Into The Storm
Luke set an iron skillet on the range and threw in half a pound of bacon while Jake pulled eggs from the fridge.
“Don’t scramble the eggs to rubber,” Tom said. “And toss me a fresh ice pack—this one’s thawed.”
Luke fetched the heavy ice pack from the freezer and dropped it in his brother’s lap. “Anything else? Champagne? Couple of buckle bunnies?”
“Hey, Doc said I should rest my leg,” Tom said. “Guess I won’t be able to stretch wire with you.”
“Aw, stop whining for sympathy.”
A thundering silence filled the room. Annie’s presence—or rather her absence—hung in the air. She’d have been exclaiming over Tom’s injury and whipping up his favorite lunch.
They had just finished eating when Mike Farley’s blue pickup pulled behind the house. A door slammed and Lucy Cameron blew into the kitchen, her red-gold hair flying. She skidded to a halt by Tom’s chair.
“Hey, big bro! Nice win—I watched at Mike’s last night. How’s the leg?”
“Just bruised—it won’t keep me from riding.” Tom jerked his chin toward Jake. “Get a load of the old man.”
Lucy turned toward Jake. Her blue eyes widened. “What happened? Are you okay?” For a moment the brittle mask slipped—Jake thought she might actually care.
“Skidded off the road coming home last night,” he said. “The driving was pretty bad—I’m glad you stayed at Mike’s.” He peered out the window. “You steal his rig?”
“I forgot my stupid uniform for work,” she said. “Mike’s got basketball practice, so I drove home to get it. I’ve got a rehearsal till five and then the Queen till closing. Mike will bring me home.”
She whirled toward the stairs but turned back with one foot on the step. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
He smiled, although it hurt his scraped cheek. “I’m fine—you should see the other guy.”
“That’s good.” She pounded up the stairs and galloped out the door moments later with her striped tunic flying behind her like a flag.
“I think we just got brushed by Hurricane Lucy,” Tom said. “I don’t know how Mike puts up with her—she’d drive me nuts.”
* * *
LUKE DROVE OUT on Thursday with Tom riding shotgun, headed for the next event in Des Moines. Ordinarily they would have driven straight through to arrive for Friday night’s go-round but they had decided to stretch the trip over two days to pamper Tom’s leg.
“Maybe I’ll just watch,” Tom had said, but Jake knew he’d be straddling his bulls, hoping to land on his sound leg and hop to a safe getaway.
Jake headed for the barn after they left. He and Luke had mended the downed fence, but he still needed to check on the line camp at the far edge of their spread. The boys took turns sleeping in the old cabin during the summer break in the bull-riding schedule, keeping an eye on the cow and calf pairs grazing there. Great pasture, but sometimes a cat would come in from the backcountry for a feed of fresh veal. He needed to hire another hand, but it was hard to compete with the better wages and easier hours in the gas fields around Farmington.
He couldn’t find the hammer he might need for repairs on the cabin; maybe it was in his rig. When he rummaged under the driver’s seat, he found a well-chewed rubber dog toy. Must belong to Shelby Doucette’s dog; he’d heard Stranger working at something while they drove. Shelby had no transportation into town for a replacement. He pulled keys from his pocket. The cabin could wait.
When he reached Durango, he stopped at the Farm and Ranch Exchange before heading north to the Norquist ranch. Forty pounds of food wouldn’t last long for a dog Stranger’s size; he’d pick up another bag, just to be neighborly.
Oscar studied him from across the counter at the Exchange. “You don’t look quite so much like you been kicked in the face,” he said. “You here for those fence staples?”
“Yeah, and I’ll take some of that dog food we stopped for on Monday.” He hoped Oscar would remember what Shelby had bought. “Could be Norquist’s trainer is running short for her big mutt.”
“You’re a day late—Gary bought a bag yesterday. Guess he figures to bribe his way into her jeans.”
Jake’s fist balled on the counter. “I knew he’d be trouble.”
“He tried getting cute with my sister’s youngest girl,” Oscar said. “While she was working evenings at Denny’s. Kept coming by around quitting time, sweet-talking about how pretty she is and how he could show her a good time after work.”
“That’s Lorrie? The one who joined the Air Force?”
“That’s her. She’s way too smart to fall for a line like that,” Oscar said, “but he had her spooked. She started asking me or her dad to pick her up after work. One night business was slow and her boss told her to punch out early.”
