Baya was content to leave the stragglers staring after them, until they crested out of the woods into another high meadow.
This one was filled with the main herd. An old bull lay in fat rolls in the grass, chewing contently as the more slender cows shifted away from the intruders.
Bonnie was having trouble breathing and beginning to feel a little lightheaded. She could feel the air passing through her open mouth, but it didn't feel like it was working its way into her lungs. Grimly gripping the reins in one hand and the saddle horn in the other, she tried to stay upright in the saddle.
Baya paused at the forest edge to survey the herd.
The old bull heaved his bulk to his feet.
“You'd think as much as we have been around he'd take this nice and calm. Don't let him fool you. He may look like a cuddly stuffed animal, but he can be deadly. Let's roust out those in the trees.”
He touched his reins to Lady's neck. She spun, only to stop short as Baya caught sight of Bonnie's face. “What's wrong?”
Her skin was so white it had a green tint to it. She was breathing in short gasps.
“Are you allergic to something?” His heart galloped, terrified at the thought of being so far away from the ranch house, from anywhere, without help for an allergic reaction.
“I can't breathe andâ¦so dizzy. My heart is doing funny things.” She began to gasp and cry as she gave into the pressure in her chest. “Please, Baya, help me.”
He rode up and pulled her into his arms. “I'll get you to safety. Don't cry. Don't cry.” He nudged the sorrel into a lope down the mountain. They reached the lower pastures. He looked into her white face as his heart tightened with fear. “Bonnie, can you ride?”
She lifted heavy eyelids and whispered, “I will.”
Again leading the paint, he started the two animals back toward the valley.
“Hang on, Bonnie. Just hang on.”
He kept the horses at a fast walk, making sure the pony didn't have to break into a trot to keep up with the quarter horse. When they reached the creek, he dismounted and pulled Bonnie off the pony. Settling her against a tree, he walked to the stream and wet the bandana he carried in his jeans.
She opened her eyes when he gently washed her face with the soft cotton cloth. “I am so sorry. I must have eaten something.” Tears spilled onto her cheeks as she struggled to rise.
He helped her stand and she struggled to gain the protection of some bushes before she lost her breakfast.
Propped against an aspen sapling, she trembled and wept.
“Can you make it to the valley? You'll be better once you get there. It isn't something you ate. It's the altitudeâaltitude sickness. You came from flat sea level ground to the mountains and instead of taking you up the mountain a little at a time, as I did the children, we rode too high, too fast.”
She didn't want to hear an explanation; she just wanted to sleep. She tried to push away from the tree and staggered as a headache burst full-blown into her head. “Can I just sleep?”
Baya carried her to a patch of grass among the boulders. “Sleep for a little while, but we need to get you home soon.”
The horses remained ground tied where he had dropped the trailing reins. They stood with heads down as they idly swatted flies with their tails.
Lifting Bonnie's head to his thigh, he leaned back against the warmth of a rock and prayed a rattlesnake wouldn't choose this one to sun himself on.
Bonnie slept instantaneously.
He pushed the hair off her forehead and adjusted the thick braid so she didn't have to lie on it. Gently he took her hat and fanned away the flies. With his back against the rock, he closed his eyes and chided himself for being so shortsighted.
A half hour later, he was still trying to figure a way to bring down the cattle when Bonnie stirred and groaned.
He shifted cautiously.
She rubbed her head against him, making him catch his breath, and his eyes rolled closed. Slowly, she pushed herself into a sitting position.
Her white face worried him, but he remained silent.
“My head hurts so much,” she whispered holding her temples. “Will it go away?”
“In a day or two.” He stood up, stiffly moving his body to let all the old breaks and joints settle. “Can you ride down to the house?”
As she nodded, he relaxed. “I shouldn't have taken you up so high. For most people it wouldn't matter as much, but you're from Florida. You haven't adjusted yet to being over six thousand feet up.”
She walked unsteadily to the pinto and gathered her reins. As she mounted, the pinto promptly turned her head toward the mountains.
