Sunset Ranch (11 page)

Zach shoved the guitar back at Stephen. “I said no!” He almost shouted the last word into Stephen's face.

Silence dropped over the group, broken only by Zach's breathing. Everyone stared at him. I looked down at my hands. I could hear the refrigerator humming in the kitchen. I looked up and met Zach's eyes.
Breathe,
I tried to communicate.
You don't have to play.

He looked away, then grabbed the guitar from Stephen's hands. Before anyone could react, he strummed out “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” “There. Happy?” he asked the group. He dropped the guitar on the sofa and left the room, letting the screen door bang behind him.

***

Everyone else had gone to bed when I slipped downstairs later that night. For two hours I'd lain awake, listening to Dana's regular, even breathing and watching the moonlight move slowly across the wall from the light switch to the closet door. Thinking of Zach's dark face over the guitar, the brooding in his eyes.

I couldn't remain still any longer. I slipped a hoodie over the tank top and striped pajama pants I'd worn to bed and softly padded down the stairs on bare feet. The room was dark with ­shadows.

The common room looked odd, deserted, lit only by the silvery light of the full moon outdoors. The furniture was still pushed around helter-skelter, the way we'd left it earlier, with the sagging couches and the scarred eating benches pushed against the walls. The guitar lay where Zach had dropped it.

The windows beside the couch were wide open, and as I sank down on the cushions, the secret night fragrance of pine and wood smoke came drifting in to circle around my head.

I picked up the guitar, laid it in my lap. The wood was smooth and cool. I plucked a string and a note fell into the silence like a raindrop on a still pond. I played a few more notes, moving up and down the strings, first slowly, then more quickly, only fumbling a little.

A melody flowed into my head and I played it.
Country roads, take me home, to the place, I belong, West Virginia, mountain mama, take me home, country roads.
I hummed the lilting lyrics as I swayed with the music. The song flowed through me and out of me, twisting and twining me in its magic until finally it was done.

I let my hands drop from the guitar in the silence.

A board creaked behind me, and I turned around to see a dark figure stepping from the deep shadows in the corner.

It was Zach.

“What are you doing here?” My words came out hushed.

“Just chilling.” His voice was a little thick.

“Were you spying on me?” I asked. I meant it as a joke, but he didn't respond.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

He paused. “I heard that song,” he said quickly.

“I—I just felt like playing a little,” I stumbled over my words. “I couldn't sleep.” We were standing very close now. I wasn't quite sure how it happened, except I could feel the warmth from his body and smell the faint scent of peppermint on his breath.

We were both silent for so long, I started to feel awkward. “I—I like John Denver,” I offered. I wondered how long we were going to stand here together in the dark.

He didn't respond.

“I'd forgotten that song until you played it at the campfire.” I was babbling.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. I wished I could see his face better. He picked my hand up and raised it to his mouth. My breath caught. His lips were hot and smooth when he pressed them to the back of my hand. An electric shiver went straight to my stomach.

“Well, good night,” he said softly.

I tried to respond, but my voice wouldn't work. I tried again. “Good night,” I managed.

While he watched, I trailed up the stairs. At the top, I stopped and looked down into the common room. He was still standing where I'd left him, his face tilted up to me but his expression hidden in shadows.

Chapter
Twelve

The sunlight streamed through the
little windows of the tack room the next morning, throwing into view the dust motes dancing everywhere. Dana was up on a box, tugging a saddle off a high rack. “Uh—ugh!” she grunted, yanking. The saddle came free and she swayed, trying not to fall backward from its weight.

“So, all these saddles have to get ready for the pack trip?” I asked, looking down at the clipboard resting on a box beside me. Jack had handed me the intimidating list this morning: twelve saddles, twelve bridles, fourteen halters, lead ropes, water buckets, bags of grain, flakes of hay. “How are we going to carry all this stuff?”

Dana hopped off the box, holding the dusty saddle in both arms. “This old behemoth weighs a ton. I don't think anyone's used it in ten years.” She blew some dust off the seat. “We'll take pack horses and the mules. Some of the ranches just drive the gear up in a pickup a day before, but Jack likes the old-fashioned way, and the guests get a big kick out of it too. It's nice, everyone leaving together, leading the pack horses. Very old West.”

She leaned the saddle on its horn against the wall, exposing the battered sheepskin underside, and hopped up on the box to tug another one down. “You're quiet this morning,” she commented.

I looked at the bridle I was cleaning. I'd taken it to pieces, and now I was rhythmically soaping the damp old leather, watching each piece turn darker, dipping my little sponge in the basin of cloudy water, feeling the oily saddle soap on my fingers. “Yeah, well. I had another moment with Zach last night.”

Dana's eyes lit up as she eased another saddle to the ground. “Oh yeah? You guys seem to be having a lot of moments recently.”

“Yeah, I know.” Briefly, I told her about Zach watching me in the common room and our confusing conversation afterward.