“So no ride waiting.”
A grin lit Oscar’s face. “I got there just about the time Gary tried to force her into his rig. I lit up the parking lot like Mile High Stadium and leaned on my horn. The manager and half a dozen customers came running out and heard him call her a dirty squaw just before he took a swing at me.”
Oscar inspected his knuckles. “I had to defend myself. One of us ended up needing dental work.”
“Not you, I’d guess.” Jake pulled the dog toy out of his pocket. “Just sell me another one of these. Her dog left it in my rig—they probably get lost pretty easy.”
“Whatever happened to flowers and candy?” Oscar held up a hand. “Just saying, brother.”
Jake shrugged and paid for the rubber KONG. Oscar pulled a sample package of Greenies dog chews from under the counter. “Take these too, pard.”
Jake didn’t try to protest—Oscar knew him too well. They had been best buds since the day they’d fought to a standstill at age nine over a mustang that had eluded both of them.
His speed dropped as he approached the turnoff to Norquist’s spread. He must be nuts, trailing after Shelby Doucette like a lovesick teenager. What did he know about her except she was an able horse trainer?
Okay, she was beautiful and smart about horses, but he’d be stupid to get involved—he had enough headaches with Lucy. How would she react? With anger, seeing her father interested in any woman after her mother? Too much to hope she’d be glad for him—she’d sulked and refused to come along the couple of times he’d taken June Buck and her kids out for a movie and pizza.
He turned in at the ranch road and parked by the barn. Shelby stood outside the steel-pole round pen watching Liz Norquist work the bay mare on a long line. Stranger lay in the sun nearby, chewing on a curl of hoof paring.
Jake closed his door softly, not wanting to spook the horse. Stranger lifted his head and stood with a soft woof. Shelby turned, and he thought he caught a flash of welcome, even gladness on her face. Just as quickly it faded, replaced by a polite smile.
He pulled the old toy from his pocket. “Your buddy left this in my rig.”
“You shouldn’t have driven all this way to bring it,” she said. “Mr. Norquist trimmed up the roan mare’s feet, so Stranger’s got plenty to chew on. But thanks.” She turned to the dog. “Thank Mr. Cameron, Stranger.”
Jake hunkered down and presented the toy. “You can call me Jake, Stranger.”
The dog took the KONG from Jake’s hand and offered a paw.
“I thought about picking up more dog food,” Jake said, straightening, “but Oscar said you already had plenty.”
Shelby’s expression turned blank. “Someone from the ranch bought another bag yesterday.” She turned toward the pen. “Come see how the bay is doing.”
The mare’s hide gleamed like mahogany in the spring sunshine; the unkempt mane and forelock had been combed and plucked. “Looks like a different horse,” Jake said. “You’ve got her shed out and trimmed up nice. You starting the roan next?”
Shelby laughed. “No need—she’s just a stray. She’s got what looks like an old rope burn on her off-rear fetlock and a healed fistula on her withers. We’ll handle her just enough to get her used to people again. Liz won’t have any trouble getting her under saddle after she drops her foal.”
Jake peered into the corral where the pregnant mare stood nosing the hay piled beside the fence. “That horse looks familiar. Any idea where she’s from?”
“Some national parkland near here—I forget the name.” She snapped her fingers. “Mesa Verde, I think.”
Jake laughed. “Now I know her. She’s an escape artist from the Ute Reservation—six or seven owners, including Oscar. I helped him doctor that fistula. I doubt he’ll want her back—she’s more trouble than she’s worth. Make sure the gate has a good latch and then chain it, or she’ll take off cross-country with Ross’s whole string behind her.’”
“Thanks for the heads-up,” Shelby said with a rueful laugh. “I hope Liz can hang on to her long enough to get her foal weaned. The bay’s coming right along—we’ll have a saddle on her in a couple more days. Then I’ll start the colt.” She sighed. “Mr. Norquist is right. He’ll need to be gelded, but I’d wait if he were mine. He’s on the smallish side—I’d like to see him get a little more growth.”
“Why don’t you offer to buy him? Ross didn’t want him in the first place.”
“And do what with him? I can’t keep a horse at a post office box.” She turned away. “Stranger and I travel light.”
Jake took a deep breath. “Maybe I could—”
“Well, howdy, Mr. Cameron.” Gary Norquist’s voice made them both jump. “Here to check on the little lady?” He moved closer to Shelby, and she sidestepped toward the fence.
