Appaloosa Blues (Sisters of Spirit #8) (10 page)

"Gotcha." Adam laughed. "That's the holding pen — you're standing in the corral. I've woven poles and wire throughout the brush so this is all enclosed. You came in the gate when you went through that brush over there."

He rode ahead of her to the entrance. "See, here's my gate." He pointed to three poles, their ends sticking out between two trees.

"Neat, but why the camouflage?"

"I need a corral up in this area, but the road is on the other side of that brush. I don't want anyone using my corral to steal my cattle."

It made sense. Adam had cleverly circumvented a problem. Cattle rustlers would drive by, spot some cows, load them into a truck and leave. It made it extra handy if a pen or loading chute was by the road. Some of the ranchers put padlocks on their chutes, but the thieves carried bolt cutters.

They rode slowly through a meadow, admiring the red-orange Indian paintbrush and purple and yellow coneflowers. An intense cobalt blue sky hung overhead with a few birds riding the hot air currents that radiated from the ground in long, visible waves, endowing the hills with an impenetrable shimmer.

Blue grass-flowers grew in among the foxtails and sharp rocks, spotted here and there. Leaning from the saddle, Adam plucked two of the tiny flowers as he rode by, inserting one into his hatband and gallantly handing the other to her, its fragile petals undamaged as it lay upon his work-hardened leather glove. Delighted, Jo took the offering and decorated her hat in turn.

The delicate flower would quickly fade in the heat. Did anything ever last without changing? Even the pastures looked different. The ridge they were traversing used to be almost barren rock with weeds barely able to hang onto the soil. Now it was covered with deep grass, light green with new growth and plenty of moisture.

"We should come across the herd anytime now. When I had to sell off part of my herd, I took the money and had this pasture and most of my pasture land aerial seeded. I had to keep the cattle off it the first year, but it’s produced enough feed I could let my herd increase again. The cattle love it," Adam said.

"It looks like a cow's dream, almost belly deep. I'm surprised Dad hasn't done this."

"Mike mentioned it to him, but when Gramps heard I'd seeded mine, he didn't want any part of my "new-fangled college notions." Also, they would have had to borrow money to do it, and Gramps is against borrowing. I don't blame him, but you have to spend some money to make more."

Jo shifted against the stiff soreness that still hampered her movement. "Gramps believes the old ways are best."

"Sometimes. But even the old ways were once new, and he won't experiment any more. It drives Mike up the wall."

Jo shrugged. Gramps had kept the ranch intact by being careful. She couldn't fault him. "Adam, about the rustling. Isn't anything being done?"

"We're sort of far apart for a "Neighborhood Watch" program, but we do have our own version of it. We've formed a cattleman's patrol — the Blue Mountain Livestock Patrol — and although we don't go out chasing rustlers, we check vehicles that are parked alongside the road."

"Then what?"

"We tag them with a form that lets them know we know they're there. Then we mail half the form to the sheriff. It's got to make a rustler think twice before leaving his truck to round up some cows."

"Does Dad belong?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever caught anyone?"

"Almost. I actually saw them loading the cows and called the sheriff. I've a telescope which I bought years ago for studying the stars, and was able to give him a description of the truck. They were gone before he got there. My place overlooks this whole area so the ranchers asked me to check the roads. If I spot a suspicious looking truck parked near a herd, I call the owner or go myself to tag it."

His mention of a telescope flashed across her mind like a red warning light. "Gramps says you spy on him."

"Bothers him, does it?" He laughed, a short, sharp sound filled with bitterness.

Jo felt herself bristle in return. "Yes. Why do you do it? It just makes him angry."

"I'll quit, when he stops using his field glasses to watch me every day."

"He doesn't."

"Yes, he does. Has for years. He sits out there on the porch under your window—"

"I've never seen him."

"He hides the glasses when anyone comes. Look for them sometimes."

"I will." He sounded so positive, it must be true. Who had started this? Jo hesitated to ask Adam...he'd claim her grandfather had, naturally. And Gramps would say Adam had. They'd been doing things to each other so long, probably neither remembered anymore. Who was in the right? She lowered her head, fighting against the traitorous thoughts that besieged her. Could her grandfather be in the wrong? Yet...a telescope was more an invasion of privacy than field glasses. No wonder Gramps was angry at Adam.

