Peace River (Rockland Ranch Series) (27 page)

             
“You saw that?”  She was a little embarrassed.

             
Ruby waved a hand.  “No, I missed the whole thing.  It was these two saw it.” 

Then Isabel
was really embarrassed.  She shook her head and said, “No, I wasn’t hurt.  Just my pride, and it wasn’t hurt until now because I thought I was the only one except the horse who knew about it.”

             
Hank commented, “No need to be embarrassed.  You’re a right good little rider.  I can’t imagine how you ride with that crazy little saddle anyhow.”  

Slade
only smiled as he passed the creamed peas and said, “Watching you ride with that insane little saddle has become my new favorite spectator sport.  I can’t even imagine being able to handle a spunky horse with only that thing.”

              The next day she talked Slade and Hank into letting her halter-break the foals she had been watching with their mothers in the pasture closest to the house.  She dug through Slade’s tack room for a foal halter and a long soft cotton lead, then went out with her leather gloves and a bucket of grain.  Catching the broodmares two at a time she brought them and their babies into the arena. 

             
Some of the babies would walk right up to her to be caught, but with some of them she had to crouch down nearby until they were curious enough to come close.  Once she caught them around the neck, she slowly talked to them and scratched them before she slipped the halter over their heads and clipped the buckle.  The ones that walked right up to her usually stood still as she did this and the others would raise a ruckus. 

             
In California she’d halter-broken the foals at just a few days old and they were much smaller and easier to control. 

             
After talking to them some more, and brushing them as they stood in the halter, she slipped the soft cotton rope over the foal’s back and around its hind end and back up under its chin.  Then she’d turn and face away and make a clicking sound as she gently pulled its head and rump forward at the same time.  After a few pulls most of the babies would figure out what she wanted and start to walk forward when she clicked, before she even had to pull on the lead.  A couple of them took a little more work than the others.  

             
She worked with each baby going forward, and then taught it to back up by standing in front of it and saying, “back” and pushing on its nose and chest at the same time.  She spent only ten or fifteen minutes at a time with each foal.  After the lead lesson, she would carefully pick up each hoof and handle it for a moment, then gently set it back down and go to the next one, all the while talking to the little horse.

             
Some of them had no problem with this, but some of them didn’t want her anywhere near their feet.  Either way, she just kept quietly trying, talking and scratching and stroking all the while.

             
Before she turned the babies loose she fed them a handful or two of grain and crouched down again with her head close to the foal’s.

****.

             
Slade had been watching from the deck and presently Hank came to stand beside him and said, “She looks like she knows what she’s doin’, I’d say.

             
Slade nodded his head.  “She’s gonna be sore though.  That stout little bay stud colt just turned and nailed her right in the thigh.”

             
“I noticed she had to tie his momma up.  That’s the rankest mare on the place.  Baby acts just like her.”  Hank sounded disgusted, and Slade laughed.

             
“I’d sell her, but those muscley colts of hers sell every time.”

             
Isabel worked with eight mares and foals before coming in to start dinner.  Slade was right.  She limped all the way in.

                                                        ****

              That evening she called her attorney about setting up the trust as Slade had suggested.

             
She’d been reading her Book of Mormon every evening before bed, and Slade answered questions she had.  For not being an actual member yet, he usually knew the answers.

             
Everyday but Sundays she swam in the mornings before she made breakfast.  It had become her ritual of renewal the way her race with the dawn had been.  In the steamy pool room by herself in the quiet, she swam and pondered and prayed and was then ready to face the day. 

             
In the afternoons she’d begun to take long walks around the ranch in the hills.

             
She finished planting the flower beds, and worked with the babies, but within two weeks they were all broke to lead and she was again in need of a project. 

             
Slade spent time everyday in his office, and she worked with him there, off and on, arranging Rossen’s and Sean’s rodeo schedule, but she was still at a loose end for something else to do.  Never much of a TV watcher, she worried she’d drive him crazy just hanging out.  She spent three days fixing worn spots in the pasture fence, and then went into town for paint and learned to faux finish in the upstairs bedrooms where the paint had been just a stark white.  Slade struggled up the stairs to see what she was doing and laughed at the paint in her hair.

             
She brought a flat of raspberries home from the market one day and she and Ruby made freezer jam, something she’d never done before.  It was a great feeling when she loaded all those little red containers into the freezer.

             
Slade was up and around more and more.  He was able to finally take the brace off.  He still couldn’t lift anything heavier than 15 pounds or ride, but he started to work out on the elliptical trainer and swim laps in the afternoon while she lay on the deck with a book.  She seldom read when he was there, but watching him exercise was incredible.

             
Lately, he’d begun to accompany her on her walk.  Sometimes they would even drive to somewhere new to her on the ranch and start walking from there.

             
Hiking through these glorious hills holding his hand had become the highlight of her day.  She had never spent time in the mountains like this.  They seemed worlds away from the hustle and bustle of California and its crowds.  Even life on the rural horse farm seemed hectic compared to this.

             
This man exactly matched these mountains.  He was rugged and tough, sometimes tranquil, always beautiful, always standing strong and immoveable. 

