Walking in the Rain (Book 4): Dark Sky Thunder (13 page)

Once we dumped the wheelbarrow and hosed out the smelly contents, I sprang my first surprise on Amy.

“So,” I asked casually, “you think you are up for a ride today?”

“Really? Do you think we can?” Amy’s response told me everything I needed to know. Her beautiful blue eyes seemed to shine with the idea.

“Well, since Dad asked me to ride the fence line this morning, I figure it will be okay. We aren’t supposed to go off without a buddy. Will you be my buddy?”

That got the laugh I was looking for, so we went into the tack room and pulled saddles, bridles, and the rest of our riding gear. Amy seemed to know what she was doing, so I left her to select what she wanted from the cedar-lined room. I exited the horse barn and headed out to the paddock, a small bucket of COB horse feed to attract my lovelies.

Archer was a registered American Quarter Horse, a Palomino stallion. He was a good horse, and a good friend. Always willing to listen when I had a problem, anyway. Though still a little put out with me for my extended absence, Archer came quickly when I shook the bucket.
So my last few days spent buttering him up had worked,
I thought. A few of the other horses came over and followed me back to the barn door, more curious than hungry.

Amy met me at the open door, her face still flushed with excitement. “Who are you riding?’ she asked.

“Like I have a choice,” I replied with a chuckle. “Archer is a good horse, but he is just a little bit jealous sometimes. I’ll have to ride him or the big baby will have a stroke or something.”

To punctuate this statement, Archer ambled closer and stuck out his head, his long-nosed face inches from mine. He huffed out a heavy breath, smelling of sweet grass and corn. Message received, I thought as I reached up and began rubbing his ears. Some horses don’t care for a person taking that liberty, but not Archer. He demanded the attention, and I was happy to provide it.

“And what about me?” Amy asked, already surveying the small herd. These were the “home horses,” which meant they were better mannered and user friendly. They weren’t separated out here by breed because, other than Archer, no other stallions were present.

No matter how good-natured he was, Archer would not normally be allowed to mingle with this group since this was where Dad also kept the pregnant mares and the still nursing colts and fillies. I let him out of his little enclosure and released him in the bigger paddock this morning because I knew he would be going with me and moreover I knew, correctly, that he would be on good behavior. He could sense whenever a ride was coming.

“Who do you like? Don’t pick one of the pregnant girls, though. No riding for them until well after they foal. Dad’s rules. Take a few minutes and think about who you want to ride, but don’t go into the fenced area without me. I know you’ve been feeding them for the last few days, but that doesn’t mean they know you well enough yet.”

“Where are you going?” Amy asked, torn between paying attention to me and eyeing the curious, friendly horses pressed up against the wooden railing. They were a mixed bag of Quarter horses, Morgans, and several crosses as well as the two Percheron mares that seemed to tower benignly over their smaller equine sisters.

“Just want to grab my patrol gear,” I replied, breaking into a run as I turned the corner and headed for the house. Like Amy, I had my holstered pistol and slung rifle, but lacked the body armor and magazine carriers we would need away from the house. An oversight on my part, but I blamed the excitement of the moment.

Less than five minutes later and I was racing back, now burdened with nearly forty pounds of stuff. My gut ached, like it did whenever I exerted myself, but I’d learned to ignore the dull pain. Sharp razors bad, dull knife okay. Or so Beth warned me. I still hadn’t had a chance to go into Center to visit the doctor there, but I trusted Beth Elkins’s medical advice as much as any M.D.

“So you figure out who you want to ride?” I asked with a gasp, bending slightly as the air whistled in my lungs. I realized, not for the first time, that I was seriously out of shape.

“Uh, I think so. You okay?” Amy’s words leaked with concern, but I gave her a rueful grin in response.

“Yes. Just winded is all. So who is the lucky pony?”

Amy took me at my word and turned, pointing.

It was Daisy. A long legged bay mare with a blaze on her forehead. A four-year-old Quarter horse that Dad was eager to breed now that her training was completed. This was a good choice and seemed to indicate Amy had more than a passing skill at judging horseflesh.

“An excellent pick, my love. Amy, meet Daisy. Daisy, this is Amy. She will be your new best friend,” I proclaimed.