They came upon the herd—just under two hundred head—and moved below and around them.

"Watch Murray do his stuff," Adam said, starting the dog out to circle the cattle. Murray was well trained and soon had the herd bunched and moving down the trail, his quick darting form and sharp teeth effectively persuading stragglers.

"What am I doing here?" asked Jo. "You don't need me with Murray."

"Yes, I do. We need to plan our campaign for this summer. And Murray can't cover all sides at once. I'll take the downhill side."

The more dangerous side
, Jo acknowledged silently, knowing that Adam was, in a way, protecting her by assuming the more dangerous job. It was always risky, running a horse downhill, especially over the rugged mountain terrain. A few minutes later she caught her breath as Adam, at a gallop, jumped a log on the steep slope, horse and rider hanging suspended high above the ground for a few heart-stopping seconds before sliding to a landing in front of a stray.

On Jo's side a frisky cow broke ranks, tail flying in the air. A white-faced calf, about three months old, bounded after her, happily enjoying the new game. Murray was busy, so Jo lifted Paca into a gallop and turned the cow back into the herd. She ignored the calf, knowing that a calf, although impossible to drive, will follow its mother anywhere.

By now the sunlight was brilliant. Below them the valley of the Grande Rounde took on shape as the shadows lifted. A black spot in the sky, soaring in the air currents, meant that a hawk was out searching for prey. The chill had left the air and Jo pulled off her denim jacket, tying it behind her.

 "Isn't the view spectacular from up here, Adam?" she called out as he rode closer, waving her hand to indicate the panorama around them.

"Hard to beat, this morning, Jo. Especially this morning," he emphasized, dancing eyes admiring her slim, blue-jeaned figure. "Do you always wear those tight T-shirts?"

Her face flamed. "They must've shrunk, they're old ones." She hastily untied her jacket from behind her saddle.

"Oh, no you don't," he snatched the jacket from her and tied it on behind himself. "Can't have you getting too hot. Besides I thought you just invited me to enjoy the view." He raised his eyebrows mischievously, one arm resting on the saddle horn, a wide smile sweeping across his face.

He was going to be a worse tease than Mike. Would he be this way around Gramps? She hoped not. "That view. Over there," she said, pointing across the valley towards the Wallowa Mountains, but unable to keep from smiling with him.

"You enjoy your view, I'll enjoy mine." His voice dropped in pitch as he added, "You're very beautiful, Jo. You'd make any scene take second place."

Jo ducked her head, knowing her face glowed with the hint of a blush.
Was Adam just trying to be friendly, or was he trying to get her to lower her guard against him? How could she tell whether he was sincere?

"Thanks. You're not too bad looking, yourself." She shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, wanting to end the repartee, unwilling to tell him just how attractive she found everything about him...from the deep cadence of his voice to the flowing rhythm of his walk. "Are you ready to ride on?"

"Of course not." he proclaimed. "Beauty is to be enjoyed."

"Is it the Irish who have the Blarney Stone?" she asked, sweetly.

He sat back in the saddle to stretch his legs. "Yes, why?"

"Just that they come up with backhanded compliments that shouldn't be taken seriously."

"Not so."

"You're letting a cow get away," she pointed out, thankful to bring the conversation to an end.

"But not you," he shot back as he lifted the bay horse into a gallop.

He'd had the last word, but at least she'd been able to give and take intelligently. Maybe she'd be able to handle him this summer, after all.

Jo frowned down at her old cotton T-shirt. It was a pale blue — comfortable, pretty. A tight fit, but she'd worn tighter. She wore them because a new shirt always seemed to get snagged when out handling cattle. Between barbed wire and thorn bushes, clothes took a beating.

"Hey-up," she yelled at a straggler, who took a few trotting steps and slowed down again. They were near the corral and Paca reached out to give the cow a quick nip on the buttocks to hurry it up.

