The McKettrick Legend (33 page)

Brad suppressed an urge to roll his eyes. “Is that really so far beyond the realm of possibility?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“Because Ransom isn't the only animal I dream about, that's why. And it isn't a recent phenomenon—it's been happening since I was little! Remember Simon, that old sheepdog we had when we were kids? He told me he was leaving—and three days later, he was hit by a car. I could go on, because there are a whole lot of other stories, but frankly, I don't have time. Ransom is in trouble.”

Surprise was too mild a word for what Brad felt. Livie had always been crazy about animals, but she was stone practical, with a scientific turn of mind, not given to spooky stuff. And she'd never once confided that she got dream messages from four-legged friends.

“Why didn't you tell me? Did Big John know?”

“You'd have packed me off to a therapist. Big John had enough to worry about without Dr. Doo little for a granddaughter. Now—will you please move?”

“No,” Brad said. “I won't move, please or otherwise. Not until you tell me what's so urgent about tracking down a wild stallion on top of a damn mountain!”

Tears glistened in Livie's eyes, and Brad felt a stab to his conscience.

Livie's struggle was visible, and painful to see, but she finally answered. “He's in pain. There's something wrong with his right foreleg.”

“And you plan to do what when—and if—you find him? Shoot him with a tranquilizer gun? Livie, this is Stone Creek, Arizona, not the
Wild Kingdom
. And dream or no dream, that horse—” He raised both hands to forestall the impatience brewing in her face. “
Ransom
is not a character in a Disney movie. He's not going to let you walk up to him, examine his foreleg and give him a nice little shot. If you
did
get close, he'd probably stomp you down to bone fragments and a blood stain!”

“He wouldn't,” Livie said. “He knows I want to help him.”

“Livie, suppose—just
suppose,
damn it—that you're wrong.”

“I'm not wrong.”

“Of
course
you're not wrong. You're a freaking O'Ballivan!” He paused, shoved a hand through his hair. Tried another tack. “There aren't that many hours of daylight left. You're not going up that mountain alone, little sister—not if I have to hog-tie you to keep you here.”

“Then you can come with me.”

“Oh, that's noble of you. I'd
love
to risk freezing to death in a freaking blizzard. Hell, I've got nothing
better
to do, besides nurse a wounded dog that
you
brought to me, and make a freaking
movie
—also your idea—”

Livie's mouth twitched at one corner. She fought the grin, but it came anyway. “Do you realize you've used the
word ‘freaking' three times in the last minute and a half? Have you considered switching to decaf?”

“Very funny,” Brad said, but he couldn't help grinning back. He rested his hands on Livie's shoulders, squeezed lightly. “You're my little sister. I love you. If you insist on tracking a wild stallion all over the mountain, at least wait until morning. We'll saddle up at dawn.”

Livie looked serious again. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay? That's it? You're giving up without a fight?”

“Don't be so suspicious. I said I'd wait until dawn, and I will.”

Brad raised one eyebrow. “Shake on it?”

Livie put out a hand. “Shake,” she said.

He had to be satisfied with that. In the O'Ballivan family, shaking hands on an agreement was like taking a blood oath—Big John had drilled that into them from child hood. “Since we're leaving so early, maybe you'd better spend the night here.”

“I can do that,” Livie said, turning to lead Cinnamon back to his stall. “But since I'm not going tonight, I might as well make my normal rounds first. I conned Dr. Summers into covering for me, but he wasn't too happy about it.” Her eyes took on a mischievous twinkle as he approached, took over the process of unsaddling the horse. “How are things going with Meg?”

Brad didn't look at her. “Not all that well, actually.”

“What's wrong?”

“I'm not sure I could put it into words.”

Livie nudged him before pushing open the stall door to leave. “It's a long ride up the mountain,” she said. “Plenty of time to talk.”

“I might take you up on that,” he answered.

“I'll just look in on Willie, then go make my rounds. See you later, alligator.”

