Sunset Ranch (9 page)

I settled in a corner as close to Stephen as I could get and hung on to the back of August's shirt, since she kept leaning out of the wagon to grab at nearby branches. “I'm trying to catch a squirrel,” she insisted when I told her to stop.

“Stop, August,” the dad said in his defeated way.

Rick clucked to the horses and they leaned into the harness. The wheels turned and the wagon creaked its way down the long driveway.

As we turned right onto the dirt road that wove its way back into the outer reaches of the ranch, Stephen took my guitar from the straw. He'd asked to borrow it before we left. He played a few tunes, and when he got to “Danny Boy,” Mrs. Coleman surprised us all by chiming in with a reedy soprano. She looked almost invigorated when we were through, despite the fact that “Danny Boy” gets a prize for being the world's saddest song.

I alternated between keeping the kids from throwing hay at each other and the horses and keeping an eye on Zach and Stephen, who were still glowering from opposite corners, though neither of them was speaking. That was good.

The horses pulled harder against their harnesses, and the wagon tilted upward. We had left the dirt road behind. Now only two wagon ruts marked the sunny grass slope. I looked down and saw a rushing mountain brook below a steep bank. Pine trees and boulders littered the shores, as if a giant had broken his toys, then wandered away, leaving them behind.

“Whoa.” Rick twitched the reins, and Mark and Scott obediently came to a halt. “Here we are.”

We had stopped in a little glade of aspen trees, arranged in almost a perfect circle set back from the edge of the brook. Some rough lengths of logs were turned upright to form crude seats. The rustling leaves cast a cool green light over us, a welcome respite from the glare of the sun, which was now high in the sky.

Dana jumped down from the wagon seat and began unloading gear for the picnic lunch. Stephen reached out around the wagon box and unfastened the backboard. As soon as he lowered it, I let go of August's shirt, and she and Miriam shot out of the wagon like they were in a slingshot. Their parents followed at a leisurely pace, the mother looking at her phone, the dad staring glumly at his two daughters, who were now fighting over one of the log seats. Dana offered her hand to Mrs. Coleman, who delicately picked her way through the straw and down to the ground, where she immediately walked over to the brook and stared down into its burbling depths.

Zach jumped down and turned to me. “Here.” He offered me his hand.

“Thanks.” I hopped to the ground and looked around for Stephen, expecting him to have also been ready to help me down, especially since he was the one I really wanted. But he was already at the front of the wagon beside his brother. Rick was talking to him in a low, intense voice. He was holding a broken strap of leather in his hand and shaking it almost in Stephen's face. Stephen was looking down at the ground, mumbling. His cheeks were pink and his shoulders looked stiff. The strap had split after all. I darted a glance at Zach, half hoping he had missed what was happening. He hadn't. As I watched, Stephen glanced over at him, and Zach gave Stephen a big cheese-eating grin. Stephen looked like he wanted to sock him.

I went over to help Dana unload the lunch. “This place is so pretty. But I don't see any antelope.”

She gestured to the open land just beyond the grove. “They're usually out there. They take off when they hear us, but they'll wander back.”

“What food did Miguel pack?”

“Let's see.” She pulled out a foil-wrapped packet of tortillas and a giant tub of what looked like chili. “We're going to make a fire and heat the chili over the flames. The guests love it, and Rick gets to show off his fire skills,” she told me. “Hey, do you mind getting some wood? Just whatever's on the ground.”

“Sure.” I wandered away among the trees, scanning for fallen branches until the sounds of the picnic receded behind me. All around was only the soft rustle of the aspen leaves and, faintly, the distant scream of a hawk. I gathered a handful of twigs and then a couple of medium-sized branches. My hands were getting full. I bent to pick up one more branch, when I heard the crack of twigs behind me. I turned around to see Zach coming through the trees, looking like some kind of modern-day Robin Hood. “Hey. I didn't know you were back here.”

“Just getting wood.” Only then did I notice his hands were full of branches too.

“Those little twigs?” I teased. “You call that wood?”

He raised his eyebrows, smiling a little. “Oh, I see how it is, McKinley. You've got some pretty pathetic wood there yourself.”

“That's all I could find!” I protested. “It's not like I'm in here toting an ax.”

A devilish light I'd grown to recognize started in Zach's eyes. He looked up, scanning the nearby trees. “There. How about that for wood?”

I followed his gaze. A large branch about as big around as my arm was dangling from an oak tree, suspended only by a thin strip of bark. It was partially propped on another large branch, keeping it from falling to the ground. “What about it? It's like twenty feet up!”

