Colton's Folly (Native American contemporary romance) (7 page)

Forgetting Cat’s presence for a moment, she whispered, “You’re good therapy for me, boy. You make me feel whole again, and almost happy.”

The horse grunted at the sound of her voice, and Abby opened her eyes, blushing as she remembered that they weren’t alone. Cat was watching her; a tiny smile lifted one corner of his mouth, and his eyes were soft, liquid, as if his agate-hard pupils had turned molten.

Abby’s heart pounded fiercely and her pulse raced. Convinced that he would make a move toward her, she tensed. But he only turned and mounted his horse, sitting with one leg hooked around the saddle horn. He pulled a small leather pouch from beneath his jacket and began to roll a cigarette.

Relieved that the moment had passed, Abby nodded at him and smiled. “I didn’t think anyone did that anymore.” He returned the smile. “Some old ways are still the best.”

“Can I have one?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I want to try one,” she insisted.

He took a drag and handed the cigarette to her. “Try mine first.” She inhaled, then grimaced. He took the cigarette from her fingers. “Too much?”

“It’s too strong for me.”

“I’ll bet you don’t admit something like that too often.”

“Well,” she decided, “I don’t give in to anything much, or let situations get the best of me, if that’s what you mean.” That’s what I mean all right, he thought. “I figured you for a fighter,” he said aloud.

“Did you now? And when was that?”

“First time I saw you.”

Chapter 4

At eight o’clock on Monday morning Abby entered a classroom so quiet that she expected to find only empty seats. Instead she found every desk occupied by a student who sat silently with eyes lowered as a sign of respect for her age and position. They had seated themselves in order of size, which, with few exceptions, corresponded to their ages and grades, and they seemed to find no problem with the fact that she and Martha had arranged the seating in three rough semicircles around her desk at the front of the room.

“Good morning,” she said softly. There was no reaction, but she’d expected none. She turned to the blackboard and wrote her name. “My name is Abigail Colton. You may call me either Ms. Abby or Ms. Colton, whichever feels more comfortable.”

Then she turned back and perched on the outer edge of her desk. “In a few minutes I’ll ask you to write your names and grades on the sheets of paper you have there. You may give me either your American name or your Lakota name, or both. Since I know only a few words of your language, you’ll have to translate your Lakota names into American for me, for now. Then, later on, you can teach me the Lakota way.”

That raised a few heads as their surprise overruled their good manners. As she looked around the room she saw a smile or two, as well as a smirk on one teenager’s face, and an unmistakably hostile glare from another who, unlike his fellow students, chose to meet her eyes. She gave him a nod of acceptance and a smile, and he dropped his eyes in confusion.

What she didn’t see from where she sat was Cat lurking in the shadowy vestibule that divided the building into two separate areas. I must be lurking, he thought to himself with a grimace. What I’m doing could never be confused with watching, or even observing, and certainly not viewing. So it must be lurking... or spying.

He listened as Abby patiently led her pupils through their first day together, helping them over the inevitable feelings of strangeness and their fear that speaking out would cause them to seem foolish or ill-mannered, two reasons why Indian children were taught from an early age to remain silent in the company of adults. She learned their names quickly, and her use of their Lakota names put some of them at ease immediately. And not by accident, he was sure, the seating arrangement led to a lively discussion of the significance of the circle to the Lakota people and how those principles would apply in her classroom. He raised an eyebrow. The circle as a symbol of life and continuity and the interdependence of all things was a concept he wouldn’t have expected her to know, particularly as it related to the Lakota way of life. Well, well, he thought.

He shifted position slightly so he could see some of the faces without being seen himself. The children’s expressions ranged from polite attention to real interest to sullen opposition. Suddenly they bent their heads over their desks as the lesson began.

Just as he was about to turn away he saw Abby lean over little Anissa, who was having trouble writing her name. Abby’s hand reached down to take that of the little girl, who followed her to the big desk at the front of the room. Cat lost sight of Abby, but he could see the child leaning trustingly against her knee.

Winning over the children won’t happen instantly, he thought, but damned if she hasn’t made a beginning. He left the building, closing the door very softly behind him, and walked down the street with a shake of his head. He didn’t know whether to be pleased about that or not.

Abby’s horse was stabled in the Tallmans’ barn. She had named him Gray Ghost, and every evening she spent three or four hours working with him, currying him and mucking out his stall.

She knew that he was “saddle broke,” but had no way of predicting whether or not he would accept her on his back. Finally, with the weekend and the upcoming race looming just ahead, she decided to put him to the test. After two hours of their usual training routine she led him into the corral, murmuring to him as she always did, stroking him to keep him calm. She looked up and saw Cat walking toward them.

“You gonna try him?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe you want to hold off. We can have our race later on. There’s no rush.”

Abby nodded. “Fair enough. Let’s see how things go tonight.”

“Should I hang around,” he teased, “in case you need help?”

She smiled confidently. “I won’t, but you can stay anyway.”

Abby took hold of the reins, slowly put her foot in the stirrup and, with a hand on the saddle horn for leverage, gracefully pulled herself up. She sat motionless, her knees pressed lightly against the gray’s sides, the reins in her left hand, stroking his neck with her right. Oblivious now to Cat’s eyes on her, she spoke to Ghost in that strange, nonverbal language she used with him. She bent forward in the saddle, her voice low and sweet in the animal’s ear.

After a moment or two she sat back and shifted the reins to her right hand, the pressure of her knees urging him to move, and they walked around the perimeter of the corral several times. Abby refused to gloat over the horse’s apparently docile behavior; she knew he would never submit without a battle.