Brad's eyes burned. Like the hand shake, “See you later, alligator” was a holdover from Big John. “In a while, crocodile,” he answered on cue.

By the time he got back to the house, Livie had already examined Willie, climbed into the Suburban and driven off. A note stuck to the refrigerator door read,
Are you making supper, Mr. Movie Star? Or should I pick up a pizza?

Brad chuckled and took a package of chicken out of the freezer.

The phone rang.

“Yea or nay on the double Hawaiian deluxe with extra ham, cheese and pine apple?” Livie asked.

“Forget the pizza,” Brad replied. “I'm not eating anything you've handled. You stick your arm up cows' butts for a living, after all.”

She laughed, said goodbye and hung up.

He started to replace the receiver, but Meg was still on his mind, so he punched in the digits. Funny, he reflected, how he remembered her number at the Triple M after all this time. He couldn't have recited the one he'd had in Nashville to save his life.

Voice mail picked up. “You've reached 555-7682,” Meg said cheerily. “Leave a message and, if it's appropriate, I'll call you back.”

Brad moved to disconnect, then put the receiver back to his ear. “It's Brad. I was just—a—calling to see how things are going with your dad and Carly—”

She came on the line, sounding a little breathless. “Brad?”

His heart did a slow backflip. “Yeah, it's me,” he said.

“I hear you're making a movie in Stone Creek.”

He closed his eyes. He'd blown it again—Meg should
have heard the news from him, not via the local grape vine. “I thought maybe Carly could be an extra,” he said.

“She'd love that, I'm sure,” Meg said with crisp formality.

“Meg? The movie thing—”

“It's all right, Brad. I'm happy for you. Really.”

“You sound thrilled.”

“You could have mentioned it. Not exactly an everyday occurrence, especially in the wilds of northern Arizona.”

“I wanted to talk about it in person, Meg.”

“You know where I live, and clearly, you know my telephone number.”

“I know where your G-spot is, too,” he said.

He heard her draw in a breath. “Dirty pool, O'Ballivan.”

“All's fair in lust and war, McKettrick.”

“Is that what this is? Lust?”

“You tell me.”

“I'm not the one who took a step back,” she reminded him.

He knew what she was talking about, of course. He'd been pretty cool to her the night of the steak dinner. “Livie and I are riding up the mountain again tomorrow, to look for Ransom. Do you still want to go?”

She sighed. He hoped she was thawing out, but with Meg, it could go either way. Ice or fire. “I wish I could. Ted's being admitted to the hospital tomorrow morning, and I promised to take Carly to visit him as soon as school lets out for the day.”

“She's having a pretty rough time,” he said. “If there's anything I can do to help—”

“The T-shirt was a hit. So is having your au to graph on all those CDs. Your kindness means a lot to her, Brad.” A
pause. “On a happier note, Sierra went into labor today. I'm expecting to be an aunt again at any moment.”

“That is good news,” Brad said, but he put one hand to his middle, as though he'd taken a fist to the stomach.

“Yeah,” Meg said, and he knew by the catch in her voice that, somehow, she'd picked up on his reaction. “Well, anyway, congratulations on the movie, and thanks for getting in touch. Oh, and be careful on the mountain tomorrow.”

The in visible fist moved from his solar plexus to his throat, squeezing hard.
Congratulations on the movie…thanks for getting in touch…so long, see you around.

She'd hung up before he could get out a goodbye.

He thumbed the off button, leaned forward and rested his head against a cupboard door, eyes closed tight.

Willie nuzzled him in the thigh and gave a soft whine.

 

Two hours later, Livie returned, freshly showered and wearing a dress.

“Got a hot date?” Brad asked, trying to remember the last time he'd seen his sister in anything besides boots, ragbag jeans and one of Big John's old shirts.

She ignored the question and, with a flourish, pulled a bottle of wine from her tote bag and set it on the counter, sniffing the air appreciatively. “Fried chicken? Is there no end to your talents?”