Baya gave a dry chortle. “That horse has a one track mind. She is determined to bring them home today, isn't she?”
Bonnie tried to smile, but could only cling to the saddle horn.
Baya paused the sorrel mare next to the paint, to stare intently into her face. “Can you make it?”
With barely a nod, she pointed the pinto down the valley.
~*~
Bonnie slept upstairs while Baya held his head in his hands and pulled his hair. At every step, his efforts to keep the ranch functioning where thwarted. He looked at the clock on the wall. He really needed to move the cattle. He really needed to cut hay. But, he was tied to the house as long as Bonnie was ill. Where was he to get help? He couldn't even go into town to see if there were hands needing work.
Pushing from the table, he walked back up the stairs to make sure she was still sleeping. From the doorway, he watched her and was upset all over again at the discomfort he'd caused her. She'd thrown up again when they got to the barn. When he finally got her upstairs, she had dry heaves.
Sobbing over the commode, she'd kept telling him how sorry she was, as if it was her fault. She'd insisted on washing her face and brushing her teeth before getting into the bed, though.
He ran a rough hand through his hair. How could he have been so stupid? He had been so careful with the children to make sure they adjusted to the mountains. He had just ignored the same need in his wife.
Walking over to her, he reached out and tenderly pushed the heavy hair from her face. “Bonnie.” He settled uneasily on the mattress, and she opened heavy lidded eyes and tried to smile.
“Bonnie, I have to get help.” He paused, waiting to see if she understood. When she nodded he continued, “I'll go into town and see if I can hire someone to help.”
She rolled over to her side before pushing herself into a sitting position, and he could tell she was struggling not to cry again. “I'm so sorry.”
“Bonnie, it isn't your fault. You'll be fine, as soon as you adjust to the altitude. You'll be fine tomorrow or the next day. If I can get the cattle down and west of us⦔ His voice petered out as his face lightened. “I'm so stupid!”
He smiled down at his wife. “I'll mow the meadow before I put the beef in it. I can hay that meadow, and then give the mountain ones time to replenish before I mow them. I can work on my own today.” Guiltily, he touched her face. “But only if you can get through the day without me.”
“I'll sleep.” Frowning, she watched him closely. “You'll need help with the haying.”
He shook his head. “I'll mow it, and we'll take the baler over it tomorrow. I'll need help, and by then you will be feeling well enough.” He leaned over to kiss her hair. “Just rest, Bonnie. We're on a tight budget, but I don't want that to be at the expense of your health.”
She smiled and struggled past him to stand up.
“What are you doing?” He was alarmed she needed to throw up again.
“I'll get you a lunch and a thermos packed. I feel a little better. The sleep helped.” She moved toward the doorway, a little unsteady, and then turned back. “Is this going to work?”
He nodded as he followed her out the door. “Yep.” The answer covered more than the situation at hand. It was meant as a promise for their life.
Holding the banister rail in a tight grip, she started down the stairs.
Baya moved to slip an arm around her. “You don't have to make me a lunch.”
“Well, cowboy, it won't be much. But you're not going back out there without food.” She rummaged in the refrigerator and came up with the makings of a sandwich.
He ransacked the cupboard for snacks. Turning with a bag of chips, he caught her clutching the countertop. Guilt ran through him as he watched her draw in deep breaths and gain control.
“I can wait to do the meadow tomorrow,” he stated grimly.
“No.” Her voice sharpened.
A smile uncurled inside him. Strength! She had it is spades.
She threw meat, cheese, lettuce and tomatoes on the bread. “I'm not taking time to toast this. There's a bunch of grapes in the fridge, too. You could eat them and I'll send iced water in the thermos. I think you should take a snack.” She turned to look at him and saw him clutching the chips. “How did I know you were a junk food fanatic?” she smirked.
“It's the salt. We can't work in the heat without it.”
The smile crinkled her eyes. “That's some excuse. How many years did it take to perfect it?”
He wanted to kiss her for her brave effort. He accepted the sandwich she handed him with a sheepish grin.