Amy nuzzled close to me, wrapping herself around my arm and whispering in my ear, “Maybe my second best friend.”

I shivered at her proximity and gave her a delicate kiss along her jawline. Amy proved perfectly willing to share kisses with me away from the prying eyes of my family and our friends.

“All right, sweetheart, let’s get this horses saddled and get to our patrol,” I finally announced, feeling my nerves jump in giddy anticipation. Later, I told myself.

Amy proved to be good at her word and saddled Daisy without any need for help, talking softly to the big mare as she worked. Mainly nonsense, cooing words, but also making sure to express her admiration for the mare’s sleek lines and compliant nature.

Archer, on the other hand, wanted to play and was frisky and nippy with me as I slung his saddle and attached his bridle. I took his high spirits in stride but gave him a smack to the head when he tried to get a bite on my arm. He was just testing me, I knew, and once I delivered a little correction, he went back to simply playing.

“Does he do that all the time?” Amy asked, already seated on Daisy as I finished cinching the saddle and avoided Archer’s dancing legs. Laughing, I gave Archer a gentle slap to the shoulder and leaned into the stallion’s side with a grunt.

“Nope,” I replied as I slipped into the stirrup and lifted into my seat. “He’s just happy to see me. He doesn’t like it when I’m gone for so long. I think I mentioned that before. This is his way of letting me know he’s not fully forgiven me.”

“Are you sure he’s a boy?” Amy replied with a bubbly laugh. “Sounds like a jealous girlfriend to me.”

“No, Archer is all boy. He’s just sensitive. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” Amy replied with a noncommittal sigh. “Well, Luke, lead on.”

We rode slowly, despite Archer’s frequent efforts to break into a gallop, and paralleled the fence line in a clockwise fashion. I pointed out where the fence was reinforced and explained softly why and where the sensors were scattered around the ground.

“So how did you manage to get to Mr. Williams’s house so fast, Luke? I know you and your uncle took off across the field, but I didn’t see how you got through. Climb the fence? I don’t see how you did it, anyway.”

I shook my head and said I would explain it later. Even with a clear view past the fence line, I didn’t want to reveal the gaps in our defenses out here in the open. When we got home, I would explain how the fence was left a few inches high at the point where the creek passed through on both sides of the property.

If you lie down on the bank of the creek on the south side and wriggled on your belly, you could just clear the bottom of the reinforced metal barrier. Only in one spot, and the small gap was heavily planted with ground motion sensors. So yes, coyotes, rabbits and other small game could pass back and forth, but they always set off the trips. And the closed-circuit television cameras gave us day and night coverage as well. Billy and I slid under the metal in that particular spot and hightailed it to an ATV Dad had stashed in the woods. Dad was always big on planning ahead, and in this case, it likely saved Gaddis Williams’s life.

We took our time riding the fence line and chatting about inconsequential things. The weather, the cattle herd, and which horses were expecting. Dad had several high-dollar quarter horses still awaiting delivery, and Amy listened while I bemoaned the lack of a veterinarian on site.

“Well, go get you one,” Amy suggested in a perfectly reasonable tone.

“What do you mean?” I asked, realizing I sounded a little dumb even as I said it. Okay, more than a little dumb. I knew what she meant.

“If you know where they live, then go to their house and see if they are still alive. If they are, I imagine they are getting hungry. Offer them a place to live and food and see what they say. I’ll bet you can recruit a few more useful folks that way.”

“Duh. Dad and I discussed doing that very thing. Back in the before, you know? But I don’t know if he’s had the chance, or the manpower, to make any inquiries since this all started.” I thought on that a little more and snapped my fingers.

“I’ll bet Dr. Kamarsky is still hanging in there. She’s a large-animal vet and supposed to be really good. She worked the county fair last year, and I thought she really knew her stuff.”

“Why weren’t you already using her then?” Amy asked.

“Because she lives on the other side of Shelby County is why. Too far to get her in an emergency. We used Doc Higgins instead.”

“And your father already checked on him?”

“Don’t need to, unfortunately. He was a Type One diabetic. Dad heard on the radio from one of the neighbors that he passed last month. Even though he probably stocked up, his insulin supply finally ran out,” I reported sadly.

