Sunset Ranch (4 page)

I winced involuntarily. The song invariably reminded me of third-grade music class. And he was slightly off-key. I tried not to notice as I slid the charred skin off my marshmallows and stuck it in my mouth, then started toasting the insides again.

Zach caught my eye. Why was he staring at me? Because I let him get that splinter out?

He leaned over sideways, craning across the person in between us. “You have marshmallow on your face,” he whispered.

I sat up and swiped furiously. He was laughing, of course. I slid back against my rock again, scrubbing at the sticky streak on my upper lip.

Stephen warbled through the final chords of “Michael, Row Your Boat Ashore” with a few people gamely singing along. “Thanks, Stephen,” Dana called out. “I felt like I was back at Camp Kern for a minute.”

Then Zach leaned over and took the guitar out of Stephen's hands. “Here, man, take a break,” he said. Stephen looked at him like he was going to protest, then shrugged.

“Knock yourself out.”

I narrowed my eyes. But then Zach strummed a few opening chords, and the sound floated over, full and rich. “A little John Denver,” he said to no one in particular, then sang in a clear baritone,
“He was born in the summer of his twenty-seventh year . . .”

I sat up a little straighter, my burning marshmallows forgotten at the end my stick. Zach noticed and gave me a little sideways smile, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.
“Coming home to a place he'd never been before,”
he sang.

I leaned back against my rock and tilted my head up to the diamonds-and-dust mess of stars filling the black night sky, more than I'd ever seen in my whole life. The music flowed over and around me, filling me up, smoothing my thoughts out.

The song ended and there was a little silence. “How about ‘Country Roads'?” Chris, the ponytailed wrangler, called out. “Do you know that one?”

“Sure,” Zach said after a long pause.
“I hear her voice; in the morning hours she calls me. The radio reminds me of my home far away,”
he began. He stopped. “Hang on.” He cleared his throat.
“Country roads, take me home, to the place I belong, West Virginia, mountain mama, take me home, country roads . . . ,”
he sang. But his voice thickened and his fingers fumbled the chords. He stopped abruptly and jumped to his feet, handing the guitar to Stephen as everyone watched, surprised. “Sorry,” he mumbled, not looking at anyone, and then rushed out of the circle, stumbling on a branch and disappearing into the darkness.

Dana and I looked at each other, eyebrows raised. There was something going on there.

Chapter
Four

I balanced a boot on
the bottom rail of the fence and pushed the hose over the edge of the huge galvanized water trough that sat just inside the gate. The clear, cold water gushed into the trough, which I'd just spent the last hour emptying out, scrubbing, rinsing, and now refilling. “Come on, guys, come and get it,” I called across the grass to the grazing horses.

A few of them lifted their heads and pricked their ears at the sound of my voice. They'd already learned who brought treats and who didn't. Al and Diamond trotted across the grass toward me, probably hoping I was offering corn as well as water. I admired their beautiful stride as they broke into a canter, their heads high, Al graceful, Diamond a little stiff. I would never get tired of ­looking at them.

“Hey, boys,” I said as they came up. I stroked their broad cheeks as they thrust their velvety noses into my hands, snuffling their moist, hot breath; then I held out the apple I'd saved from my lunch.

“Not the whole apple for you, Al,” I told the bay as he tried to snatch it. I held on firmly and let him bite off half, then showed the other half to Diamond, holding the greedy Al away with my shoulder. “Stop. Don't be so piggy. Let Diamond have his.” The old white horse sniffed my hand, then slowly crunched the sweet fruit, the juice dripping from his chin whiskers. He'd been one of the first horses on the ranch, Jack had told me, and for years he'd pulled the chuck wagon whenever they took the guests into the hills for a picnic. Then he was the pony-ride horse and patiently ferried hundreds of terrified and excited little children on his back, never once spooking or startling. He never even stepped on any of their feet. Now he was twenty years old, but Jack had let him retire out to pasture, which I thought was only fair, considering how hard Diamond had worked all those years.

I watched the horses relish their snack, then thrust their noses into the clear, cold water and drink it up eagerly. The trough was brimming full now. I shut off the hose and coiled it up on the spigot outside the fence.

Walking slowly back toward the stable, I examined two blisters on my palm and the blackened fingernail on my other hand, the result of an interview with Mickey's back hoof. I'd learned the hard way never to put tools down on the floor of the stall when I was grooming.