“Not as far as I know,” he joked.

Livie elbowed him. “We should have invited the twins to join us. It would be like old times, all of us sitting down together in this kitchen.”

Not quite like old times,
Brad thought, missing Big John with a sudden, piercing ache, as fresh as if he'd just gotten the call announcing his grandfather's death.

Livie was way too good at reading him. She snatched a cucumber slice from the salad and nibbled at it, leaning
back against the counter and studying his face. “You really miss Big John, don't you?”

He nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak.

“He was so proud of you, Brad.”

He swallowed. Averted his eyes. “Keep your fingers out of the salad,” he said.

Livie laid a hand on his arm. “I know you think you disappointed him at practically every turn. That you should have been here, instead of in Nashville or on the road or wherever, and maybe all of that's true, but he
was
proud. And he was grateful, too, for everything you did.”

“He'd raise hell about this movie,” Brad said hoarsely.

“He'd brag to every body who would let him bend their ear,” Livie replied.

“Do you know what I'd give to be able to talk to Big John just one more time? To say I'm sorry I didn't visit—call more often?”

“A lot, I guess. But you can still talk to him. He'll hear you.” She stood on tiptoe, kissed Brad lightly on the cheek. “Tell me you've already fed the horses, because I'd hate to have to swap out this getup for barn gear.”

Brad laughed. “I've fed them,” he said. He turned, smiled down into her upturned face. “I never would have taken you for a mystic, Doc. Do you talk to Big John? Or just wild stallions and sheepdogs?”

“All the time,” Livie said, plundering a drawer for a cork screw, which Brad immediately took from her. “I don't think he's really gone. Most of the time, it feels as if he's in the next room, not some far-off heaven—some times, I even catch the scent of his pipe tobacco.”

Since Brad had taken over opening the cabernet, Livie got out a couple of wine glasses. Willie poked his nose at her knee, angling for attention.

“Yes,” she told the dog. “I know you're there.”

“Does he talk to you, too?” Brad asked, only half kidding.

“Sure,” Livie replied airily. “He likes you. You're a little awkward, but Willie thinks you have real potential as a dog owner.”

Grinning, Brad sloshed wine into Livie's glass, then his. Raised it in a toast. “To Big John,” he said, “and King's Ransom, and Stone Creek's own Dr. Doo little. And Willie.”

“To the movie and Meg McKettrick,” Livie added, and clinked her glass against Brad's.

Brad hesitated before he drank. “To Meg,” he said finally.

During supper, they chatted about Livie's preliminary plans for the promised animal shelter—it would be state of the art, offering free spaying and neutering, inoculations, etc.

They cleaned up the kitchen together afterward, as they had done when they were kids, then took Willie out for a brief walk. He was still sore, though the pain medication helped, and couldn't make it far, but he managed.

Since he hadn't slept much the night before, Brad crashed in the down stairs guest room early, leaving Livie sitting at the kitchen table, absorbed in his copy of the script.

Hours later, sleep-grogged and blinking in the harsh light of the bedside lamp, he awakened to find Livie standing over him, fully dressed—this time in the customary jeans—and practically vibrating with anxiety.

He yawned and dragged himself upright against the head board, “Liv, it's the middle of the night.”

“Ransom's cornered,” Livie blurted. “We have to get to him, and quick. Call a McKettrick and borrow that helicopter!”

T
HE WHOLE THING WAS CRAZY.

It was two in the morning.

He'd have to swallow his pride to roust Jesse or Keegan at that hour, and ask for a monumental favor in the bargain.
My sister had this dream, involving a talking horse,
he imagined himself saying.

But the look of desperation in Livie's eyes made the difference.

“Here's a number,” she said, shoving a bit of paper at him and handing him the cordless phone from the kitchen.

“Where did you get this?” Brad asked as Willie, curled at the foot of his bed, stood, made a tight circle and laid himself down again.

