Authors: Kathleen Creighton
“You be a good boy,” she said, burying her face in his neck ruff. “Okay? I’m sorry, but you have to stay here. Sorry…I’m really sorry…”
She rose quickly,
dashed moisture from her cheek and took hold of Morning Glory’s bridle. As Sage had done, she led the horse out of the barn before hoisting herself into the saddle. Muscles she’d abused the day before protested, but she was used to forcing muscles to do things they’d rather not, accustomed to working through pain and stiffness. After a few bends and stretches, she muttered between gritted teeth,
“Okay, Morning Glory, let’s do this. Let’s go find your buddy, Diamond.”
She made a clicking sound with her mouth like the one she’d heard Sage use when he wanted his horse to
go.
Or go
faster.
She was beyond pleased when her horse seemed to understand what that meant, breaking first into a trot—which Abby bore stoically, though she winced with every jolt—and then, when they reached the
meadow, into that nice easy lope.
Much better.
She couldn’t see Sage anywhere in the meadow, but she’d watched and knew which way he’d gone, and after all, how many trails could there be leading up into these mountains? She was sure she’d be able to figure out where to go when the time came.
Her nervousness—okay,
fear
—hadn’t completely dissipated; it did occur to her that what she
was doing might be foolhardy. A bit. Maybe. But she felt driven by a fear that was so much greater, so much more compelling, it made riding off alone into an alien landscape of towering mountains and granite cliffs seem no more daunting than taking a New York subway ride. The fear that kept her riding on into a vast unknown, a fear so great it chilled her to her very soul, was that her happiness had
just ridden off into those mountains without her, and the only hope she had of keeping that happiness from riding right on out of her life forever, was Sam Malone.
If Sam Malone was up there in those mountains, then she was going to find him.
The last thing in the world he’d expected was that she’d try to follow him.
Because it was the last thing he expected, he ignored his
horse’s warnings—he, who prided himself on being so well-tuned to his horses, in understanding the secret languages of animals. In his own defense, he could argue he might have been distracted by the realization he was falling in love with an heiress—his boss and mentor’s heiress, on top of it. But that didn’t excuse his dismissal of his horse’s behavior as just uneasiness about the incoming storm.
When Diamond kept whinnying and wanting to look back down the trail, he should have known better.
He
did
know better. Horses whinnied for only one reason he could think of. They may whicker and snort and chuckle and squeal for any number of reasons, but a whinny, that from-the-belly sound people most associate with horses, is a call out to another horse in the vicinity. And he missed it.
But all those recriminations were in hindsight. As he rode through the early part of the day his mind was occupied with many things: the changing weather, the work he’d left behind, the man he was going to find, the state of the trail—which was much better than he’d expected considering it was the first time he’d been over it since the previous fall. Sam used the trail fairly regularly, of
course, which would explain why it was relatively clear of debris and easy to follow.
He thought a lot about Sunny Wells, too, although he tried his best not to. When
she
entered his mind, she brought emotional turmoil with her, and he couldn’t make himself think rationally. Warnings kept firing off like rockets inside his head:
It’s the first time since Heather…you barely know this woman…she’s
another city girl…she’s not for you…when will you learn?
And were swallowed up in the general tumult, like so many fireworks in a vast thunderstorm.
There were no words for the way she made him feel when he was with her, when he thought about her. There was lust, sure. He wanted her—what man wouldn’t? But what about the other ways she came into his mind? The look on her face the first time
she petted a cow. The sound of her laughter when she galloped her horse in the meadow. The gentleness of her hands as they stroked a calf’s head. The vulnerable look of her nape as she was milking. The way she closed her eyes tightly as if in ecstasy when she hugged his dog. The way she made him smile, and at the same time made his throat ache. How could he explain that away as something as simple
as sex?
A line from a song popped into his head. “Who can explain it, who can tell you why?” He thought it was from a Broadway musical but he couldn’t be sure. Sunny would know.
Hopeless—that’s what he was. Knowing it was futile, he tried again to crowd thoughts of the woman out of his head by concentrating on the trail, the terrain and the weather.
Abby found the trail without
any trouble. She was pretty sure it was the right one, because she could see the tracks of a horse’s hooves here and there where they’d torn up the grass newly sprouting from the soft, moist earth.
Look at me,
she thought, feeling most pleased with herself.
New York City girl, tracking a man through the wilderness. Who knew?
After leaving the meadow, the trail climbed steadily, sometimes
following the creek through rocky canyons, sometimes angling across steep mountainsides with granite walls on one side and bottomless chasms on the other, over saddleback ridges and through fragrant pine forests. She could feel the air growing colder, and snow lay in thick blankets on protected north-facing slopes. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and the sun came and went behind clumps of ominous-looking
clouds.
The first time Morning Glory whinnied, it startled Abby so that she nearly toppled out of the saddle. What a sound it was, so unbelievably loud, from so close up, and it shook the horse’s whole body. To Abby it felt like sitting on top of an earthquake.
“Whoa, what was
that?
” she said aloud, thinking it was okay to clutch the saddle horn, since Sage wasn’t there to see.
As if in reply, Morning Glory whinnied again. And this time in the following silence, carried, perhaps, by a gust of wind, she heard, from far, far away, an answering whinny.