Dramatically, Zach opened his arms and let all the wood he was holding fall to the ground. “I'm getting it.”

“Are you part chimp? You're seriously going to climb up that tree?”

“If I do, will you go out with me?” He spoke lightly, but I sensed a serious undercurrent behind his voice. I flushed, glad he was facing away from me now, apparently evaluating the tree trunk for the best plan of attack.

“I don't know . . . ,” I said softly, but he wasn't listening—at least, I don't think he was. I felt like I was being disloyal to Stephen somehow, just by answering, even though we weren't technically together.

Zach leaped at the tree like a cat and landed several feet up, clinging to the trunk with both arms and legs wrapped around it. Just as fast, he fell off, landing on the ground with a thud. “Ow.”

I laughed. “So smooth.”

He jumped to his feet, bits of bark clinging to his shirt. “I just need to try that again.” This time he launched himself at the trunk harder and immediately rebounded onto the ground. “Ahh.” He held his hand to his face.

“Zach!” I knelt beside him. His nose was bleeding a little, and he had a small cut above his lip. “Seriously, stop! You're crazy, you know that?”

“We need firewood—it's an emergency.” His voice had a faint honking quality with his hand over his nose. “If we don't cook lunch, the Taylor girls are going to cannibalize their parents.”

I guffawed. “We can't let that happen.” I stood up, brushing off my knees, and circled the tree, looking up at it carefully.

“Hey, now!” Zach sat up. “Who's the crazy one?”

“Definitely still you,” I said, and jumped to reach the lowest branch on the trunk. I just snagged it and, wiggling around to get a better grip, kicked my legs back and forth until I had enough momentum to swing them up and over the branch.

“If you kill yourself, I don't think Jack will let me keep working here,” Zach called up to me.

I didn't answer—I was concentrating on pulling myself up until I could stand upright on the thick bottom branch. I steadied myself with a thinner branch just overhead, and looked down at Zach through the scrim of green leaves. Light danced across his handsome, high-cheekboned face as he gazed up at me. “Hi, down there.”

“Hi. Were you raised by monkeys and just haven't told me yet?”

“Maybe.” I started edging along the branch toward the dangling firewood. “I used to climb our mulberry tree every afternoon with my friend Jess. It was the best reading tree.” I swiped at the dangling branch and wobbled.

“Easy, cowboy!” Zach called up.

“I've almost got it.” The branch was tantalizingly in reach. Just another step, and one little yank . . . “Got it!” I let the branch fall through the leaves and crash to the ground.

I crouched down and, balancing with one hand, sat on the big branch, then swung my legs over and, clasping it with both arms, lowered myself off. Holding on, my legs dangling, I looked down. The ground looked farther away than I remembered it. Zach must have seen the hesitation in my face.

“Here, I'll break your fall.” He reached his arms up.

“I'll squash you!” I squealed just as my sweaty hands began to slip.

I landed on him with a thump, and we both hit the ground, with me lying on top of him. “Oh God, are you okay?” I laughed and at the same time realized that our faces were only inches away. I could feel his heart beating through his shirt. My own breath stopped. His eyes dropped to my lips, and suddenly I knew,
knew
, he was going to kiss me. All motion stopped. The whole world narrowed down to his mouth so close to mine. My mind spun, gabbling questions, instructions, but my body and my breath were still.

“Where's the firewood?”

I jumped as if Zach had turned into a red-hot poker and rolled off him, scrambling to my feet. Dana stood a few feet away, a wad of crumpled newspaper in her hand.

“What—fire—firewood?” I stuttered, feeling my face ­flaming.

Dana looked like she was suppressing laughter. “Sorry, did you get distracted?”

“Dude, we totally have the wood right here,” Zach broke in smoothly, and pushed past us with the big branch. “I'll chop it up.” He shot me one backward smile, then disappeared through the trees.

Dana turned to me with both eyebrows raised so high I thought they were going to fly off her forehead.

I waved my hands in front of my face to ward her off. “Don't. Just . . . don't. I have no idea what that was, so don't even ask me.”

She grinned. “It looked pretty obvious what that was to me—”

“Just dumb messing around.” I cut her off, taking the newspaper out of her hand. “Is this for tinder? I'll go find the matches.” I turned and walked unsteadily back toward the camp, forgetting all the wood I was supposed to have been collecting.