“Pick her up to a lope,” she said to Liz. “Don’t let her cut in on you.”
Liz nodded and flicked the loose end of the rope. The horse flowed around the circular enclosure in a smooth rocking-horse gait, throwing in a flourish of her heels as she passed the observers.
“She tries that under saddle,” Gary said, “I’ll straighten her out pretty quick.”
“Your mom won’t need your help,” Shelby said without turning her head. “She’s doing just fine.”
Jake heard Gary mutter a curse, echoed by a soft growl from Stranger, and resisted the impulse to backhand him. Shelby gave no sign she’d heard him.
“Give her a few more circuits at a walk, Liz, then we’ll quit while she’s still having fun.” Shelby turned back to Jake. “Thanks again for bringing Stranger’s KONG, Mr. Cameron.” He heard dismissal in her voice.
“I picked up an extra at the Exchange,” Jake said, “and Oscar thought Stranger might like these.” He handed her the new toy and the dog treats.
He got a warmer smile, and Stranger put both paws on Jake’s shoulders, almost staggering him and treating him to a wet swipe of the tongue.
“Glad he’s friendly,” Jake said, rumpling the dog’s ears. “I’d hate to have him coming at me in a bad mood.”
“Down, Stranger!” Shelby grasped the dog’s collar. “He knows who he likes.” She didn’t look at Gary.
Jake turned to go, his boots dragging, but he had no excuse to hang around. “Remember, you’ve got a ride coming when your car’s ready,” he said over his shoulder. “Just give me a call.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll keep that in mind.” The gate clanged as she let herself into the round pen with Liz and the bay mare.
CHAPTER SIX
SHELBY DIDN’T TURN around until she heard Jake’s truck start up. She’d made a rule long ago never to allow anyone to come too close, just as she never formed an attachment to the horses she trained. Occasionally she ran across one that tempted her, like the gray colt, but she always reminded herself how owning a horse would slow her down when she had to move on.
She opened the gate for Liz to lead the bay into the pen with the roan, slipping Liz a chunk of apple to give the mare. She didn’t hold with handing out treats every time a horse did something right, but training stuck longer with food rewards. The bay had decent lines and no bad habits from previous poor handling; she’d make Liz a good mount.
“I saw you talking to Jake Cameron,” Liz said, hitching the mare to a fence post. “He have some business with Ross?”
Shelby explained Jake’s errand—it sounded pretty lame.
“Maybe he’s got a green horse and wanted to see how you work. Although he’s a pretty fair hand with horses himself from what I’ve heard—breaks them gentle.”
“Old guy like him can’t ride rough stock,” Gary said, leaning his elbows on the fence and peering between the rails. “His son’s my age—me and Tom were the same year in high school.”
“Except Tom graduated,” his mother said with a snort, “unlike some.” She bore down with the currycomb so the mare shifted sideways. “Sorry, sugar.”
“Jake’s a good man,” she said to Shelby. “He went through hell with his wife sick so long and then lost her in spite of everything he could do. His boys were grown and handled it pretty good, but his daughter—”
“Stuck-up little—”
“Take a hitch in it, Gary,” his mother said over her shoulder. “Don’t you even think about Lucy Cameron. Jake’s wearing the boots that can still kick your butt.”
“I ain’t scared of him,” Gary said, “but she’s just a baby. I fancy a real woman.” He turned and swaggered toward the barn.
Liz sighed deeply and resumed her grooming. “He’s my son,” she said, “and I love him, but I don’t much like him. You let me know if he’s bothering you.”
Shelby couldn’t think of anything kind to say. She’d known from the moment her boots hit the ground Gary would be a problem. With luck she could stay out of his way and be gone before he got up the nerve to make his move. Liz and Ross Norquist were good folks; she couldn’t think what they’d done to deserve such a son.
* * *
THREE DAYS LATER, Shelby sat on a bale in the center of the round pen pulling loose handfuls of alfalfa and strewing them around her feet. She didn’t look directly at the gray colt but tracked his movements from the corner of her eye. He’d done a lot of snorting and pawing when she had first entered the pen two hours earlier. Finally he inched closer, ears sharply pricked and nostrils distended.
She gathered hay from the ground and rubbed it between her palms to release its fragrance. The colt extended his neck...
“Want me to drop a loop on him? You’re never gonna catch him that way.”