Dana listened, wrinkling her forehead. “So, are you into him? I thought you and Stephen were a thing.” She draped the dusty saddle over a rack and with difficulty slid the buckles down from the stirrups.

“We never made that official.” I swallowed, picturing Zach in the dark and the touch of his warm lips on the back of my hand. Dana wasn't looking at me, thank goodness. She was inspecting the stirrup she'd taken off the leathers.

“I think mice have been eating this,” she remarked. “Does Stephen know you two aren't official? We don't want any drama with the trip so close.”

No drama. That's right. I bent my head to my soaping again.

***

“Are you excited for the trip?” I crooned to Magic later that day. “And you guys too,” I added as the paint and the black crowded the bars. I snapped pieces off the carrot in my pocket and palmed a chunk each between their soft, whiskery lips. “It's going to be so much fun.”

I unlatched the gate and stepped inside Magic's stall with the grooming box. He looked around at me and blew his breath through his nostrils. “There now,” I crooned meaninglessly as I began grooming his tawny fur. The bare stripes were almost gone now, and he no longer jerked when I touched his head. In fact, he would let strangers pet him now, and last week when I accidently got his ear a little caught in his bridle, he didn't even shy away when I fixed it. It was just the water problem I was concerned about. The trial run across the creek had gone badly, in my opinion, though Stephen didn't seem to feel that way. Or maybe he wanted it to have gone better, so he was just hoping it would. I bent over and concentrated on scraping some mud from Magic's belly.

“That horse coming along there?” A gruff voice came from outside the aisle. I jerked upright.

Rick was standing outside the stall, holding a clipboard. His mustache looked especially bristly and aggressive today. Try as I might, I couldn't see any of Stephen in him.

“Yes, we've been working with him every day,” I said. I always felt so intimidated, talking to Rick. “Stephen, especially.”

He cast a cold eye up and down Magic. I encircled the horse's neck protectively, envisioning him on the auction block. “He better be. I've got—” He looked down at his clipboard. “I've got Linda Coleman riding him.”

“Okay.” What else could I say? Rick gave me a short nod and continued down the row of stalls. Dana had said there were several river crossings. I gulped and pushed that thought away. Magic would do fine. He just had to.

***

Everyone on the ranch gathered at sunrise the next morning. It was a thrilling sight in the fresh air, all of us spread out in front of the bunkhouse on the waving grass still thick with dew. Everyone was mounted—myself on Al, Stephen on Billy, Dana on her palomino that had come all the way from Idaho with her. Zach was riding Snickers, a big chestnut. There were four pack mules loaded with cookstoves, tents, sleeping bags, bags and boxes of food, ponchos, a first aid kit, even a flare gun in case we got lost or stuck in a mudslide.

The guests were all there too—the Taylor parents, each on their own horse. The little girls were each being ponied by a wrangler. And Mrs. Coleman on Magic. I had to keep my eyes from drifting constantly over to him. He looked beautiful in the dawn light, his fine head up, his eyes looking around calmly yet eagerly. But Stephen's eyes kept darting from Magic to his brother and back again. I could sense his tension from twenty feet away.

Jack sat before us on his big white gelding. “Friends and guests,” he said, “we are about to embark on what will be the grandest adventure of your summer. For the next two days we will work together as a team. You will see some of the greatest scenery of your life. And, God willing, have some of the greatest adventures. And now . . . move out!” He waved his hat in the air and I could practically hear the thrilling fiddle strains as we all turned toward the rising sun and, with clopping hooves, little creaks of leather, and the jingle of gear, moved out of the ranch.

We spread out in an easy line as we headed off ranch property and began to climb a narrow, twisting path into the base of the mountain foothills. My fears about Magic began to diminish as we climbed the path. The sun crept steadily up in the sky, which turned from pearly pale blue-purple to a deeper, higher blue. I could feel my arms burning browner.

The horses' hooves crunched the stony dirt, kicking up dust in little puffs. Mrs. Coleman was in front of me on Magic, with Rick in front of them. Stephen rode just behind me, and Zach brought up the rear, as he'd been instructed. The Taylor girls were behaving for once, sitting slumped in their saddles, half-asleep in the warm morning sun. I was feeling a little drowsy myself, rocked by Al's rhythmic clopping and swaying, and the steady creaking of leather and jingling of metal that formed a soothing chorus around me.

“Don't fall asleep!” Zach's voice came from behind me, jerking me awake.

“You're not supposed to jump the line, rebel.” I twisted around in my saddle. He rode straight and easy on his horse, his one hand easily controlling the reins, his other resting on his thigh.

“Couldn't stay back there. Everyone was going too slow.”

I lowered my voice. “I'm nervous about Magic.”

He squeezed his horse and rode up beside me. Our legs bumped. “He's totally quiet now. Mrs. Coleman's doing good controlling him.” He gazed up the line at Magic's tawny haunches, then looked back at me. “I think he'll be fine at the water. Really.”

“Really?” I settled back in the saddle, somewhat reassured.

