Colton's Folly (Native American contemporary romance) (8 page)

“You can pick ’em, too,” she acknowledged grudgingly.

He nodded. “I know.”

They rode for a mile or so beyond the gate to a spot marked by a small grove of cottonwood trees just coming into bud. The sky above them was a bright blue and almost empty of clouds. A soft early-morning breeze rustled the grass and sweetened the air.

Cat nodded in the direction of the trees. “Finish line, okay?”

“Okay.”

They walked the horses back to the gate and settled themselves more deeply in their saddles. Cat looked over at Abby. “Ready?”

She nodded. He let out a wild yell, and they kneed the horses into a furious gallop. They sped down the dirt road in a rush of wind and pounding hooves, the scenery no more than a blur. They focused only on the road, watching for possible danger, peering down the track to pick out the grove of trees, occasionally glancing over to gauge positions.

The horses ran neck and neck, neither one gaining more than a momentary lead over the other. Abby could feel Ghost straining to open some space between himself and his adversary, but the other horse was an awesome opponent.

Abby leaned forward and spoke in the gray’s ear. “It’s okay, boy, we’ll take them. Just hang on. Hang on.” Finally the trees loomed close ahead, and Abby whispered, “Let’s do it. Now!”

He leaned into the wind, stretching his neck and lengthening his stride to its utmost, but when Abby looked over at Cat, she could see his mount edging forward. Despite Ghost’s best efforts, the other horse was ahead by the length of his muzzle by the time they reached the trees.

Although the race was over they continued to run for another hundred yards or so; this time Ghost overtook Cat’s horse, who seemed to falter. Abby slowed her horse to match the other’s stride, and they walked slowly side by side. Then they turned and began the trip back, riding silently until they reached the reservation grounds and the creek running fresh and full, and sparkling in the sunlight.

As Abby allowed Ghost to drink sparingly, she slid from his back and put her hand out to Cat, who looked down at her. “Congratulations, you ran a good race.”

He took her hand and held it as he slid down to stand with her. “So did you.”

She shrugged. “Not good enough.”

“The deck was stacked against you.”

She tried to pull her hand from his, but he held on. “What are you saying?”

“You’ve had a look at Thunder. What do you think of him?”

“Beautiful, good conformation, powerful build. Why? What am I supposed to think?”

“No more than that. But I know something I didn’t tell you.”

“But I didn’t ask any questions. I didn’t make any rules or restrictions. It was me on a horse of my choice and you on yours. You had no obligation to tell me anything.”

“Maybe not. But I could have.”

“All right. Tell me now.”

“Thunder is Ghost’s sire.”

Abby inclined her head. “So?”

“He’s from Hank’s herd, and he’s sired some half-dozen colts and fillies. Not one of them can beat him under a mile, and once he’s gotten his second wind he can outlast any of them in an endurance run, but in a two- or three-mile race he’ll lose steam before the finish and fall back, just like he did today. I knew that and set this race for just a mile so Ghost wouldn’t have a chance to hold the lead. I cheated.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I’m not sure.”

His hands slid slowly up her arms until they rested on her shoulders; his dark eyes looked down at her with a strange softness. Anger at being bested mingled with the surprising attraction she had begun to feel for him and sent a tremor through her body.

“You have a right to be angry with me. It was a dirty trick.” A finger gently traced the line of her jaw. “The bet is off.”

“I’m willing to keep my part of the bargain.”

“I know.”

He was silent for a long time. Abby waited, listening to her heart pounding in her chest and feeling the warmth from his hands spread through her. Then he took her hand and wordlessly led her to a huge boulder, lifting her by the waist to its almost flat top. When she was settled, he hoisted himself up on powerful arms and sat beside her. They watched the horses grazing contentedly at the water’s edge and turned to each other. She waited for Cat to speak.

“First, I want you to tell me what your request would have been if you’d won.”

She answered without hesitation. “I would have asked you to teach me about your people--your religion and customs, your history. And I would have asked you to show me your land and to help me learn to make my way in it. And...” Suddenly embarrassed, she blushed and turned away.

Cat put a hand beneath her chin and brought her around to face him. “And...?” Defiantly, she pulled away, frightened by the power her words would give him. “And... ?” he repeated.

She turned back, suddenly looking very young and vulnerable, and totally unaware of the effect she was having on him. “And... I would have asked you to try to be... my friend.”

“Any more?”

She shrugged and looked away again. “That’s it.”

“That isn’t a very difficult request.” She looked at him suspiciously. “Would you let me grant it...as a way of apologizing?”

“For someone who doesn’t have any white friends, you’re giving in too easily. You must be having an attack of conscience.”

“I guess so. And it’s damned uncomfortable.” His rueful smile was appealing. “In a fair race I’d be paying off anyway. So let me, okay?”

“What about my part of the bargain?”

“We’ll talk about it some other time.” He held out his hand. “Is it a deal?”

Abby’s hand clasped his in agreement. “It’s a deal.”

Chapter
5

Always conscious of the distance between her and her students, Abby struggled for a way to break through their reserve. At breakfast one morning she approached Cat. “May I borrow the pickup today?”

“What for?”

“I want to get the kids out of the classroom. A change would do them good, maybe help them to relax and open up with me a little.”

“I guess ‘Colton’s Folly’ was the right name for the great experiment after all.”

“Spare me the sarcasm, please,” came the testy reply. “I never said we’d be free of problems, did I?”

“No...” he admitted grudgingly.

“Well, then, let me do my job as I see fit.”

“Where are you taking them?”

