Storm Chaser (6 page)

“Okay.” Jessica pulled on a pair of heavy gloves and grabbed the wheelbarrow. While her father operated the tractor, moving the larger pieces of burned wood to the holes, she and her mom spent the entire afternoon hauling wheelbarrow loads of charred rubble. Shep ran back and forth between them all, inspecting each load that was dumped. The sickening smell of burned wood and smoldering hay filled Jessica's nostrils, making her want to gag. She found a kerchief and tied it over her nose, but it didn't help much.

By sundown, everyone was exhausted. Nobody felt like cooking over a hot stove, so their late-night dinner consisted of sandwiches and potato chips. Jessica was so worn out and sick to her stomach, she could only manage half a sandwich before she excused herself to go give Rusty his medicine and turn in for the night.

Even getting ready for bed was difficult. Her arms ached so badly from pushing the heavy wheelbarrow that she could hardly lift them. Just brushing her teeth and putting on her pajamas was a real pain.

She said good night to her parents, then climbed into her soft bed. She lay awake for a while, thinking and listening to the sounds outside her window. A lone cricket chirped in the night, and she could hear one of the horses nicker softly in the front pen. A pack of coyotes howled in the distance, calling to each other from the mountain tops.

Jessica thought of Duncan and the Lightfoot boys sleeping under the stars. She wished she could have joined them. Rounding up the new horses had to be a gazillion times more fun than cleaning up after the fire.

Her eyes grew heavy and she soon drifted into a deep sleep, but some time after midnight, her growling stomach woke her, reminding her she hadn't eaten much during the day.

Jessica put her feet over the side of the bed, cringing at the soreness of her muscles. She gingerly put on her slippers and crept down the stairs to raid the refrigerator. When she reached the bottom of the steps, she stopped short, seeing a light in the kitchen. Nobody in the house stayed up this late. Maybe her parents had forgotten to turn off the light before they went to bed.

She tiptoed across the living room floor, then halted in the shadows when she spied her father sitting at the kitchen table. His shoulders were slumped, and he was rubbing his forehead as if it hurt. He was so deep in thought he hadn't heard her come down the stairs, and she felt uncomfortable about catching him in another unguarded moment. In the soft light of the kitchen, Jessica was shocked to see that the man who had always seemed so strong and capable now looked so old and tired. Her heart ached for him.

She turned to leave, but not before she caught a glimpse of what her father was studying on the table. There before him, lined up in neat order, were the business cards the travel agents had left each time they came to call.

Jessica drew back. Was her father really considering taking them up on their offers? He'd been dead set against turning Wild Hawk Ranch into a guest ranch for city folk. Confused, she turned and crept back up the stairs, seeking the comfort of her bed.

She crawled under the covers and lay staring into the darkness of her room. The whole family knew how her father felt about renting their home out to strangers. If he would even consider such a thing, they had to be in even more trouble than she'd thought.

SIX

Jessica saw the dust cloud rising over the mountain before the riders and the herd came into view. She turned and shouted to her parents. “They're coming!” She'd spent the last hour preparing the pen, making sure the water tanks were topped off and the mangers were full of the sweet-smelling grass hay that several of the local ranches had donated to help out. The horses would be tired and thirsty after the long trek back to the ranch. She wanted them to be glad they'd returned. They needed to see Wild Hawk Ranch as their home.

Rusty pricked his ears and neighed a welcome to the returning horses as they picked their way down the mountain. Jessica was happy to see him perk up. That meant he had to be feeling better. She joined the old gelding in his corral and watched the approaching horses and riders. Squinting into the morning sun, she scouted for the black-and-white coat pattern of her favorite filly.

“Do you see her, ol' boy?” Jessie scratched him behind the ears. Rusty nickered as if in reply, but Jessica knew he was just responding to the approaching herd. She searched the sea of bays and chestnuts, spotting the one gray and the blue roan in their midst, but not the paint. Where was the filly?

