Wild Fire (4 page)

Kara groaned. Her back hurt already. “What about the cabins? How soon do we need to have them done?”

“Not for a while. Give me a chance to check them out before you go in, okay?”

He glanced toward the gun rack and Kara understood. There'd been bear tracks down around the corral and barn. No telling what else the animals had gotten into.

Ryan hustled off to the room he was sharing with his father. Kara whispered, “Be careful, Dad.”

Her father's eyes softened, and he pulled her over for a hug. “Don't worry, Sugar Bear. I'll be fine.”

They cleaned the downstairs bedrooms first, then the one set aside for the cook Dad had hired. By dinnertime, Kara was so tired she was glad they had to settle for canned soup.

Ryan fell asleep right after dinner, and Kara turned her attention to her own room. She pushed the bed against one wall, made it up with her own bedspread and the pillow she'd brought from home, then stacked her books, T-shirts, jeans, and shorts on the shelves.

A wooden table under the window already held a flashlight, a lantern, and the room's single lamp. She added her mother's picture and stepped back to admire the results.

“Not bad,” she sighed. “Not good either, but it'll have to do.”

There was one more thing in the suitcase. Kara lifted it out and hung it carefully on a nail just inside the bedroom door. Besides the picture of her mother, it was her most cherished possession: a charcoal sketch her great-grandfather, Irish Sheridan, had made of his Nez Perce wife.

Wakara's resemblance to her namesake was uncanny, and for the hundredth time she studied the young bride's face: The broad forehead, high cheekbones, and small, straight nose were a reflection of her own.

She was proud of her heritage and she liked her given name, but when she was younger, her friends had started calling her Kara, and the nickname stuck.

From the drawing, you couldn't tell about the first Wakara's skin. Kara's was just a little darker than Greg's and Ryan's, like she always had a summer tan
.

“You are so lucky,” Tia had told her a million times. “You'll never have to worry about makeup.”

Kara was glad. She would rather be out at the barn or riding Lily than fooling with makeup. Tia was always looking for the right foundation to cover up her zits.

The mirror Dad had given her for her birthday stood propped against the wall next to the window. Tomorrow she would hang it on the back of her bedroom door.

She bent and peered into the glass. It was her eyes that really set her apart. They were a brilliant green-blue. “The color of a stormy sea,” her mother had said.

Still, they were different, too different to suit Kara. To make matters worse, they would often darken to a muddy gray when she was upset or angry.

“Ah, the curse o' the Irish,” Dad often teased. “You have your great-grandfather's blood too, you know.”

Kara stuck out her tongue at the mirror. Enough. Mom would say she was being vain. She grabbed a pair of cotton pajamas from the small wardrobe next to her bed, slid her feet into thick-soled thongs, and pulled on her jacket. June nights were still cold here in the mountains, and the shower shed was out behind the kitchen.

As she passed the room her father shared with Ryan, she knocked softly on the door. When there was no response, she peeked in. Ryan lay curled up on his cot, covered to the chin with a heavy wool blanket. His tangled hair, still damp from the shower, clung to the pillowcase. His face looked pale but peaceful, and she was careful not to shine the light in his eyes.

“Needs a haircut, doesn't he?”

Dad's hand on her shoulder was gentle, and she answered with a nod. “I'll try and talk him into it tomorrow,” she whispered, “if I can get him to sit still for two minutes.”

Her father grinned and rubbed a hand across his brow into his own head of thick, brown hair. “Do you suppose you could fit me in too? I meant to get over to the barbershop before we came, but . . .” His shrug told her he'd forgotten
.

He'd been forgetting a lot of things since Mom had died, like when it was time to get groceries, or take the cat to the vet, or send Aunt Peg a birthday card. Kara had just naturally taken over those chores, as well as the cooking and cleaning, and caring for Ryan.

If Mom were here, she would have cut their hair a month ago. Kara turned her head so Dad couldn't see the angry tears that had sprung into her eyes. When she looked up he was walking away.

“I'm going to lock up out front,” he called over his shoulder. “You'd better get to bed; Colin and Greg will have the string of horses here by mid-morning, and Mark is flying the new cook in around noon. I need you to show her the ropes.”

Show her the ropes?
Kara groaned. They hadn't done anything in the kitchen yet except brew a pot of coffee. She'd have to spend the morning taking inventory and making lists, when what she really wanted to do was help Colin and Greg get the horses settled.

She hurried across the big, wood-paneled dining room and through the cluttered kitchen. The shower room was just a few feet from the back door.

She stepped under the lukewarm spray, and once again her thoughts turned to Colin. Until April, Colin had been a fishing guide in Alaska.
But he does seem to know a lot about horses
. He was outgoing and friendly. The guests would take to him right away.

And then there was the new cook Dad had hired. Who was she? Would she be friendly or bossy? All Kara knew was
that her name was Anne Lightfoot and she came from the Indian reservation in Idaho.

The generator turned off just as Kara finished drying her hair. She pulled on the warm flannel shirt over her pajamas and hurried across the narrow strip of dirt. She locked the back door and headed toward her room.

Moonlight flooded through the dining room windows, illuminating the front deck. A movement caught her eye, and she stepped closer to the window.

Dad stood with his back to her, his hands clutching the railing, his head bowed. Was he praying or crying? She hesitated. Should she go out there? She shook her head in answer to her own question. There was no way she could comfort him. No one could.

When will it stop? When will the pain go away?
She wanted to shout and stomp her feet. Instead she hurried to her room, crawled between the cool sheets, and pulled the covers up over her head.

W
HEN THE ALARM WENT OFF
at 6:45, Kara groaned. It seemed like she had just closed her eyes. She stuffed her head underneath her pillow to block the light streaming through the uncurtained window
.