At the sound of Gary’s voice, the horse snorted and bolted to the far side of the pen. Shelby controlled the urge to leap to her feet swearing.
“No rope.” She managed to keep her voice soft. “Where’s your mother?” She had stationed Liz just inside the stable door to head off any such intrusion.
“Gone into town for a tractor part,” Gary said. “I figured I’d hang around in case you needed some help. Stud colt, you can’t never tell.”
She wanted to tell him he could help by taking himself to the next county or maybe the next state.
Stranger would have warned her of Gary’s approach, but she’d locked him in the tack room so he wouldn’t distract the colt. She stood and slipped through the gate, working her way around the pen at an unhurried pace but never turning her back on Gary.
“I been in the shed working on the tractor,” Gary said. He took a step in her direction.
She willed anger to overshadow fear. A predator like Gary would sense fear—it probably turned him on. She crossed to the barn and picked up the hose to wash the mud from her boots, ready to turn it on him if she had to.
Gary watched from a safe distance, his hat cocked back and his thumbs hooked in his belt. “Guess you don’t need no help today,” he said with a smirk. “Maybe later.”
“I don’t think so.” She kept the hose running until he swaggered out of sight toward the shed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
JAKE STOOD KNEE-DEEP in icy runoff, clearing brush clogging the main irrigation ditch. The weather had turned springlike after the late March snowfall; a few more warm days and the snowmelt would begin in earnest. When his cell phone rang, he staggered to the bank and dragged off one soaked glove to dig it from his pocket.
Ross Norquist’s voice, high-pitched in agitation, assaulted his ear before he could even say hello. “Jake, you better get over here quick and pick up this girl before more blood gets shed.”
“Whose blood?” He spoke as he ran to his truck and flung the shovel into the bed with a clang.
“Gary’s. Shelby set her hound on him. Liz and me headed into town, but we had to come back for something she forgot. We found Gary trying to load the shotgun, bleeding like a pig with his arm all tore up. Liz is driving him to the emergency room. She said to call you.”
“What about Shelby?” Rage blurred his vision. “I don’t know. Gary was yelling how he’d blow her dog’s head off. She’s locked herself in the tack room. I been banging on the door, but it’s dead quiet in there. Get her out of here before Liz gets back with Gary.”
“I’m on my way.” Jake leaped into the driver’s seat without waiting for an answer and sent the pickup jouncing across the hayfield, leaving muddy ruts in its wake. Phone, gloves, a pair of pliers, and a half-empty two-liter Coke bounced around on the front seat and shot to the floor as he slewed to a halt beside the barn. Begrudging precious minutes, he backed his truck to his two-horse trailer and dropped the hitch onto the ball. When he picked up Shelby, he’d buy the gray colt and bring him along, too.
The road into Durango seemed endless, and a creeping hay truck dropped Jake’s speed to a foot pace up one long grade. Passing the big rig at last, he roared into town with the empty trailer swaying behind him and turned north. When he arrived at the Norquist ranch, he breathed a sigh of relief to see no sign of Liz’s Jeep Cherokee. He ran toward the barn where Ross waited.
“Man, I thought you’d never get here,” Ross said. “The tack room door’s bolted from the inside, and she won’t answer me. See if she’ll speak up for you.”
Jake took a deep breath to ease his pounding heart. “Shelby,” he said, “it’s Jake. Can I come in?”
Silence.
He tapped on the door. “Shelby?”
No response, no barking.
He turned to Ross. “You sure she’s in there?”
Ross tugged on the door. “Where else could she be?”
Jake sprinted around to the side of the barn. A window stood open; boot and paw prints in the mud led toward the corral.
Ross came up behind him and stopped short. “She’s gone? On foot? Where does she think—?”
Jake followed the tracks at a run. “What horses were in the corral?”
“The three mustangs. No, just the roan mare—the bay’s in the barn. The colt’s in the round pen. Our string is out at pasture.”
They skidded to a halt. The gates to the corral and the round pen stood open.
“Saddle me a horse,” Jake said. “You stay here and try to find out what happened.”
Ten minutes later Jake rode out on a sturdy chestnut gelding. A confusion of hoof prints laced the thawed ground around the corral and barn, but he picked out new tracks made by the dog and two unshod horses.