She waited until the herd trotted into their pen, then went to join the boys. “Duncan, where's the paint filly?” She tried to keep the concern out of her voice, but she could tell by her brother's smile that he saw right through her. Later, when he decided it was time to talk, he'd probably lecture her about not falling in love with a horse they were going to sell.

He nodded his head toward the mountain. She shaded her eyes from the sun and saw the lone horse hobbling down the hillside trail. “What happened?” she cried in alarm.

Wyatt rode up beside her and dismounted. He towered over Jessie by six inches. When he smiled down at her, it made her stomach do a funny little flip. She cleared her throat nervously and took a step backwards, waiting for him to speak.

“Your little filly hurt her foot about five miles back,” he said as he led his horse to the water trough. “She couldn't keep up with the herd, but we made sure she stayed within sight. You might want to walk Rusty out there and see if she'll follow him into the corral. That'd be a big help. She'll need to be kept apart from the others for a few days.”

Her little filly?
Was she that easy to read? Jessica glanced around for her father. She didn't want him to have any idea how much she liked the paint horse. All she'd get was a lecture. She already expected one from Duncan. Her chances of owning the beautiful horse had gone up in smoke the moment the lightning struck.

Jessica grabbed Rusty's halter from the rail of his corral and slipped it over his head. She had to stand on her toes to buckle it because the gelding held his head high, keeping his eye on the lone horse making its way down the trail. “Come on, pal.” She tugged on the lead rope and led him through the gate. Let's give your new friend an escort back to the ranch.”

Rusty walked at her side, his head bobbing as he eagerly drew closer to the black-and-white filly. Jessica kept the pace slow. Doctor Altom had told her to take him for slow, short walks, but cautioned her not to stress his damaged lungs. Already, she could hear the horse's breathing grow heavy and they hadn't even left the stable yard.

They walked another hundred yards and Jessica stopped near the sagebrush line. “We'll stop right here and wait for her,” she said. Rusty dropped his head and cropped a small tuft of desert grass at their feet. “Eat now, while it's still green,” she told him as she let Rusty pull her along to the next bunch of greenery. “As hot as it's getting, it won't be long before it'll all be dried up and yellow.”

It always amazed her that the high desert could be so green at the start of summer, and yet within six to eight weeks would take on the muted gold and tan colors of a drought-ridden state. It wouldn't be long before her father would take their cattle to the high mountain pastures nearby. Without that rich mountain grass, they'd have a tough time putting weight on the calves before they sent them to market.

Jessica watched the filly pick her way gingerly down the path, remembering the mad dash the paint had made into the lightning-filled hills the night the barn burned just a few days ago. “I think I'll call you Storm Chaser,” she said when the horse came within earshot. “Chase for short.”

At the sound of her voice, Storm Chaser pricked her ears and stared at her with intelligent eyes. Jessica's heart melted. Chase was the most beautiful horse they'd ever had on this ranch. She reached over to rub Rusty's neck. Not that she didn't love Rusty with all her heart. All horses had their own beauty, but the gelding didn't have the conformation of a purebred, and his coat was plain.

Chase's short, well-shaped head and her broad chest and hindquarters showed her quarter horse ancestry. A paint horse could only be registered with the American Paint Horse Registry if it had quarter horse or Thoroughbred lineage. If there were any other breed in the line, it had to go to the Pinto Registry.

The filly stopped twenty feet from where they stood. Rusty nickered a warm welcome and Chase returned the gesture. Jessica tugged on the gelding's halter. “Let's show her the way home, old man.”

Her father was the only one left in the stable yard when they returned. He watched their approach, and Jessica knew he was assessing the filly's limp, trying to determine how badly she'd injured it.

“Let her follow Rusty into his pen,” her father said.

Jessica smiled. It made sense that the two horses needing care would be put in the same pen—and they just happened to be her two favorite horses on the ranch. Chase seemed at ease with Rusty, and it would certainly make it easier for Jessica to get acquainted with the pretty paint.

Her dad opened the gate to the corral and waited for them to enter. “She seems to like the old guy, and he's definitely taken a shine to her,” he said. “Rusty's calm influence will help in getting this filly gentled, and maybe the company will give Rusty something to live for.”