Livie answered from the doorway, plainly exasperated. “Jesse and I used to go out once in a while,” she said. “Make the call and get dressed!”

She didn't give him a chance to suggest that
she
make the request, since she and Jesse had evidently been an item at one time, but hurried out.

As soon as the door shut behind her, Brad sat up, reached for his jeans, which had been in a heap on the floor, and got into them while he thumbed Jesse's number.

McKettrick answered on the second ring, growling, “This had better be good.”

Brad closed his eyes for a moment, used one hand to button his fly while keeping the receiver propped between
his ear and his right shoulder. “It's Brad O'Ballivan,” he said. “Sorry to wake you up, but there's an emergency and—” He paused only briefly, for the last words had to be forced out. “I need some help.”

Barely forty-five minutes later, the McKettrickCo helicopter landed, running lights glaring like something out of
Close Encounters of the Third Kind,
in the field directly behind the ranch house. Jesse was at the controls.

“Hey, Liv,” he said with a Jesse-grin once she'd scrambled into the small rear seat and put on a pair of earphones.

“Hey,” Livie replied. There was no stiffness about either of them—the dating scenario must have ended affably, or not been serious in the first place.

Brad sat up front, next to Jesse, with a rifle between his knees, dreading the moment when he'd have to explain what this moonlight odyssey was all about.

But Jesse didn't ask for an explanation. All he said was, “Where to?”

“Horse Thief Canyon,” Livie answered. “On the eastern rim.”

Jesse nodded, cast one sidelong glance at Brad's rifle, and lifted the copter off the ground.

I might have to get one of these things,
Brad thought, still sleep-jangled.

Within fifteen minutes, they were high over the mountain, spot-lighting the canyon, so named for being the place where Sam O'Ballivan and some of his Arizona Rangers had once cornered a band of horse rustlers.

“There he is!” Livie shouted, fairly blowing out Brad's eardrums. He leaned for a look and what he saw made his heart swoop to his boot heels.

Ransom gleamed in the glare of the search light, rearing and pawing the ground with his powerful forelegs. Behind
him, against a rock face, were his mares—Brad counted three, but it was hard to tell how many others might be in the shadows—and before him, a pack of nearly a dozen wolves was closing in. They were hungry, focused on their cornered prey, and they paid no attention whatsoever to the copter roaring above their heads.

“Set this thing down!” Livie ordered. “Fast!”

Jesse worked the controls with one hand and hauled a second rifle out from under the pilot's seat with the other. Clearly, he'd spotted the wolves, too.

He landed the copter on what looked like a ledge, too narrow for Brad's comfort. The wait for the blades to slow seemed endless.

“Showtime,” Jesse said, shoving open his door, rifle in hand. “Keep your heads down. The updraft will be pretty strong.”

Brad nodded and pushed open the door, willing Livie to stay behind, knowing she wouldn't.

Just fifty yards away, Ransom and the wolf pack were still facing off. The mares screamed and snorted, frantic with fear, their rolling eyes shining white in the darkness.

With only the moon for light now, the scene was eerie.

The small hairs rose on the back of Brad's neck and one of the wolves turned and studied him with implacable amber eyes. His gray-white ruff shimmered in the silvery glow of cold, distant stars.

Some kind of weird connection sparked between man and beast. Brad was only vaguely aware of Jesse coming up behind him, of Livie already fiddling with her veterinary kit.

I'm a predator,
the wolf told Brad.
This is what I do.

Brad cocked the rifle.
I'm a predator, too,
he replied silently.
And you can't have these horses.

The wolf pondered a moment, took a single stealthy step toward Ransom, the stallion bloody-legged and exhausted from holding off the pack.

Brad took aim.
Don't do it, Brother Wolf. This isn't a bluff.

Tilting his massive head back, the wolf gave a chilling howl.