A couple of days had passed since my arrival, and the boots Dana had given me felt like mine. I'd picked hooves, toted saddles, and gone on one very windy expedition to catch horses in the far reaches of the pasture. I'd gotten the crazy little Taylor girls down from the roof of the stable, where they'd climbed and then gotten stuck. I'd brought a wet washcloth and a cup of tea for Mrs. Coleman, the young widow, after finding her sobbing one cloudy day, head down on the fence.

Ahead I spotted Stephen waving at me from the broad circle driveway in front of the stable. I hurried up to him, my heart beating a little faster. “Are you waiting for me?”

“Good morning, Blue Eyes.” He flashed me a heart-melting smile. His hair was damp from the shower, and a charming trace of shaving cream was left on one cheek.

I reached over and wiped it off. “Good morning.”

“Thanks.” He ran his hand over his cheeks and neck. “The mirror was all fogged up. Hey, guess what just came in?”

“Oh, what? A surprise?”

“Yes. . . .”

“What? Tell me!” I clapped my hand together.

“No, guess.” He grinned down at me, clearly enjoying the game.

I sighed in mock impatience. “A whole lot of Barbie dolls.”

“I didn't know you were into Barbie dolls,” he teased.

I laughed. “I'm not! I'm just guessing. . . . Okay, um, fifty pounds of Tootsie Pops.”

“No . . .”

“Puppies.”

He shook his head, grinning.

“Kittens.”

“Time's up! Close your eyes and give me your hand.”

You don't need to ask twice.
I squeezed my eyes shut and felt his warm, strong fingers wrap around mine. I wondered if I'd be able to make it to wherever he was taking me with my knees in their present state of jelly-ness.

He led me over the stony path and through what I knew was the entrance to the barn, with its sweet, dusty smell of hay. We stopped. “Okay, open your eyes.”

Three horses stood in the stalls opposite the door, hanging their heads over the half doors. One was a brown-and-white paint, one was black, and one was a buckskin, with tawny gray-brown fur and a black mane and tail. “Aw!” I breathed.

“We've got some newbies. Jack just bought them at auction.” Stephen collected three halters from the bin by the door and hung one on the hook by each stall.

“Hi, babies!” I held my hand out to the black, then patted his neck firmly. “What are we doing with these guys?”

“Jack wants me to work with these new guys to get them ready to take on the overnight pack trip. They're all good camp horses, so it shouldn't take much to get them ready.” He patted the black one on the shoulder. “And you're supposed to help me,” Stephen went on. “So we get to work together.” He grinned at me.

“Oh. Okay.” My calm voice belied the handsprings going on inside me. I smiled at him and took a step closer. “It'll be fun.”

I'd heard about this pack trip. It was the highlight of the summer, for the staff and the guests—a day's ride up into the mountains, across streams, on narrow trails, to camp under the stars. The whole section went, and the guests were already talking about it.

“That's what I was thinking.” Stephen's eyes met mine.

“You get those horses in?” A loud voice from the doorway interrupted. Stephen's face tensed as Rick strode in.

“I got them off the trailer, no problems. The black didn't want to go in his stall, but I gave him some sweet feed and got him in that way.” His voice was slightly too loud, slightly too eager. I shifted uncomfortably. I knew Stephen worshipped his brother, but Rick was kind of scary. He always seemed to be teetering on the edge of some kind of anger precipice.

Rick didn't reply. He looked the horses over carefully, running his hands over their heads and flanks, down to their legs, first the black, then the paint. When he got to the buckskin, the horse backed away and raised his head, trying to avoid the trainer's hands. “Come here,” Rick muttered. He raised his hand to grab the horse's halter, and the buckskin trembled, his eyes rolling.

“Easy, boy,” he murmured to the horse as he took hold of his head. Sweat streaked the animal's fur, as Rick continued his inspection.

“Jack's a damn fool,” the trainer grunted, straightening up.

“How come?” I gathered my courage enough to ask.

Rick shot me a glance, as if he'd forgotten I was there. “Look there,” he said, nodding toward the buckskin's head.

I stepped closer and stifled a gasp. The horse's forehead and cheeks and the sides of his neck and back were striped with scars—long, broad stripes of missing fur. “What happened?” I breathed, though I thought I knew.

“It looks like he's been beaten,” Stephen said.

“He was heading for the meat factory, and Jack bid on him at the last minute.” Rick took a toothpick from his breast pocket and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. “Pretty clear now why no one else wanted him.”

“Oh, poor baby.” I raised my hand to pat the horse, and he shied away again.

“Head shy,” Rick said. “Watch yourself or you'll be missing a couple fingers. This horse can't go on the pack trip. I don't even know why Jack bought him. He needs to go straight back where he came from.” He turned on his heel abruptly. “Tie that buckskin's head. He's going to bite anyone who comes near him.” He clomped out into the bright sunshine.