On and on we rode, as the mountains grew closer and the terrain more rocky. At midmorning we stopped and dismounted, unbridling the horses and tying them to nearby trees. I breathed a sigh of relief—half a morning gone and no incidents from Magic.

The guests were standing around expectantly. I watched Jack build a quick, expert fire with pinyon branches and pine needles as tinder. He nodded at one of the pack mules. “Chloe, can you make some coffee?”

I hurried over to the little mule and unbuckled one of the leather bags strapped to his side. I opened it and extracted a bag of ground coffee and a metal percolator like my grandmother used to have.

The guests distributed themselves on various rocks. The ­little girls immediately started some kind of complicated game ­involving several sticks, handfuls of dry aspen leaves, and ­Miriam's sun hat. I crouched on my heels near the sweet smoky fire and hurriedly scooped grounds into the pot.

Stephen looked over my shoulder. “How much do I put in?” I whispered.

“One scoop,” he replied.

“Wrong, brother.” Zach had appeared beside us. “Two.”

Stephen stiffened immediately. “How the hell do you know?” he replied belligerently.

Zach smiled that supremely confident smile of his. “My grandma had the same coffeepot,” he said.

“So?” Stephen scowled at Zach. I felt myself tense up. Rick was eyeing us, waiting for his coffee, no doubt.

“Um, okay, I'll just put in a scoop and a half, okay?” I said in what I hoped was a calm voice.

They subsided, both looking a little abashed, and sat back on their heels. I shoveled the coffee into the pot, and while it bubbled drew Stephen to one side, next to Magic. “Look, you can't let him get under your skin like that,” I said to him softly.

He looked at the ground. “I know, but he drives me crazy. I'm just all tense because of my brother. He's been watching these horses. If anything goes wrong, it's on my head.”

“What can go wrong?” I asked. “They're doing great.” But I felt like I was lying. Magic's fur was warm under my hand, and I leaned against his neck so I wouldn't have to look at Stephen. Rick had said we'd have to cross water this afternoon.

Everyone drank their coffee and mounted up. We continued on the mountain path for a while, then reached a cliff. Rick stopped a safe distance away. He faced us, sweating under the band of his hat.

“Okay,” he said. “We're going to go down in the canyon. The path is steep and pretty twisty, so everyone keep a tight hold on your reins and sit back in the saddle.”

A little ripple of excitement ran through the line of riders. I felt sick, though. I could see to the bottom of the canyon, as could everyone else. A river coursed through it like a silver line.

Slowly the line of horses started down the steep canyon path. The earth was reddish here, like the Garden of the Gods, and Al's hooves slid in the loose dirt and rocks. I rode carefully, keeping my heels a little forward and down and some slight tension on the reins to help Al balance. In front of me, Magic's haunches swayed back and forth. Mrs. Coleman was doing a decent job riding, I thought. She was straight instead of hunched over the reins, guiding him carefully past the bigger stones in the path. For a long time we swayed down the path without stumbles, until finally it widened out.

We were at the bottom of the small canyon, with the walls standing straight and rocky above us, greenery sprouting from various crevices. Down on the bottom, the dirt was a mix of reddish sand and gravel, with larger boulders lying around, clearly having fallen from the rock walls. We were standing in a wide, flat place, and in front of us a river ran through the canyon, almost without banks. Immediately I could see the change in Magic.

His head was high as he stared at the rushing, burbling water. His ears pricked forward and his nostrils flared. His eyes were wide with apprehension. My own heart beat fast. I looked around. Stephen and Zach were both watching the horse too. For an instant, all of our eyes met.

This is a mistake,
I tried to communicate telepathically to them.
He's not ready.
The other horses were already beginning to cross. Rick was at the back, Jack at the front.
Stop, stop!
my mind screamed. But cheerfully, cluelessly, the others were already ­crossing.

Suddenly, Zach rode up beside me. “He shouldn't cross that river. We have to stop this.”

“But how can we?” I hissed. “What would we do? If he can't cross the river, he can't go with the others. Mrs. Coleman won't have a horse to ride—what's she going to do? She'd have to go back, and Rick would have to go with her. He'd be so mad.”

Zach's eyes bored into mine. “You and I both know he's not ready.” He held my gaze.

“I know,” I agreed. “He's not. But Stephen wants him to be.” Magic was next in line to cross the river.

“Forget him—that horse should not go near water.” Zach wheeled around and quickly trotted back toward Rick.

Magic was balking at the edge. But Mrs. Coleman kept urging him forward, and he kept raising his nose higher and higher to avoid the bit. She didn't realize she was tightening the reins more and more, yet still pressing him forward, unable to understand why he didn't cross.

He was getting more and more agitated. I could see his whole hide quivering. Finally, in exasperation, she gave him a firm kick—as we'd taught her in lessons. He exploded into the air with a massive buck. Everyone gasped. Mrs. Coleman hung on, though she was being thrown about like a rag doll until, with another buck, he pitched her from his back. I gasped as I watched her body make a parabola in the air. She landed with a splash in the river.