She burrowed back in the refrigerator and came up with a chunk of Swiss cheese and the grapes.
Taking his meal to the table, he settled down to eat.
She came through the door, carrying ice tea for them both and sipped hers while he wolfed down the sandwich.
“Pretty good.” He mouthed around the sandwich.
“Don'tâ” She caught herself and blushed.
He chuckled. “I knowâdon't talk with my mouth full.”
“Hey, I can't seem to help myself. The words just come out automatically. It's like serving the food. I find myself doing it without thinking about it.” She sighed and took another sip of tea. “You've been very understanding. I always catch myself after I have done it. But I find myself wanting to dish up your portions with the plates.”
“I don't mind, Bonnie. I find myself doing it now, too.”
Her eyes took on a faraway look. Heaving another sigh, she shrugged a little. “Do you think they're all right?”
“Yeah.” He gave a short reply and hoped it sounded confident. Draining the ice tea, he stood and carried the rest of the grapes back to the kitchen. He threw away the paper towel before gathering the thermos and chips. “Get some rest, Bonnie. I may need you tomorrow.” Leaning over, he brushed her cheek with his lips. “Take care, wife.”
She blushed and moved away. “Bye.”
~*~
From the windows over the sink, she watched him walk to the barn, and within a few minutes the roar of the tractor filled the silence of the valley. He drove it up the hill to the wagon shed where he kept the mower. She watched until he was out of sight, and then her head drooped, the weight of it pulling on her shoulders.
She was hindrance to him on this ranch. She didn't seem able to contribute anything to help him. Shoving away from the sink, she took a deep breath. She could get him help. She stopped long enough to make a phone call before heading for bed.
14
It took two days to gather the hay he had mowed.
With Bonnie driving the tractor and him loading from behind the baler, they made three runs a day before stopping to cool off in the creek.
When Bonnie groaned under the weight of too much sun and sitting on the uncomfortable tractor seat, Baya teased lightheartedly, offering to trade places and let her stack the hay on the wagon behind the baler.
They probably could have done the job in one day if the linkage hadn't slipped on the temperamental tractor.
They had both hunkered under the transmission to adjust bolts and springs so it would shift back into gear.
Bonnie still felt weak and unenergetic, though she hid the discomfort as much as she could. For lunch and supper, they ate only sandwiches and soups, but breakfast was huge.
“We can fudge on the noon and evening meals as long as we're fortified with large breakfasts,” Baya told her.
By the second day, Baya was thankful the hay was in the barn.
Bonnie manned the winch, hauling the hay to the second story, and realized she wouldn't be able to work on the morrow. She was hanging together by sheer force of will. Her job was to unhook the bales from the winch and return it to him.
~*~
He'd thought it was safer for her to work inside the barn, out of the sun. She already had sunburn but she refused to complain and kept working.
It was taking her an awful long time to return with the winch. He wished the barn weren't such a monstrosity and he could see inside it. He climbed the bales of hay and vaulted into the upper story of the barn. Walking through the dusty filtered light he saw that she was struggling to stack the bales as she unhooked them. He moved faster. “What do you think you're doing?” The words exploded out of him.
She turned too abruptly and the hay bale tumbled down, making her stumble away from the stack. “What does it look like?” she snapped. “I'm unloading hay.”
“You're not supposed to stack it. That's my job.”
“That's only making more work for you. Yesterday when you did this job, you stacked it as we went. So am I.”
“You're not doing any such a thing. I just want you out of the sun. Stacking them is too hard, these bales are green enough to be more than half your weight. Just drop them, and I'll stack them.”
Hands on her hips and her face thrust forward, she glared at him. “I can do this.” The tone sounded both stubborn and furious, and a sudden picture of Hope jumped in his mind. The apple didn't fall far from the tree.
He should've known that if she was going to do the job, it would be done right. “You man the winch and drop them. If any break loose we can put it on the second floor. I'll take care of stacking. They have to be done in an overlapping pattern. It makes them stable and the bales won't fall on the kids.”