Stephen sprang forward and fastened the horse's halter to a ring in the wall with a lead line. The horse's head drooped.

“What's going to happen to him?” I rested my chin on the top of the stall door. The horse craned his head to look at us. He looked so sad, tied up in the dark depths of the stall. “Does he really have to be tied?” I slid back the bolt and stepped into the stall. “There, boy,” I crooned, stroking his shoulder and neck. He dropped his head a little further and I ran my hand up his neck. Gently, I patted his broad, flat cheek. He didn't jerk away this time. Instead he leaned up against me and pushed his heavy head against my arm.

“What's going to happen to you?” I whispered to him again. He heaved a great sigh and half closed his eyes.

“You like that horse, do you?”

I realized there was another figure in the barn aisle now, instead of one. I eased back out of the stall to see Jack standing beside Stephen.

Jack hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “Glad you like this gelding, but he's just here for a couple weeks, Chloe. I only brought him with the others because Sandra couldn't stand to see him up there on the auction block.” He smiled a little ruefully. “Forty years on the ranch and she still has a soft spot for the charity cases.”

“But what then?” I couldn't keep the anxiety from my voice. “Where will he go after a couple weeks?”

Jack looked at me for a long moment. “I'm going to sell him again at the auction mart.” He spoke gently. “He might get a home or he might go for meat.”

“Meat!” Horror shot through me. Those big soft eyes and that gentle face going for meat! “No! You can't do that.” The words were out of me before I remembered who I was talking to.

But Jack didn't take offense. He sighed. “I wish I didn't have to. But that's the way of horses. They're too expensive to keep if they're not earning it.” He dropped a big, hard hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “He'll get a bit of a vacation here first, anyway.”

Stephen and I looked at each other when Jack left. We were each hoping the other would speak first. “We should just turn him out,” Stephen finally said. “Let him eat grass for two weeks. It might be the last time he gets to.”

“Stephen, they can't send him back!” I cried, pain twisting my heart all of a sudden. “They can't! We have to keep him here.”

“Jack won't. You heard him. He's really strict about all the animals here earning their keep. Old Diamond's the only one in retirement.”

I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth. “I can't stand to think of him being . . .
eaten
.” Even saying the word sounded grotesque.

“Hey, don't look so upset.” Stephen took my hand, and my stomach fluttered in spite of my anguish. “Look, let's just make sure he has the best two weeks of his life.”

“We can give him extra grain.” I managed a smile.

“And let him stay out all night under the stars.” Stephen took my other hand. The conversation wasn't just about the horse, I realized at the back of my mind.

His fingers were warm on mine. I took a tiny step closer to him. “And—”

“Hey, kids.”

Zach tromped in all of a sudden, and I jumped, my foot hitting a metal bucket with a clang. “Oh, hi!” I tried to look casual, but his amused eyes told me he knew exactly what I was flustered about. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here, actually.” He held out his hand. “Zach. Nice to meet you. I'm a summer worker—”

“Ha-ha.” I swatted his hand away.

He grinned and dropped down on an overturned mud bucket. “To answer your question, I was told to come over here and groom the new horses. Is that okay with you, or did you have another activity in mind?” He wagged his eyebrows suggestively at me.

“That's fine,” Stephen broke in. “You should do what you were assigned.” He frowned at Zach, who slung a mocking arm around Stephen's neck and put him in a headlock.

“Absolutely, bro. You give the orders; I follow them.”

Somehow I didn't quite believe him.

Stephen broke free of his hold and straightened up, his hair standing up. “The grooming boxes are in the tack room.” He smoothed his hair down—a little fussily, I thought, then immediately chided myself. I sat down on a mud bucket.

“Hey, guys,” Zach greeted the horses. “How was the ride over? Did you get to stop for food? Go through the drive-thru? Order grain burgers?” He rubbed the black under his forelock, then noticed the buckskin. “How come this one's tied?”

“Head shy,” Stephen said, with his back to Zach. He didn't turn around.

“You should untie him.” Zach sounded perfectly assured.

“What did you say?” Stephen slowly faced him, his voice incredulous.

“I said you should untie that horse's head,” Zach said smoothly. “Tying up's the worst for a head-shy horse.”

“How the hell do you know that?” Stephen said. “My brother told me to tie him up. Don't you think he would know, since he's the
trainer
here?”

Zach shrugged, apparently unruffled. “Yeah, you'd think so.” He let that comment dangle in the air between the three of us.