“Well, if that other vet is still alive, then I suggest you all go see about recruiting her. She might even be able to help Doc Beth with some things. Like suturing and such.”

I laughed again at Amy’s comment. Amy shared my opinion that, while Miss Beth wasn’t a doctor, she was probably as skilled at most doctoring things as any med school graduate. She’d spent time examining all of our wounds, and she was happy to report that Amy’s scar on her forehead was likely to fade, mostly, over time. Summer and I, on the other hand, would bear our marks for all time.

As for me, I didn’t care about scars. I thought the burn on my arm was probably going to leave a streak there, and the incision in my abdomen wasn’t going anywhere. Summer, too, seemed at ease with the idea, but then all she had to show would be a pair of dimples, one on each side of her upper calf. That is, if she continued to heal without infection.

As we made our way around the backside of the acreage, I thought I saw movement in the woods and dropped my hand to my rifle even as I eased Archer in front of the bay mare. After a moment, I saw one of the squatters, newcomers, I corrected myself, emerge from the tree line, and approach the fence. He was armed with a shotgun but had the weapon slung over one shoulder.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“You’re Lucas, right?” the man asked, and I could only hear curiosity, not aggression, in his voice.

“Yes, sir. That’s me. This here’s Amy. We’re just riding the fence line and looking for breaks. What can I do for you?”

“Name’s Wes. I just wanted to thank you for the vitamins. My little girl has been doing poorly and we figured it was some kind of deficiency. Just can’t get a completely balanced diet off what we can scrounge up.”

Wes was a medium-sized gentleman in his early thirties with a slightly hatchet-faced appearance and long blondish sideburns. He seemed genuine in his thanks, and I decided to see if I could help a little more.

“Wes, how are you guys at collecting wild edibles?”

“Uh, pretty good. Carly is our main greens gatherer, but I don’t know if she knows all there is to know. She’s only been bringing a few different varieties, but plenty of what she does bring.”

“Fair enough. I know we have amaranth, lamb’s quarter, curly dock, and a whole bunch of other stuff in those woods. Plus the blackberries, mayhaws, pawpaws, stuff like that.”

I saw Wes duck his head, as if the information was too much to process.

“What about mushrooms?” he asked.

“Forget about mushrooms. Some are edible, some will kill you quicker than a snakebite. And telling the difference is sometimes a matter of opinion. No, I’ll tell you what. Day after tomorrow, I’ll try to set up a visit. I know most of them, and I can come meet with some of your folks that morning. Let Paul know I’ll be by just after full light. We want to be able to see what we are pulling. How’s that sound?”

“That sounds great! I know your father talked with Paul, and they’ve got some kind of labor exchange thing going. This is going to work out great!”

After we said our goodbyes to Wes, I noticed Amy was humming a little tune as we rode along parallel to the fence once again. She was also scrutinizing the strands of barbed wire with laser-like intensity. I didn’t tell her we weren’t looking for breaks in the wire; just overhanging limbs that might pose a problem down the road. This wasn’t really a chore as much as a diversion for the two of us for today, but of course I couldn’t tell her that either.

We talked the whole time, a freewheeling question-and-answer session that covered all kinds of topics. Favorite music, foods, restaurants, that sort of thing. Well, Amy had never been able to visit very many different types of ethnic restaurants, growing up where she did, and she was amazed by all the different restaurants we used to sample back when Dad was stationed at Pendleton.

I only mentioned the restaurants in passing, but the girl just started peppering me with questions. How hot is Thai food? What is Ethiopian cuisine? Do Koreans really eat cats and dogs? I answered as best I could, and Amy seemed satisfied with my responses. She shyly admitted that the only time she’d ever gotten a chance to eat Chinese food was one time when her volleyball team stopped at a buffet after a tournament. I assured her that Chinese buffets really weren’t the real thing, but still pretty close. No need to break her little heart, I figured.

After we bumped into Wes, I spent a little time explaining all of the forage foods to be found in the woods around here. That reminded me about our conversation regarding snares, and I asked Amy if she would help me construct some simple snares for the Greenville group when we got back.