father is
Luke Hamilton, the horse rancher?" Buzz asked. "You wanna buy the
horse?"

Amy started to shake her head, about to tell him she had no
money, but then stopped. In her pocket, she felt the two half eagles Phin had
given her for his new bride. After a moment's hesitation, she fished them out
of her pocket and let Buzz glance at the two five-dollar gold pieces.

"The horse is worth at least twice that much,"
Buzz said, but Amy recognized the spark of greed in his eyes.

"If I can ride her, will you give me the mare for the
ten dollars?" she asked. It was crazy. The mouse-colored mare was not a
beautiful horse. With the dorsal stripe on her back and the faint stripes on
her legs, she wasn't fit to be bred to an Appaloosa stallion. Still, Amy
couldn't leave the mare to her fate.

Buzz exchanged glances with his friends, including the broncobuster
who was now getting up, spitting out mud and one of his front teeth. "All
right," he said. "But if you can't ride her, I get the mare and the
ten dollars. Deal?"

Amy's lips twitched. She wanted to spit at the hand he held
out, but she kept herself in check and shook his hand instead. "Deal. Now
give me some room to work. Please," she added after a moment. Out on the
ranch, the boys were used to taking orders from her, mainly because they knew
Papa would back them up. But in town, no man would ever accept her as an equal.

The men climbed over the corral rails, and that was the last
time Amy looked at them. From now on, nothing existed in the world beyond her
and the mare.

The grulla retreated into one corner of the corral. Sweat
and rain darkened her gray coat. Her flanks quivered, and her tail was clamped
between her legs. She watched Amy with flared nostrils and pricked ears. When
Amy strolled over, the mare ran.

Amy followed, walking calmly but without hesitation. She
ignored what the mud in the corral did to her lace-up boots.

Again, the mare fled to the other end of the corral.

Hundreds of times, Amy had watched their horses play the
same game of catch. Measles and her daughters had been masters at this game.
They chased away the other horses, sometimes by threatening a bite or kick, but
mostly by stomping toward the horse. In a herd, the mare that could make the
others move established herself as the leader.

Amy had learned to do the same. Jutting her chin and
squaring her shoulders, she marched toward the mare.

The mare tossed back her head and looked beyond the corral
fence for a place to flee.

Wrong move.

As long as the mare paid attention to anything but her, Amy
kept driving her around the corral. She switched sides and slapped her thighs,
making the startled mare swivel and sprint in the other direction.

After a few rounds around the corral, one of the mare's ears
flicked toward Amy. Another lap and the second ear followed.

Amy relaxed her arms and stayed in the middle of the corral
instead of moving toward the horse, taking off some of the pressure.

The frantic racing around the corral slowed.

"Come on, Joe," a man shouted to his friend.
"Let's go. This is getting boring."

Fools. If the horse isn't terrified and the broncobuster
doesn't lose a few teeth, they aren't interested.

The mare's circles around Amy became smaller and smaller
until she turned her head to look at Amy. She chewed on the unfamiliar bit in
her mouth.

Good.
Chewing signaled that the mare was starting to
relax. In response, Amy softened her own body.

Two more rounds and the mare's head lowered, and she sniffed
the ground while she walked.

It was a sign of her beginning trust in Amy. A horse that
dropped its head couldn't look out for predators.

Finally, the mare stopped in the corner where she had been
when Amy had first seen her.

Her safety spot.
Amy made note of it. She could use
it to work with her.

Amy stepped back and half turned, showing the mare her
shoulder instead of her front. She had seen lead mares do the same when they
allowed another horse into the herd.

The mare took a single step but then stopped and snorted at
Amy.

Curiosity gleamed in the big brown eyes, but the stiffness
in her neck signaled that she wasn't ready to approach Amy.

All right.
Crooning soft words, she walked toward the
mare's shoulder. She moved slowly, but without hesitation. It wouldn't do to
sneak up on the mare like a predator on the hunt.

The mare stood stiff-legged, her ears twitching.

Amy stopped an arm's length away.