***

I sank thankfully into my creaky bed later that night. Dana was already snoring faintly across the room. The moonlight laid its cool path across the scratchy wool blanket, and outside the open window the dry grass rustled in the wind. Even fainter than that was the stamp and rattle of the horses at the hay rack in the pasture. I closed my eyes and crooked my arm over my face, feeling each weary muscle loosening, sinking down into the mattress. Slow swirls of sleep moved over me already, taking me away. Drowsily I kicked my dirty jeans off the end of the bed. They slid to the floor, and something fell out of the pocket with a faint click.

My mind woke up a few degrees and I leaned over the bed and dragged the jeans toward me. It was Zach's photo that had fallen out of the pocket.

Easing myself back onto my pillow, I unfolded the stiff paper once again. I tilted it slightly so that the moonlight from the window illuminated the faces of the younger Zach and his brother. I studied it carefully—their ruddy, grinning faces looking back over their shoulders at the camera. Zach held a wooden-handled spatula. But it was Dan's hands that captivated me: long fingers, bony knuckles, neat fingernails. I'd seen almost identical hands earlier today, clasping mine as I lay so close to Zach after my tumble from the tree.

Chapter
Nine

“A
ll right, get along!” Dana
called, riding easily on Sunny, her palomino mare. She squeezed the horse to a jog, moving close to Mrs. Coleman, who was bouncing helplessly in her saddle, clutching the horn with both hands. At the back of the group, one of the Taylor girls was crying again, while the father tried to comfort her in his usual desperate, placating whisper. The oblivious mother rode up front, peppering Rick with questions about the sustainability of the ranch's water supply, and I brought up the rear on Magic.

All three of the new horses had made a lot of progress, but Magic had made even more progress than I thought he would. He would let me and Zach put on his halter and bridle, as long as we worked slowly and carefully and didn't touch his ears any more than absolutely necessary. He still wouldn't let Stephen near him, though—not since that first day when Rick had made Stephen tie him up. Stephen said he wasn't worried, but I didn't believe him. And the tension in his hands and voice whenever he came near Magic now just made the horse avoid him more. He'd even tried to bite Stephen the other day, and Zach had laughed, which hadn't helped the situation.

The water problem was the worst, though—every time I filled his bucket with the hose, he rolled his eyes and stood in the very back corner of his stall, as far away from the hose as possible. And he wouldn't drink at all from the big trough in the pasture if a hose was filling it up at the same time. But as soon as the surface of the water was calm, he relaxed.

Now I ran my hand up and down his beautiful gray-brown fur and guided him with the other. His mouth was beautifully responsive—the slightest twitch of my fingers and he pricked up his ears, waiting to see what I was asking. Even his trot was smooth, jostling me just slightly in the saddle.

Dana led the group through one of the main pastures. “This way, everyone!” she called, waving us to follow her. She squeezed Sunny into a slow lope, and with varying degrees of competency, the guests followed in a straggling line.

I asked Magic for a canter and he picked it up easily while I relaxed, enjoying the rocking motion of his lovely gait, admiring the way the dry, yellow grass contrasted almost violently with the jewel-blue sky.

The path twisted and meandered, carrying us up and down little hills. I pressed my heels down further, trying to imagine my legs as long lines clinging to Magic's sides without gripping, as my old riding teacher used to say. Then a small burbling creek appeared in my peripheral vision, and the path dipped and turned until it was running parallel.

Magic pulled up suddenly, almost rocking back on his legs. I gasped and gripped the reins, struggling to keep from falling forward onto his neck, and quickly scanned the path for snakes, by far the most common cause of spooking out here.

The path was clear, though, and still Magic veered away as if repelled by an invisible magnet. Automatically, I tried to steer him back, but he raised his head high, trying to avoid the bit, and broke into a fast, bouncing trot.

“It's the creek, isn't it, boy?” I murmured. I steered him off the trail, managing to slow him down. I walked him in a large circle, stroking his neck.

“Hey, Chloe, are you okay?” Dana yelled back. She'd pulled up, and the group was waiting for me, twisted around, staring back.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” I called.

“Well, come on! We're all supposed to stay together.” She turned back around in her saddle and started Sunny at a walk. “All right, everyone!” she shouted back to the group. “We're going to cross this little creek. It's only up to the horses' ankles, so don't worry!”