Ransom was stumbling a little by then, looking as though he'd go down. That, of course, was exactly what the pack was waiting for. Once the great steed was on the ground, they'd have him—and the mares. And the resultant carnage didn't bear considering.

Jesse stood at Brad's side, his own rifle ready. “I wouldn't have believed he was real,” McKettrick said in a whisper, though whether he was referring to Ransom or the old wolf was anybody's guess, “if I hadn't seen him with my own eyes.”

The wolf yowled again, the sound raising something primitive in Brad.

And then it was over.

The leader turned, moving back through the pack at a trot, and they rounded, one by one, with a lethal and hesitant grace, to follow.

Brad let out his breath, lowered his rifle. Jesse relaxed, too.

Livie, carrying her kit in one hand, headed straight for Ransom.

Brad moved to stop her, but Jesse put out his arm.

“Easy,” he said. “This is no time to spook that horse.”

It would be the supreme irony, Brad reflected grimly, if they had to shoot Ransom in the end, after going to all this trouble to save his hide. If the stallion made one aggressive move toward Livie, though, he'd do it.

“It's me, Olivia,” Livie told the legendary wild stallion in a companionable tone. “I came as soon as I could.”

Brad brought his rifle up quickly when Ransom butted Livie with his massive head, but Jesse forced the barrel down, murmuring, “Wait.”

Ransom stood, lathered and shining with sweat and fresh blood, and allowed Livie to stroke his long neck, ruffle his mane. When she squatted to run her hands over his forelegs, he allowed that, too.

“I'll be damned,” Jesse muttered.

The vision was surreal—Brad wasn't entirely convinced he wasn't dreaming at home in his bed.

“You're going to have to come in,” Livie told the horse, “at least long enough for that leg to heal.”

Unbelievably, Ransom nickered and tossed his head as though he were nodding in agreement.

“How the hell does she expect to drive a band of wild horses all the way down the mountain to Stone Creek Ranch?” Brad asked. He wasn't looking for an answer from Jesse—he was just thinking out loud.

Jesse whacked him on the shoulder. “You've been in the big city too long, O'Ballivan,” he said. “You stay here, in case the wolves come back, and I'll go gather a roundup crew. It'll be a few hours before we get here, though—keep your eye out for the pack and pray for good weather. About the last thing we need is another of those blizzards.”

By that time, Livie had produced a syringe from her kit, and was preparing to poke it through the hide on Ransom's neck.

Brad moved a step closer.

“Stay back,” Livie said. “Ransom's calm enough, but these mares are stressed out. I'd rather not find myself at the center of an impromptu rodeo, if it's all the same to you.”

Jesse chuckled, handed Brad his rifle, and turned to sprint back to the copter. Moments later, it was lifting off again, veering south west.

Brad stood unmoving for a long time, still not sure he wasn't caught up in the after math of a night mare, then leaned his and Jesse's rifles against the trunk of a nearby tree.

Ransom stood with his head down, dazed by the drug Livie had administered minutes before. The mares, still fitful but evidently aware that the worst danger had passed, fanned out to graze on the dry grass.

In the distance, the old wolf howled with piteous fury.

 

Pinkish-gold light rimmed the eastern hills as Meg returned to the house, after feeding the horses, and the phone was ringing.

She dived for it, in case it was Travis calling to say Sierra had had the baby.

In case it was Brad.

It was Eve.

“You're an aunt again,” Meg's mother announced, with brisk pride. “Sierra had a healthy baby boy at four-thirty this morning. I think they're going to call him Brody, for Travis's brother.”

Joy fluttered inside Meg's heart, like something trying delicate wings, and tears smarted in her eyes. “She's okay? Sierra, I mean?”

“She's fine, by all reports,” Eve answered. “Liam and I are heading for Flag staff right after break fast. He's beside himself.”

After washing her hands at the kitchen sink, Meg poured herself a cup of hot coffee. By habit, she'd set it brewing before going out to the barn. Upstairs, she heard Ted's slow step as he moved along the corridor.