With wide nostrils, the mare sucked in her scent.

Calmly, Amy touched the mare's shoulder, just for the length
of a heartbeat. Then she took her hand away. "See?" she whispered.
"Getting touched doesn't hurt."

When the mare didn't move away, Amy scratched the stiff neck
and around the withers, the way she had seen horses groom each other. Her hands
slid over the mare's wet flanks, then down to her belly. She flapped the
stirrups around, letting the mare know that the bouncing thing on her back was
not a mountain lion out to kill her.

After a few minutes of retreating and advancing, the big
body relaxed under her hand. Amy reached for the mud-crusted reins. When the
horse pranced away, she stayed with her.

"Easy, easy, girl." She smoothed her fingers into
the horse's mane and grabbed a strand. When she moved to put one foot in the
stirrup, she remembered that she wasn't wearing pants. Mama had even made her
wear a dress instead of the split skirt she usually wore to town. In a dress,
she could either ride sidesaddle or pull up the skirt and petticoats to
straddle the horse — which would give the audience a good, long look at her
legs.

Amy shivered.
No, thanks.
She didn't want to give
Buzz that kind of buzz. She reached down and, using a tear in the hem of her
skirt, ripped the checkered fabric until she had enough freedom of movement.

She slid her left foot into the stirrup and slowly, without
bouncing, rose up until some of her weight rested on the stirrup.

The mare snorted and sidestepped.

Amy dropped down. "Everything's fine, beautiful. Let's
try that again." She grabbed the reins and a handful of mane and rose up
in the stirrup, this time a little longer. After a few more tries, she could do
it without the mare dancing away. Gently, Amy swung her leg over and slid into
the saddle.

For a few moments, she just sat, keeping her body relaxed.
It had been hard to learn — staying calm and relaxed while she waited to see
whether the horse would explode under her. The first time she had seen Papa do
it, it seemed like magic.

The mare's back felt stiff as a board, but when Amy didn't
pierce her with sharp claws or spurs, the grulla bent her head around to send
Amy a startled glance.

Chuckling, Amy patted her neck. "It's all right,
girl."

Gray ears flicked back to listen to her voice.

Amy gathered the reins in one hand and squeezed with her
legs.

The mare took a startled step, and Amy relaxed her legs,
rewarding the horse for reacting to her cues. One more squeeze with her legs
and the mare walked around the corral. It took a while, but she finally dropped
her head and Amy felt her muscles soften beneath her. Amy tightened her legs
and urged the mare into a jog.

Instantly, the mare's head reared up and she hopped twice
before settling down.

Amy grinned as she rode her twice around the corral. Despite
her mousy look, the mare promised to develop a pretty smooth gait.

With light pressure, she reined in the mare and dropped to
the ground. When she looked up, she realized she had lost her audience. Only
Buzz waited in front of the corral. The other men and women gathered farther
down the street, in front of the stage depot.

Oh, no, the stagecoach!

Amy wasn't in town to gentle a horse. Phin's betrothed was
waiting for her and had probably been waiting for some time. The stage's horses
had already been exchanged for fresh ones, and the stage was pulling out.

She opened the corral gate and led the gray mare toward her
buckboard.

"Hey!" Buzz called. "Aren't you forgetting
something?"

Amy whirled around. "What?"

"My money." Buzz thrust out his hand, palm up.

The two gold coins felt heavy in her hand. It wasn't her
money to spend.
Too late.
She gritted her teeth and handed over the ten
dollars.

T
HE
STAGECOACH swayed to a halt, and Rika braced herself so she wouldn't be thrown
onto the laps of her fellow travelers.

She drew in a breath. This was it, her new home. The stage's
leather curtains were drawn shut to protect them from the steady rain and the
mud flung up by the horses' hooves, so she hadn't yet caught a glimpse of the
town. The two passengers stood, opened the door, and climbed down, but Rika was
almost afraid to step outside and see what she had gotten herself into.

One of the men offered his hand to help Rika out of the
stagecoach.