“I don’t know yet. I think I’ll let them decide.”

“I suppose you’re going to let them decide who’s walking, too?” She looked at him in confusion. “Do you really think you can fit twenty kids in that pickup?”

Her eyes widened as she realized the truth of what he was saying. “Eighteen,” she corrected, her chin lifting stubbornly.

He watched as her brow wrinkled and she bit her bottom lip pensively, her mind searching for alternatives to the problem. He remembered the old
cliché about watching the wheels turn and found himself admiring her determination to make her plan work.

Her face brightened. “There’s got to be another truck around here.”

“Not a bigger one.”

“Okay,” she accepted readily. “Then just another, any other pickup.”

He knew where she was headed and couldn’t put down the temptation to hold her back, just to see how she would react, and whether she would fold. “If there were, who would you get to drive it?”

“One of the older boys, maybe, if one of them has a license.”

“No.”

“No?” Her eyes narrowed slightly, and golden lights flashed angrily from their depths. A slight flush dusted her cheeks, and her lips parted in a puzzled but tremulous smile that made him wonder unaccountably how they would feel beneath his.

“No?” she repeated, and brown eyes met green and held in a silent clash of wills that sent the blood racing through his veins and found him struggling to suppress a laugh of pure joy.

“No,” he responded finally. “There’s no way I’m letting you and some wet-behind-the-ears teenager go out on the prairie with two truckloads of kids.” She waited in silence for him to continue, but Cat knew how angry she was. “I’ll find a second truck, but I’m driving.”

“Don’t you have something better to do?” she asked resentfully. “Like going to work?”

“This place is my work.”

“Really? Don’t tell me you actually get paid for making my life difficult. Or do you do that for fun?”

So, he thought with a grin, the lady still has some fight left in her. “The council pays me,” he explained patiently, “to see that what needs to be done gets done, and to make sure that whatever’s done is for the good of our people.” His eyes went hard and stony, and his voice picked up an edge that wasn’t lost on Abby. “And I’d do that for nothing. So I guess riding herd on you falls into the category of fun.”

She started to protest, thought better of it, and finally nodded her assent.

The children were surprised when Abby proposed the outing, but gratefully piled into the waiting trucks. “Where we goin’?” someone asked as she and Cat pushed the tailgates shut and secured the latches.

Abby folded her arms and asked, “Where would you like to go? Within reason, of course.”

First choice seemed to be the Matthews ranch; Abby was informed that the children had an open invitation to go riding any time they liked.

She looked over at Cat and asked, “Is that true?” He nodded, and she considered the idea. “I’ll tell you what, let’s pick somewhere else to go today. I’ll talk to Mr. Matthews over the weekend. If it’s okay with him, and we get all our work done by Thursday afternoon, we’ll take next Friday off and go out there. How’s that?”

Benjamin Caitlin spoke up. “Where we going now?” Abby examined the seventeen-year-old’s face, looking for his usual belligerence. She’d heard none in his tone and saw none now in his expression, only a natural curiosity. She

shrugged and turned to the others. “What do you say, kids? What shall we tell Benjamin?”

This time the Buttes won out. Abby looked at Cat again, and with a sweetness only he knew was barbed, asked, “Is that okay with you?”

He nodded impatiently and they climbed into the cabs of their respective vehicles to the delighted cheers of the students, who were eager to be under way.

During the ride out to the Buttes Abby could only concentrate on the road and try to keep Cat’s truck in sight. Cat, who knew the way by heart, found his mind wandering back to the scene in his mother’s kitchen, unable to erase from his mind how Abby had looked, how her voice had registered on his ear and stirred his senses, how she’d managed to accomplish what she’d set out to do and had gotten him involved, too. Except that getting involved had been his idea, and he still hadn’t figured out why.

They parked at the base of the twin formations and piled out, searching for the easiest path up to the plateau. Cat, Benjamin and Richie Lightfoot, a serious but receptive eleventh grader, each hoisted one of the little ones on their shoulders and carried them up the steep slope. Abby and the others followed behind.

Once they reached the top Abby stood, hands on hips, and looked around her. Huge boulders scattered here and there served as backrests for the children, who flopped down noisily in groups of two and three. Trees were scanty and ancient, lightning-scarred and ravaged by the elements. Abby saw Richie walk toward a pine that stood apart from the others. He touched the rough bark with one hand, then sank down with his back against its sturdy trunk.

All around her, she could hear the silence, made more intense by the soft murmur of the children’s voices and an occasional giggle or rumbling male laugh. No birds sang, no breeze rustled through the meager grass or stirred the shrubbery that had managed to take hold in the hardscrabble soil. But despite the bleak landscape Abby sensed a life emanating, it seemed, from the very rocks themselves, a kind of spiritual essence, an aura.

A shadow hovered at the edge of her vision; when she walked over to the spot she found a depression in the ground. Perhaps three-feet deep and twice as far across, neither round nor square but somewhere in between, it was not newly dug, but seemed almost as old as the tree that stood nearby. The floor had been trampled by many feet, and the sides were worn as smooth as marble.

“It’s a vision pit,” a male voice said at her right ear. Abby looked up to see Richie beside her.

“The
hanblechia”

His face registered surprise. “You know about the vision quest?”

“A little.”

“This is where we stay,” he explained, “for four days and nights. We face each of the four directions when we pray. We fast, and we sit with only a blanket, hoping to see something about the future.”

“Have you gone on a vision quest yet?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know if I believe in any of that old stuff.”

“It’s your heritage.”

He looked at her skeptically. “Like
that old
Roots,
movie, right?”