A little ripple of excitement ran through the group as first Sunny, then the others, carefully picked their way down a sloping little bank and across the burbling creek. I tried to steer Magic to follow, but he kept veering away from the creek. “Come on, boy, this is the crossing,” I murmured to him. “I know you're afraid, but we have to do it.” My shoulders were starting to ache with the effort of keeping him on the path, and I could tell he was agitated. The sides of his neck were dark with sweat, and the leather reins carved it off in foamy streaks. He was breathing heavily and snorting through his nostrils, slinging his head to avoid the bit. I could feel him wanting to turn—only the insistence of my legs and the pressure of the bit kept him moving forward.

“Come on, boy!” I urged him forward at the crossing and dug my heels into his sides, leaning forward in the saddle, my rein hand far up his neck, moving him forward. Still he veered away.

I pressed my heels into his sides so that he couldn't get away from the pressure and twirled the long ends of the reins in my free hand, catching him lightly on the flank. Big mistake. He flung up his head, almost hitting me in the face as I leaned forward, and wheeled around. I lurched to the side, clutching the horn in an attempt to regain my balance, feeling my right foot slip from the stirrup, the reins flapping. His strong muscles bunched underneath me, and I felt him pick up speed alarmingly fast.

We pounded away from the creek, me almost hanging off his side, feeling the saddle slip too, though I'd tightened the cinch as far as it would go before I mounted.

Ground and sky rushed at me dizzily tilted, and fleetingly I prayed,
Please don't let him step in a hole.
I clutched at mane, reins, saddle. Faintly, from somewhere behind me, I heard Dana's voice yelling, “Sit up! Sit up! Pull back!”

I'm trying,
I said to her in my mind, but it was no good. I thumped to the ground, jarring my side and landing painfully on my ankle. I pushed myself up just in time to see my horse disappearing over the horizon.

***

“It's a water phobia,” I said three hours later, sitting on one of the old couches in the common room with Dana, Stephen, and Zach around me. My foot was propped on a chair. Stephen sat close next to me, and every now and then he reached over and solicitously rearranged the bag of frozen peas that sat on my ankle. Sandra had inspected me closely after Dana brought me in all dirty, and had sat me here on the sofa with strict instructions to ice my ankle for an hour.

“He was doing so great until we hit the creek,” I went on. Dana nodded thoughtfully.

“He was totally scared. I could see it in the way he was refusing you.” She hitched her foot up on the sofa arm and rested her chin on her knee. “You did great staying on as long as you did.”

“Nice job.” Stephen patted my knee and smiled.

Dana went on. “He's been through a lot. Someone probably forced him through a creek or a river when he was younger. He could've lost his footing or was carrying too heavy of a rider.”

“And couldn't swim?” I shuddered, thinking of Magic frightened and struggling in the middle of a river somewhere.

“Your pony's back,” Rick said from the doorway. He tromped over and pulled out one of the creaky wooden chairs, collapsing into it. The chair squeaked a protest. “Showed up at the stable door just a few minutes ago. Jack's checking him over now, but he looks okay.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. But it was short-lived. Anxiety seized me when Rick fixed me with his hard stare. “You got an explanation for this?”

I told him what happened, as briefly and clearly as I could.

The room was silent when I finished. My stomach was sick. I couldn't look at the boys. Then from beside me, I felt Dana's foot give mine a little kick. It gave me the courage to look Rick in the face. His mouth was a hard line. He looked at me, Stephen, and Zach each in turn. “We kept that horse after you kids told us you'd work on him. Now he's gone and spooked. We can't trust him with a guest as of now.” Rick shoved his chair back with a scrape and stood up, his leather belt creaking under the weight of his belly. “Jack's given you all another chance to get him ready for the pack trip.” He looked directly at Stephen. “I don't know why. That horse is better off as meat.”

He clumped out of the room, the heels of his boots thumping the worn boards.

We all sat in silence. I felt sick. Magic had another chance, but barely. He could not screw up again.

Stephen sat with his head bowed, his forearms resting on his knees. His hair obscured his face. He didn't look at anyone. “It's my fault.” His voice was muffled.

“What?” Dana asked.

He raised his face. The freckles stood out in bright blotches. “He should've been ready by now. I should have considered the water issue.” He smacked his knee with his fist, and we all jumped. “It's okay.” His voice was tight. It was clear that it wasn't okay. “He'll be ready for the pack trip. I'll make sure he is.”

We all stared at him, mouths open. I could feel the intensity radiating off him, beating against me like heat from a fire.

“Of course he'll be ready,” I said gently. “We'll all work with him.” I glanced quickly at Zach, but he was watching Stephen, his eyes narrowed.

Stephen shook his head. “He's my responsibility. It's my head if he spooks again.”

This time no one argued with him. He was right.