“Ted's checking in today,” she said, keeping her voice down. “I'll stop by to see Sierra and the baby after I get him settled.” She drew a breath, let it out softly. “Mother, Carly is not handling this well.”

Eve sighed sadly. “I'm sure she isn't, the poor child,” she said. “Why don't you keep her out of school for the day and let her come along with you and Ted?”

“I suggested that,” Meg replied, as her father appeared on the back stairs, dressed, with a shaving kit in one hand.

Their gazes met.

“And?” Eve prompted.

“And Ted said he wants her to attend class and visit later, when school's out for the day.”

Ted nodded. “Is that Eve?”

“Yes,” Meg said.

He gestured for the phone, and Meg handed it to him.

“This is Ted,” he told Meg's mother. While he explained that Carly needed to settle into as normal a life as possible, as soon as possible, Carly herself appeared on the stairs, looking glum and stubborn.

She wore jeans and the souvenir T-shirt Brad had given her, in spite of the fact that it reached almost to her knees. The expression in her eyes dared Meg to object to the outfit—or anything else in the known universe.

“Hungry?” Meg asked.

“No,” Carly said.

“Too bad. In this house, we eat break fast.”

“I might puke.”

“You might.”

Ted cupped a hand over one end of the phone. “Carly,” he said sternly, “you
will
eat.”

Scowling, Carly swung a leg over the bench next to the table and plunked down, angrily bereft. Meg poured orange
juice, carried the glass to the table, set it down in front of her sister.

It was a wonder the stuff didn't come to an instant boil, considering the heat of Carly's glare as she stared at it.

“This bites,” she said.

“Okay, I'll pass the word,” Ted told Eve. “See you later.”

He hung up. “Eve's hoping you can have lunch with her and Liam after you visit Sierra and the baby.”

Meg nodded, distracted.

“It bites,” Carly repeated, watching Ted with thunderous eyes. “You're going to the
hospital,
and I have to go to that stupid school, where they'll probably put me in
kindergarten
or something. I'm
supposed
to be in seventh grade.”

Meg had no idea how Carly had fared on the tests she'd taken the day before, but it seemed safe to say things probably wouldn't go as badly as all that.

She got a frown for her trouble.

“This time next week,” Ted told his younger daughter, “you'll probably be a sophomore at Harvard. Drink your orange juice.”

Carly took a reluctant sip and eye balled Meg's jeans, which were covered with bits of hay. “Don't you have like a
job
or something?”

“Yeah,” Meg said, putting a pan on the stove to boil water for oatmeal. “I'm a ranch hand. The work's hard, the pay is lousy, there's no retirement plan and you have to shovel a lot of manure, but I love it.”

Break fast was a dismal affair, one Carly did her best to drag out, but, finally, the time came to leave.

Meg remained in the house for a few extra minutes while Ted and Carly got into the Blazer, giving them time to talk privately.

When she joined them, Carly was in tears, and Ted looked weary to the center of his soul.

Meg gave him a sympathetic look, pushed the button to roll up the garage door and backed out.

When they reached the school, Ted climbed laboriously out of the Blazer and stood on the sidewalk with Carly. They spoke earnestly, though Meg couldn't hear what they said, and Carly dashed at her cheeks with the back of one hand before turning to march staunchly through the colorful herd of kids toward the entrance.

Ted had trouble getting back into the car, but when Meg moved to get out and come around to help him, he shook his head.

“Don't,” he said.

She nodded, thick-throated and close to tears herself.

When they reached the hospital in Flag staff, Eve was waiting in the admittance office.

“I'll take over from here,” she told Meg, standing up extra-straight as she watched a nurse ease Ted into a waiting wheel chair. “You go upstairs and see your sister and your new nephew. Room 502.”

Meg hesitated, nodded. Then, surprising even herself, she bent and kissed Ted on top of the head before walking purposefully toward the nearest elevator.