Jessica wanted to shout with joy. Now would be the perfect time to ask her father again about training. She removed the halter from Rusty's head and turned back to face her father. “Um, Dad, since Storm Chaser is going to be sharing a pen with Rusty, would it be okay if I started working with her?”

Jessica cringed inside as soon as the paint's new name escaped her lips. She drew a deep breath, watching the way her father's eyes narrowed. He'd warned her a million times not to name the new horses or get too attached to them. Jessica crossed her fingers, praying he'd ignore her slip-up and say yes to the training.

“Jess, I know you mean well, honey…”

He might as well have put his thoughts in neon lights over his head. She knew what was coming next.

“I still think you're a little too young to start breaking horses,” her father continued.

“But Duncan was younger than I am right now when he started.” She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned.

Her father removed his hat and slapped it across his leg. “But Duncan was bigger and stronger. He's, well, a…”

“A boy?” Jessie finished the words for her father. It cut her to the quick to know he thought that way. She could train a horse just as well as any stupid boy if her father would only give her a chance. “You're not being fair,” she said. Her voice came out ragged as she fought against her anger.

“That's not what I meant, Jessica Lynn. You have to be good and strong to be able to handle these unbroke animals.” He plopped the hat back on his head, snugging it down like he expected a storm.

Jessica knew the argument was over. Her father only used her middle name when he was at the end of his patience.

“You can try to get the halter on that filly, and I'll be grateful if you do,” he said, in a voice that brooked no argument. “But the breaking will be left to Duncan. Maybe we'll get you started next season when you've got a little more meat on your bones, Jess.”

Jessica watched her father walk away. There was a sadness in his face when he turned and left. She knew it pained him to say no, but he'd done it just the same.

She turned back to the horse pen, the halter still in her hand. “I don't supposed you'd let me walk up and put this on you?” she said to Storm Chaser. The paint cocked her ears at the sound of Jessica's voice, but she maneuvered to stand behind Rusty, keeping a safe distance from Jessica. She moved as if her foot pained her terribly. Jess knew they needed to get Chase gentled quickly so they could treat her hoof.

She dug into her pocket, pulling out the carrot she'd stashed there before coming down to prepare the pen. She snapped it in half, and Rusty immediately recognized the sound. He stepped forward boldly, leaving the paint to fend for herself while he munched happily on the treat.

“You could have one too, you know.” She bit off a smaller piece and offered it to Chase in the flat of her hand.

The little horse sniffed the air, her nostrils widening as she tried to take in the scent. Jessica moved forward one step, holding her breath and praying that she could get close enough for the filly to take the tidbit out of her hand. Chase stood still through one more footstep, then retreated to a safe distance, eyeing her warily.

Jessica's shoulders slumped. Maybe her father was right. Maybe she needed to wait one more year before she took up training horses. How could she train Chase when she couldn't even get a halter on her?

“You were handled by people once,” she told Chase. “Don't you remember? You were brought into the Lightfoots' barn at five months old with the rest of the colts and fillies and handled for the rest of the winter. Then they turned all of you out to the desert for a couple of years to play and grow.” She sighed. “I guess you forgot everything about people when you were out in the wild. I've got to help you remember what it was like when you trusted humans. You're three years old now. It's time for you to learn to carry a rider.”

She grabbed the stiff-bristled brush from the bucket outside the corral and ran it over Rusty's coat, whisking the dirt and loose hairs away with a flick of her wrist. Chase remained on the other side of the gelding. If Jessica stood on her toes and stretched across Rusty's back, she could reach the filly's shoulder with the brush.

At first, Storm Chaser startled at the touch of the grooming tool, but after a few more strokes, she stood still, her lips twitching in appreciation. The paint probably thought it was Rusty giving her a scratch. Jessica leaned a little further over Rusty's back, trying to reach more of Chase, but when the filly saw her arm move, she stepped nervously to the rail and stayed out of reach.