He cast a worried glance at the sky and swore. The Norquist ranch lay higher than Cameron’s Pride, closer to the Continental Divide. Sunny here in the valley, but leaden clouds were piling up behind the San Juan’s promised snow. He’d seen blizzards swoop down out of the high country as late as May. Shelby had maybe an hour’s start, but she wouldn’t push the pregnant mare. He clapped his heels into the chestnut’s sides.
The soft ground made tracking easy. A path of sorts, blurred by last year’s grass, led toward a draw climbing into the hills. Sure enough, a range gate sagging askew broke the fence line. Either Shelby didn’t know how to fasten the cranky post-and-loop device or hadn’t been able to manage it while hanging on to two horses.
Clouds hid the sun. A single icy drop struck the back of his hand, and he snapped up his fleece-lined jacket. The steep trail crossed and recrossed a narrow creek running bank-high with snowmelt. No need to track, the walls of the draw had grown higher and more rugged. A horse could scramble out, but he doubted Shelby would ask it of the mare. If the draw turned into a box canyon, he would come up on her soon. If it opened into national forest land... He pushed harder, encouraging the gelding with heels and reins.
The trail leveled out in a high meadow. Jake saw no sign of Shelby until the chestnut pricked his ears. A flicker of movement caught his eye: the gray colt disappearing among the aspens at the far edge of the clearing. He picked the gelding up to a fast jog. She couldn’t move quickly through the dense woods. He could stop her even if he had to drop a loop on the roan mare.
“Shelby!” He raised his voice over the rising wind. “Wait up!”
Her shoulders slumped as she reined in. “What are you doing here?”
“Liz told Ross to call me.” He couldn’t see her face, hidden under a shapeless felt hat pulled low against the first snowflakes. “What happened?”
She raised her head, and he drew back on the reins, making the gelding dance in place. A thin line of blood still seeped from her cut lower lip and raw scratches on the side of her neck showed above her collar.
“That...!” He bit back a detailed description of Gary Norquist.
She bowed her head. “I’m not going back—he aims to shoot Stranger and then take out his meanness on the colt.”
“I won’t let him.” Jake caught the mare’s rein as Shelby tried to ride away. “I promise, I won’t let him hurt Stranger or the colt. Or you. Please, believe me.”
He released the mare’s rein. “Can you get the colt into my trailer?” He stretched the truth a little. “I just bought him.”
Her head came up. “I can load him.”
“Good. Look, you can’t keep riding into this weather. You’re headed into the national forest—there’s no shelter for miles.”
She looked into his face for a long moment while he held his breath. He would drag her back by force if he had to, to save her life, but that might do as much harm as Gary’s attack. He guessed she would never ask for help and hated accepting it.
He leaned forward and patted the mare’s neck. “Don’t want this lady dropping her foal in a blizzard, do we?”
Her eyes fell and she sighed. “I guess not.” She reined the mare around and rode back across the whitening meadow with Stranger on one side and the colt on the other.
They made better time downhill with the wind at their backs. Jake stopped at the range gate. “I want you to wait here while I ride in alone,” he said. “You need to tell me what happened. All Ross knows is what Gary said, that you set Stranger on him.”
She looked away; for a second he thought she might turn back into the mountains. “He’s been trying to catch me alone ever since I got here,” she said in a husky voice. “He rode out early to check fence on the far side of the ranch—Liz put up a lunch for him, then she and Ross went into town. I planned to work the bay mare...” She swallowed. “I heard a door slam, and then Stranger started baying, but muffled, like he’d been locked in somewhere.”
“Look, you don’t have to—”
“Gary came into the barn,” she said as if she hadn’t heard him. “He said he watched his folks leave and then doubled back so we could have some fun with no one around. I told him forget it, but he grabbed me...” Her words came faster, tumbling over each other, her voice rising so the colt snorted in alarm. “I yelled for Stranger, and Gary hit me. And then Stranger was just there—he must have gone through a window. He knocked Gary down and grabbed his arm. I dragged Stranger into the tack room and barred the door.”
Jake wanted to swear, to hit something, to hold her. He was afraid to move.
She wet her lips. “Gary started screaming how he’d get me, soon as he took care of Stranger with a shotgun. He kicked the door a couple times, then I heard him running. I was afraid to come out, so I threw my saddle out the window along with the mare’s bridle and a lead rope. I boosted Stranger through the window and climbed out after him.”
The wind had picked up, the snow thicker, already clinging to the horses’ rough coats and Stranger’s fur. Jake hated leaving Shelby here; he didn’t trust her not to bolt again.