As if echoing her thoughts, he laid his ears back against his head and his nostrils flared. Alert and ready for his protest, Abby increased the pressure of her knees and shortened the reins. Ghost resented the control and tossed his head, then lowered it abruptly as if to pull the reins free. Her shoulder joints were jolted by the sudden movement, but she hung on. The animal seemed to realize he couldn’t break her grip; he snorted impatiently, and an angry scream boiled up from his throat.

Abby looked over at Cat, barely noticing the concern on his face, and shouted, “Open the gate!”

As she called out Ghost reared up on his hind legs, then took off at a furious gallop, headed for the corral fence. Unwilling to risk a fall should they fail to clear the top rail, Abby shifted the reins and guided him through the open gate. Outside the corral he gained speed in an attempt to throw her off, but he couldn’t lose the demon on his back.

Abby lay almost prone. Her head rested against his; her fingers were entwined in his mane, her voice useless as the wind carried off any sounds she might make. Her heart pounded in her ears, and her mouth became dry as they ran for mile after mile, through country she could barely see in the semidarkness.

Just when it seemed that the gray must be tireless, he slowed
--almost imperceptibly at first, then more noticeably. The roar of the wind died to a whisper, and she could talk to him once more and know that he heard. Aware, somehow, that he had one more trick waiting, she braced herself. Sure enough, he stopped abruptly, skidding to a halt, stiffening his legs and arching his back. Knowing she could hold on no longer, she loosened her grip on the reins and felt herself catapult through the air. She landed hard some fifteen feet away and lay still, the breath knocked out of her, but conscious.

She closed her eyes and concentrated, testing out muscles and bones by focusing first on one part of her body, then another. The examination went on until she was convinced she was unhurt. Still she lay motionless, waiting for the horse’s curiosity to overcome his fear and anger. She heard him, snorting and snuffling, pawing the ground where he’d come to a stop.

Eventually he moved toward her, and by fits and starts was soon close enough to nudge her with his muzzle. When she failed to respond he nudged her again, and yet again. She felt his warm breath on her face as he waited, the reins trailing on the ground. Finally, incredibly, he caught a handful of jacket material between his teeth and began to tug gently at her shoulder until, ignoring the urge to laugh in triumph, Abby simply reached up and laid her hand on his muzzle. He stopped, made a deep, rumbling sound in his throat and released her.

Abby pulled herself to her feet and stood beside him. “So what’s it gonna be, Ghost? Are we partners, or what?”

She was about to remount when the sound of hooves cut through the silence. A moment or two later Cat rode up and stopped beside her.

“You all right?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“I expected to find you alone out here and him long gone.” He tipped his head in Ghost’s direction and dismounted. “How’d you quiet him down?”

Abby shrugged. “I just let him throw me.”

“You... let him... throw you?” His expression was one of awed disbelief. “First time I ever heard it put that way.”

“Well, I couldn’t stop it, could I? So I just let the inevitable happen. Worked like magic.”

He shook his head, thinking that she sure didn’t scare easily. “Are you hurt? Anything broken?”

She pushed out a single word. “No.”

His voice was rough-edged as he said, “You scared the hell out of me, you know that?”

“Sorry.”

“Be more careful from now on. We don’t have a relief pitcher waiting in the bull pen.”

She gave him a sour smile. “Thanks a lot. Your concern is most touching.” She made a move to mount.

He ignored her sarcasm. “Think he’ll let you stay up this time?”

“I know he will.”

They started off at a walk, but Ghost’s small rebellion was over, and they soon broke into a lope. At first Ghost seemed content to stay abreast of Cat’s mount; before long, however, it became evident that he was accustomed to running in the lead. He began to strain against the bit in an effort to put some distance between himself and the other horse. Abby gave him his head and he pulled away, exulting in the freedom of running at full speed, and alone. As he hit his stride she turned to look back, judging the distance between the two horses to be about ten yards.

“Damn the woman,” Cat swore. He kneed his horse into a gallop, determined to catch her, but Ghost had built up too commanding a lead.

“We got ’em, Ghost,” she chortled. “You lovely animal, you!” She patted his neck and reined him in to give Cat a chance to catch up to them.

“You sure know how to pick ’em, lady.”

Abby grinned. “Want to concede?”

He shook his head and smiled in return. “No. Just saying it won’t be easy to beat you.”

She laughed with sheer pleasure. The man is tough, she thought. “When shall we race?”

“Name the day.”

She answered without hesitation. “Tomorrow.”

“You don’t need more time?”

“Nope.”

“Okay. It’s your funeral.” He smiled. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”

“Of course.” She shot him a skeptical glance. My foot!
She exclaimed mentally. You’d bury me if you could.

“By the way, in all fairness I have to tell you I’ll be up on a different horse tomorrow.” His look was challenging. “Want to change your mind?”

I should have known, she thought. Aloud she said only, “Any stakes?”

“Do you care?”

“No.”

He considered for a moment. “How about winner makes one request of the loser. The loser has six months to pay off.”

Abby knew she might end up in a tight spot if she lost, but since she had no intention of losing, she agreed. “You’ve got a bet.”

As the horses edged closer Cat’s thigh brushed hers. The sudden electric contact surprised both of them, and they pulled apart abruptly. Neither spoke as they strove to regain their composure.

Finally Cat broke the silence. “You haven’t seen my horse yet.”

“No matter. I’ll take your bet.”

“You’ve got guts. I’ll give you that.”

Abby chuckled. “You
could
lose, you know.”

He shook his head. “I never lose.”

At sunrise the next morning they saddled up and rode as far as the reservation gate. Cat’s mount was a magnificent stallion, bigger and more powerfully built than Ghost, black with white markings, mane and tail.