Jo pulled her back. She didn't want to hurry. The longer she could put off their discussion about Gramps, the longer she had to try to think up an alternative to Karen's plan.

With Murray's help, the herd was easily turned off the trail into the corral. "I'll cut out mine first," Adam directed as he rode into the opening. "Open the gate when I say 'Out.' Okay?"

"Got it," she replied, tying Paca a short distance from the rail gate. The cattle quickly bunched near the other end, facing Adam. He placed his hands near the saddle horn and focused on a cow to cut from the bunch. At an unseen signal, his bay proceed to wheel and turn, separating the animal from the rest and forcing it over to the gate. Murray joined in to help his master, moving the cattle as directed. At Adam's call Jo dropped the bar, let her through, then replaced it.

It was impressive to watch as horse and rider moved as one, with a fluid grace—a balanced, athletic piece of work, the nearest to dancing that a cow pony could come. Jo watched with a mixture of admiration and envy.

Adam cut out his own bull last and started him up the trail along with his cattle. Finished, he dismounted and loosened the cinch to give his horse a breather.

Jo walked over to stroke the bay's wet neck. "Did you train him yourself, Adam." He nodded. "You did a good job. Have you entered any competition?"

"Not lately. I took Rocket to some of the rodeos when he was six years old, but never placed very high. I don't have the time to keep his training up, plus you wear out too many steers that way...run off all their weight."

He opened his canteen, wiped its mouth and handed it to her. "Let's take a break. We need to discuss how we're going to get around Gramps."  

Jo felt her heart sink. She had been quietly dreading this all morning. What would Adam want to do? She did not have any bright ideas, and her grandfather's health depended upon how carefully they handled this.

"Sure." She wished she felt as confident as she sounded.

She finished her drink, feeling the water cleanse the dust from her nose and throat. Handing it back, she watched as he drank, the long column of his throat as imposing as any Greek statue's. And as attractive, at least to her.

"That tasted good," she remarked, toeing the dirt.

"Artesian water. I'll show you my spring some day." Adam led the way over to a nearby log, sat down and motioned her to join him. He looked prepared to wait all day for her to comply, so she sat where he pointed, next to him, her boots looking ridiculously small stretched out beside his big ones. Both pairs were dusty and dark with horse sweat, his more than hers.

Murray lay down in front of them, his head on his front paws, eyes focused attentively on their faces. Flies droned in the shady stillness accompanying the shuffling of the horses as they stamped a foot or swished their tails.

Jo plucked a piece of grass to chew on, to hide her nervousness. She thought better when she was not so close to this unpredictable man. What did Adam have in mind?

Adam spoke slowly, carefully, his deep voice softly emphasizing each word. "To put it mildly, I was rather surprised you agreed to go along with this idea of Karen's."

He took her small hand in his large one, lightly touching her fingertips one by one, each point of contact compounding the sensations his touch created in her. Skin against skin. No barriers. Adam had removed his gloves.

With an effort, Jo yanked her mind away to re-focus on his words. "I felt it was worth a try—"

"A try? No.... We must do better than that."

"But—"

"No half-measures."

"But we must, Adam. We can't do it all at once."

"We either do it or we don't. Once we approach your grandfather, we see this through to the end."

"What I meant was, we should try by starting with something small, something Gramps might accept. Then build on that. That's what I meant by 'try.'"

"And if he doesn't accept it, what then? What are you going to do? Give in to him again?"

CHAPTER SIX

It was the question Jo had been avoiding ever since Karen had proposed her plan, because it was the one thing that was inevitable. No matter what they did, no matter how carefully they started, Gramps was not going to accept Adam.

He'd fight them, tooth and nail, every step of the way. He'd be hurt, while she, Jo, the one in the middle, was apt to be hurt most of all. Love and loyalty became powerful weapons, when used against a tender heart.

"Jo?"

"Yes?"

"I need an answer. What will you do?" His hand stilled as he waited, and all the world stopped to hear.

She swallowed against a throat suddenly dry. "I'll have to see how things go."

"That's not good enough. I'm not going to be left holding the short end of the stick just because you can't bear to hurt that irascible old man. You must decide what you will do when he digs in."

"I don't know."