             
Once they barely made it back to the truck before a wild lightning storm crashed down the canyon.  They hurried through the first blown drops of rain, and then sat together in the truck, marveling at the grandeur and later listening to the rain on the roof. 

             
Another time they took a picnic to the river and sat near a series of short falls that made the water white and emerald green.  She was leaning against a tree watching the falls when Slade came to her and kissed her.  It was a good day.             

                                                        ****

             
On Labor Day, during the first week of September, Slade told her in the morning he had a surprise for her. He loaded her in his truck and they set off down the gravel road. It was the first time he had driven off the ranch since his accident, and Isabel was grateful that everyday he was stronger. 

His surprise
was a trip to the local horse track, Wyoming Downs, for the last races of the season.  Compared to what she was used to, it was a miniature operation, but the spirit of the race was the same and she thoroughly enjoyed herself. The first time she heard the bugle again, her heart leapt.

             
She had never seen Quarter Horses race and was amazed that their races were completed from start to finish within eighteen seconds and said to Slade, “Holy smokes! What if you got a bad start out of the gates? You’d never have time to overcome it!  Half of this sport is luck!”             

             
They had a friendly competition to see who could pick the most winners. She beat him consistently until he finally insisted she clue him in to how she could tell which horse would win when she knew nothing about them.

             
“Watch them in the paddock. Some are sleepy looking, some are alert, and some are out of control. Look for the ones that are almost a little wild, but are alert and focused. Then watch them as they load in the gates, same thing, energetic but focused.”             

             
“What do you mean in the paddock?”

             
She pointed, “There, where they saddle them and put the jockey up.”

             
They talked and laughed and ate concession food as they watched the beautiful, sleek horses until she could tell he was starting to tire.  They were on their way out of the park when she had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being watched. She began to walk faster and was looking all around, not even sure what she was looking for.  She knew Slade could tell something was up and they were all but jogging as they approached the truck and heard someone near the park entry call toward them, “Carrie! Carrie, wait! It’s me, Geoffrey.”

             
She grumbled under her breath as he pushed the keyless remote and they hopped in and literally squealed out of the parking lot. As they passed by the caller she ducked against Slade, hiding her face as he drove.

             
For a moment he concentrated on driving to make sure they weren’t followed.  Finally, he questioned, “Who was it?”             

             
Letting her breath out in a rush, she said almost disgustedly, “Stupid Geoffrey.”  She said it as if that was all that needed to be said.

             
He laughed out loud, breaking the tension that had built and asked, “Stupid Geoffrey? That can’t really be his name.”

             
She looked up sheepishly. “Well no, but that’s what Dante’s called him for years now.  It’s rude, I know, but trust me.  It fits.”  She furrowed her brow.  “I wonder why in the world he’s at a place like Wyoming Downs.”

             
“Who exactly is Stupid Geoffrey?”

             
She flashed him a teasing grin. “He’s a member of the stupid hat club.”

             
“Oh, well that explains everything then.”  He chuckled. “Isabel, come on. You’re not saying anything.”

             
“When Dante and I were young, we’d pretty much decided that some of the bigger races were fixed so that whoever’s horse won was the person who wore the dumbest looking hat on race day.”  She laughed at herself.  “For awhile there I was convinced!  A couple of times completely unknown horses won and the owner’s wife had this unbelievable thing on her head!”  She laughed out loud. 

             
Slade shook his head.  “What are you talking about?”

             
She nudged his arm.  “You’ve seen them on TV.  I’m sure you have.  You know, like at the Kentucky Derby.  After the race, all the bigwigs line up for the win picture and to accept the trophy and flowers and stuff.”  She was still giggling.  “And the owner’s wife is wearing some outlandish hat!

             
“When I first had to stand there, I rebelled, but now Dante and I get into the spirit of the thing.  We both wear the stupidest hats we can find.  We’re only honorary members of the club, but we’re working on it.

             
“Stupid Geoffrey’s father owns Thoroughbreds, and he truly is one of the stupid hat club. You should see some of the dumb stuff he wears on TV!”

             
Her face sobered.  “I shouldn’t be laughing.  This really is a problem.  He’s had a thing for me for years.  I’m certain he’s the reason for the TNN spot you and Rossen saw when I first left California.  He’s convinced he and I were meant for each other, and he used to practically live at Wind Dance Farms.  No amount of ‘
Geoffrey, I will never marry you. Leave me alone!’
would deter him.

             
“I can’t imagine why he would be here. Do you suppose he got your license plate number?”  She didn’t wait for his answer.  “This could be bad.  If he did, we’ll have media parked at the gate or some other asinine thing.  A lot of money and no brain is a deadly combination.”

             
He chuckled and put a hand on her knee.  “I’m going to assume that my license plate is at least partially covered with mud.  We haven’t washed the truck since we drove home the other day after the rain.”

             
She worriedly looked all around again.  “I hope you’re right.  At the very least he’ll blab around that he saw me.”

              They were both right.  The license number had been illegible, but Judd knew within just a few days where she’d been spotted with a cowboy getting into a truck with Wyoming plates.