Protector of the Flight
Read Protector of the Flight Online
Authors: Robin D. Owens
ROBIN D. OWENS
PROTECTOR OF THE
FLIGHT
To My Critique Group,
a better bunch of writers I’ve never met.
Don’t think you’ll ever get rid of me,
because I can’t do this without you.
“Love is
eternal—the aspect may change, but not the essence. There is the same
difference in a person before and after he is in love as there is in an
unlighted lamp and one that is burning. The lamp was there and was a good lamp,
but now it is shedding light too, and that is its real function.”
—Vincent Van
Gogh
Contents
Colorado
Mountains
Summer, Morning
S
ince her fall in
the National Finals Rodeo, pain had been a daily enemy. Calli Torcher hesitated
at the top of the steep stairs from her attic bedroom to the first floor, took
a breath, braced a hand against the wall and gritted her teeth at the prospect
of pain. No matter how carefully she set her feet, she’d jar herself, then stop
and pant through the agony. Or she might fall and end up in the hospital.
Again.
Recovering
from a broken pelvis took time. The bad dreams that peppered her sleep didn’t
help matters. She’d dreamt of people lost in a winter blizzard. Cries for help.
Short notes of doom from a clock gong or the ranch’s iron triangle or a siren…
She
shook her head to clear her mind and concentrate on navigating the stairs. It
happened the third stair from the top, just a tiny misstep and she was leaning
against the wall, trying to shut out waves of agony. When she recovered, she
went on and made it to the ground floor with no other problems.
As
she rested against the wall at the bottom landing, she wondered if she should
ask her dad if she could use the downstairs storeroom as a bedroom until she
fully healed. But things hadn’t been right between her and her father for
months, ever since she’d fallen and lost the barrel-racing championship, ending
her career at twenty-five.
That
was the past. She could—and
would
—still train horses, take a more active
role in the ranch now that she wasn’t on the road all the time, traveling the
rodeo circuit.
Her
nose twitched at the smell of strong coffee and frying bacon. Dad was up and
fixing his own breakfast. Since he’d started without her, she decided she’d get
some air, clear the images and sounds of the dream—the string of bad
dreams—from her head and replace them with the beauty of the Rocking Bar T
Ranch in their mountain valley.
Calli
limped to the corral, breathing deeply, feeling the tingle of the breeze on her
face, the softness of worn flannel and denim from her shirt and jeans on her
skin. The ball of the sun shot yellow streaks of light into the sky.
She
reached the corral fence and leaned against it, breathing fast, still weak from
her last surgery. Still, if she continued to work hard, in another few months
she’d be able to start training horses.
No
whicker of greeting came from her gelding. Calli whistled. Nothing. He
always
greeted her. A twinge of alarm ruptured her calm. “Spark! Spark, here!” She
called as if her horse was a young, heedless colt.
Her
dad strode up, a lean tough man with a weathered face and hard lines carved
from the rigors of cattle ranching. He leaned on the fence to her right. “The
gelding ain’t here.”
She
looked at him from the corner of her eye. Bristly gray whiskers sprouted from
his jaw. He could speak well if he wanted, if he respected the person he was
talking to.
She
wet her lips. “What do you mean, Spark isn’t here?”
His
hat shadowed the eyes as blue as her own, but he squinted down at her all the
same. Hard as the distant mountains. “He’s a highly trained rodeo horse, worth
a lotta money. Couldn’t expect me to keep him ’round when you can’t ride him
anymore and a profit can be made. Your last doctor’s appointment made me
realize that.”
Calli
pivoted so quickly it wrenched her hip. She ignored the pain in her body, so
much less than the anguish in her heart. She spoke through the shock. “Spark is
my
horse. I gave you the money for him.”
Her
dad shrugged. “I bought the gelding from the racetrack. The horse was
registered in my name. I’m the owner of Rocking Bar T and everything on it.”
“Except
for Spark.
I
paid for him,” Calli said through clenched teeth.
His
stance was still casual. “Huh. My name is on the papers. And who paid for that
horse’s keep when it was young? I did.”
Money
wasn’t the issue. Love was. Giving and receiving love was everything. She’d
needed something to love and return that love in her life. “How could you do
this? I love him.”
He
faced her now, as impassive as always, as if nothing touched him, not even a
hint of irritation in his eyes. He looked her up and down as if judging a
heifer, not as if he saw his daughter. “You should know better than that.
Stupid to love an animal. Stupid to love at all. Love ain’t nothin’ that gets a
return. A profit could be made, and Spark wasn’t no use to me. I sold him to
Bill Morsey.”
Usefulness
had always been Dad’s bottom line.
Her
insides clenched, the pressure of hard tears backed behind her eyes. She
couldn’t stop the question. “What about
me?
What about
my
usefulness?”
He
grunted. “You can do your chores and stay. Do the cookin’ and cleanin.’ But I
went to the bank. Since the ranch is paid for, I set up a reverse mortgage. The
money’ll last long as I do, then you’ll have to find another place.”
Shock
and nausea rolled through her. “I’d planned on training horses.”
“This
is a
cattle ranch.
”
“We
could build up a fine reputation—”
“No.
We run cattle.”
She
went to the bottom line. “You aren’t leaving the ranch to me?” Ever since she’d
gone on the circuit, she’d always thought of the ranch as her future. Working
hard, she’d sent money back for expenses. She’d thought she and her dad were
partners.
His
gaze fastened on her middle as if he could see her abdominal scars. “No reason
to. Ain’t as if you can gimme a grandson, even.” Without another word he
sauntered back to the house, leaving Calli’s world broken.
A
noise tore from her, some animalistic cry of pain. Blindly she gripped the top
fence rail, splinters lanced her hand.
All
her life she’d shut out the knowledge of what her father was. Instead, she’d
woven illusions that he cared about her. False, lying illusions that had been
so comforting and that she’d held so long that she couldn’t see reality.
Her
mother had abandoned them, then died. If her father had loved Calli before,
he’d shut off his emotions afterward. As long as she proved useful, she was
tolerated.
He
might have enjoyed the reflected glory of her rodeo wins and liked the big
bucks of the prizes. He’d taken care of her in the hospital and later when she
was healing. But now that it was obvious she wouldn’t return to the rodeo she
was nothing more than a woman to cook and clean.
She
glanced around but refused to see past the surface beauty of the day. This
place wasn’t her home anymore. She couldn’t afford the wrenching sense of loss.