With one step, Rika sank ankle-deep into the mud on the main
street. She shook out her wrinkled, sooty skirts and stepped onto the
boardwalk, out of the constant drizzle.

A few dozen buildings dotted the rutted main street. Wooden
signs announced the presence of a barbershop, a doctor's office, a blacksmith,
and a saddle maker's shop in the little town. In front of the dry-goods store,
a brown horse stood hitched to a buckboard.

One of Rika's fellow travelers disappeared into the
barbershop; the other climbed onto a buckboard, tipped his hat, and drove off.
Now only Rika stood waiting on the boardwalk.

She scanned the faces of the townspeople milling about Main
Street, going into and coming out of buildings. The man with the handlebar
mustache, her future husband, was nowhere to be seen.

The stage had come in late. Had he gotten tired of waiting
and left? What if he changed his mind and no longer wanted a wife? Rika
clutched her carpetbag to her chest.

Her gaze darted up and down the street, but no wagon came to
pick her up. People hurried across the boardwalk, trying to get out of the
rain. Some threw curious glances her way, but no one talked to her. Shivering,
Rika slung her arms tighter around the carpetbag.

A few young men wandered over from the livery stable. One of
them doffed his battered hat, and when he grinned at her, Rika saw that his
front teeth were missing. "Can we help you, ma'am?"

"No, thank you." Rika drew her bag tighter against
her chest. "I am waiting for Mr. Phineas Sharpe, my betrothed."

"Ah, then you're plum out of luck, ma'am, 'cause Phin
left to drive a few horses up to Fort Boise and won't be back for two
months."

Rika felt the blood rush from her face, and she swayed.
"Two months?"

"Or more." The man shrugged.

Oh, Jo.
Rika was almost glad Jo never had to find out
her beloved Phineas didn't intend to keep his promises.
Riding off to Boise
when he knew his betrothed was coming...

She was stranded in an unfamiliar town, forsaken by a future
husband who had apparently changed his mind.
What now?

"I'm sorry I'm late," someone said behind Rika.

Rika turned.

A young woman stopped midstep.

Rika took in the woman's mud-spattered bodice and the bonnet
hanging off to one side, revealing disheveled fiery red hair. Under a skirt
that was ripped up to mid-thigh, flashes of long drawers startled Rika. Behind
the woman, a sweat-covered gray horse pranced around.

What did she do to the poor horse?

When the wild-looking woman reached for the carpetbag, Rika
flinched away. "Who are you?"

"Oh." A flush colored the stranger's golden skin.
She wiped her hand on her skirt, probably not getting it any cleaner. "I'm
Amy Hamilton, a friend of Phin Sharpe's." She squinted at Rika. "And
who on God's green earth are you?"

*  *  *

The young woman stared at her. Amy stared back.

"I'm Johanna Bruggeman," the stranger said.

Amy put her hands on her hips. "No, you're not. I've
seen the tintype. You're not her."

The fragile beauty of Phin's bride had burned itself into
Amy's memory. The stranger, however, was neither fragile nor beautiful. While
the tintype hadn't provided colors, Amy could tell that Phin's bride had fair
hair. The stranger's brown hair, though, shone with the same coppery gleam as
the mahogany coat of Nattie's mare. Her wide brown eyes reminded Amy of a
spooked horse.

The woman's gaze flitted around, and she hid behind her
carpetbag as if it were a shield. But then she tilted her head and composed her
stern features.

Like a mustang,
Amy thought.
Spooked but unbroken
in spirit.

"Of course I am Johanna Bruggeman." Her slight
accent made the name sound exotic.

Right. She's Dutch.
So was she Phin's bride after
all? "Then how come you don't look like the woman in the tintype?"

A muscle in the stranger's face twitched. "Phineas
showed you the tintype?"

Amy nodded and dug her teeth into her bottom lip. She hoped
she wasn't blushing. Why did she feel like a boy who'd been caught with the
picture of a dance-hall girl? It wasn't as if she had ogled the young woman's
picture. She raised her chin. "You still owe me an explanation."