Get used to it, girl. When the guests start arriving, you'll be up at 5:00
. She forced herself to fling off the covers. “Yikes, it's cold!” She reached for the warmups from Aunt Peg. She'd almost left them at home—who needed a sweat suit in summer, right?
Right. It's still 40 degrees out there
.

Breakfast was Pop-Tarts, warmed over the fire Dad had lit in the huge fireplace, and lukewarm apple juice. Then Dad promised Ryan he could help with the corral if he'd sit still for a haircut later. After they left, Kara began taking inventory in the cluttered kitchen.

She picked up paper as she went, stuffing it in cardboard boxes and setting the trash out behind the supply shed. All the glassware, dishes, and pots and pans needed washing, but they should have enough. So far her list boiled down to food items, paper goods, and extra lightbulbs.

She looked at her watch. Mark was flying Anne in at noon. Colin and Greg should arrive with the horses shortly before that. If she hustled, maybe she could be down at the barn when they came in.

The day was warming. She changed into jeans and a seafoam green T-shirt.
Sneakers for now—riding shoes later
, she promised herself, then she settled on the deck to finish out her list of needed supplies.

Greg and Colin were late, but the charter flight out of Lariat was right on time. Kara tried to stem her curiosity, but as the small bush plane bumped along the landing strip, she tossed her pad and pencil to a log bench on the deck and followed Ryan down the hill.

Anne greeted them with a smile. “Wakara,” she said softly, “Little Moon. We will be friends.”

There wasn't a hint of doubt in her voice, and Kara nodded. Why had she called her Little Moon? Anne held her gaze for a few seconds more, then focused on Ryan, who was bobbing around behind Kara pointing his finger and making gun sounds.

“Pow, Pow. I gotcha, ya dirty scum.”

Kara rolled her eyes. “Ryan, cut it out.” She smiled an apology in Anne's direction and dragged Ryan in front of her. “Too many John Wayne movies.”

Anne nodded. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and bent to look in his eyes. “You are Ryan, fast and brave.”

Ryan would not leave her side after that. He dogged their footsteps all afternoon while Kara was trying to show the new cook around the kitchen and storage shed.

They were so busy, she forgot to listen for the horses. When Colin stuck his head through the door, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Hey, Wakara, what's up? I thought you'd be waiting at the barn with a pail of grain. That horse of yours is wild! Kept trying to push ahead. I think she knew you were at the end of the trail.”

Kara grinned. “I'm sure she remembered that trail. It was her favorite last summer.”

She introduced him to Anne, then looked around the kitchen. “Sorry, I can't get away right now. Give Lily a treat for me, will you? I'll be down to brush her later.”

“No problem.”

He turned to Ryan. “Where ya been, kid?” He said with an exaggerated drawl. “I been lookin' all over for ya. What are ya doing in the kitchen with a bunch of women when ya could be outside helping me break in this new rope?”

Ryan frowned and looked up at Anne. Kara knew he was torn between his fascination with the new cook and his desire to be with Colin. She was just about to order him out, when Anne smiled and nodded toward the door.

“You will go,” she said. “A stiff rope must be bent to be useful.”

The boy's eyes brightened. He hitched up his jeans and swaggered after Colin. More John Wayne. Kara had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

“A boy of six needs the company of men as much as he needs a mother,” Anne murmured as she bent to inspect the oven in the butane gas stove. “Not so much, a girl just turned fifteen.”

Kara felt her face flaming and realized she had been staring after Colin.

She quickly changed the subject. “That thing must be at least fifty years old, but it works, and you don't have to rely on electricity. Dad doesn't like to run the generator much during the day. He said he'd fill the butane tank this afternoon.”

Anne smiled, reached for the cleanser and a brush, and began scrubbing.

For a few minutes Kara stood and watched, thinking about what she'd write to Tia:
Dad said she was in her forties. She looks a lot younger to me. A little on the chunky side, and she's even shorter than I am! Her hair's mostly gray, but she wears it loose down her back with narrow braids on the sides. I wonder if mine would look good like that
.

Kara silently admired Anne's outfit—a purple shirt tucked into black stretch jeans. Her clothes had a crisp, just-ironed look.

She looked down at her own ratty tennis shoes, faded jeans, and dirt-smudged T-shirt. When she raised her head Anne was watching her.

“A white fringed blouse and short denim skirt, I think.”

Kara noticed the stove was now free of grease. Anne had cleaned the entire thing while she just stood there.
Way to go, Wako
. Her cheeks felt hot. “I'm sorry. What did you say?”

“For the dance on Saturday,” Anne replied. “The hostess must look her best.”

“The dance . . . ?” Of course. The first guests would arrive Friday, and Dad had scheduled entertainment for Saturday night. Colin was expected to play his guitar and run the portable CD player. She was supposed to lead the line dancing. The thought of standing up in front of all those people made her want to throw up.

Anne's hand settled softly on her shoulder. “You will do fine.”

She said it in such a positive tone, Kara almost believed her
.

“I will settle my room now. Your horse has waited long enough, I think.”

Kara didn't wait for a second invitation. She grabbed her boots and sprinted toward the barn.

Lily's nicker was muffled by a mouthful of hay. The feeder was full. So was the five-gallon water bucket. Someone had spread straw over the hard-packed dirt inside the stall.

She grabbed a brush from the tack box and slid open the stall door. Ryan skidded to a halt beside her. “Colin
made Star a bed too. And one for Dakota. The others have to sleep outside.”

Lily started and Kara spoke softly, “Easy, girl.” She turned to Ryan. “Slow down. You know you're not supposed to run in here.” He hung his head and she relented. “Don't worry about the other horses; they like to be outside, remember?”