A smile burst across her face, and her heartbeat quickened. It was Diamond—it had to be. Sage was out there, somewhere up ahead. The thought filled her with warmth, but also with twinges of fear.
Does he know I’m here?
Can he hear Morning Glory, the way I hear Diamond? What will he do when I catch up with him? Will he be angry? He won’t—he can’t make me go back!
He wouldn’t make her go back, would he, when she had already come so far? Especially with the storm coming. If he was concerned about her safety, she reasoned, it would make more sense to keep her with him than to send her back down the mountain
alone. Wouldn’t it?
She was pretty sure she was right, but just to be safe, decided she wouldn’t catch up with Sage until she absolutely had to. Preferably after they’d arrived at their destination.
To that end she began to dawdle a little, even getting off the horse to walk around and stretch a couple of times, eat a granola bar, drink some water…yes, and to relieve herself behind
a friendly looking pine tree. It was during the latter process that she discovered some angry-looking patches on the inner sides of her knees, where the friction from the saddle and her jeans seemed to have rubbed off most of the skin. The sores
hurt,
too, but not having a first-aid kit on hand, there wasn’t much she could do besides ignore them. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d soldiered on
through excruciating pain; she’d once danced an entire Saturday matinee with bleeding blisters.
The trail grew steeper, the clouds thicker, the wind colder. The woods were dense, the trail thick with pine needles and hard to see in some places. Abby untied the poncho from the saddle and put it on, and although it did itch and smelled strongly of animals, at least it helped to cut the wind.
The moan of the wind in the pines seemed the loneliest sound in the world.
The truth was, Abby was tired and sore and cold, and as much as she hated to admit it, was beginning to wish she’d listened to Sage when he’d told her the trip was too much for her.
Too bad Sage hadn’t known the surest way to get Abby to do something was to tell her she couldn’t.
Just when she was beginning
to feel like Hansel and Gretel in the witch’s forest, the trees began to thin, and she could see light—a clearing up ahead. Her heart gave a leap when she emerged onto a plateau and a lovely green meadow patchy with snow and lush with wildflowers that stretched away toward a dark bank of pines on the far side. Yet any hope that she might have reached her destination faded as she shaded her eyes
and squinted into the distance, searching the meadow and the pine-clad slopes that surrounded it for any signs of human habitation.
But there was nothing here—no cabin or corrals, and no red-brown horse and dark-haired rider. Nothing but wind-rippled grass and overhead a sky full of boiling blue-black clouds. She seemed to be utterly alone in that vast wilderness.
She remembered Sage
telling her that Sam Malone had a cabin in
one of the high meadows.
All she could do now was push on and hope she found the right meadow before the sky opened up. When it did, she had a feeling it wasn’t going to be rain that fell out of it. She was from places where it snowed
a lot.
She knew about snow. And right now, the air looked like, felt like, smelled like
snow.
Oh, God, she thought,
what have I done? Sage is going to kill me. And Sam…
She didn’t want to think about Sam Malone. The man had already lost his real granddaughter, and now it looked like he might lose the fake one, too. Which was almost ironic enough to be funny, in a twisted sort of way.
She clicked her tongue and urged Morning Glory into the meadow. When they were out in the open, the mare quickened
her gait without instruction from Abby. Her ears were pointed straight ahead, and her body quaked and shuddered as she gave a gusty whinny.
Abby leaned over and patted the mare’s neck. “What is it, girl? What do you hear…or smell? Are they out there?”
Or is it something else—like…a bear or a mountain lion, for instance?
The mare broke into a lope, and Abby didn’t stop her though even
that gentle motion made her sore places burn like fire. They were halfway across the meadow when she heard the first boom of thunder.
Abby was from places where it thunderstormed a lot, too. She knew about thunder. And lightning. And she knew the last place anyone would want to be when there was thunder and lightning about was on a boat in the middle of a lake.
Or on a horse in the
middle of a meadow.
She leaned low over Morning Glory’s neck and kicked her heels against the mare’s sides, then hung on for dear life as they raced at full gallop, making for the shelter of the trees.
The snow didn’t surprise Sage, or particularly trouble him, either. It wasn’t unusual for it to snow at this altitude, even this late in the spring, and these spring storms didn’t
usually last long—just blew in and out pretty quickly and didn’t drop a whole lot of moisture. Sam’s cabin was snug and warm, and he had supplies brought in regularly by chopper, so he’d be okay overnight. Tomorrow the storm would have cleared out and headed on east. He shouldn’t have any problem getting down the mountain.
He was beginning to be a little bit concerned about Diamond, though.
The crazy horse had started acting up again, shaking his head and dancing around and whinnying. It seemed pretty early for him to be saying hello to Sam’s paint horse, clear over the hill in the next meadow, although he supposed it was possible. Horses had keener senses than humans did. Still…he couldn’t help but wonder if it might be something else bothering Diamond. This time of year a bear
could be a real threat, just coming out of hibernation, particularly if she had a couple of cubs with her, born in her den over the winter. Then there was the possibility of a mountain lion.
Tuugakut.
The word made him smile, thinking of Sunny’s crazy, wild kitty cat.
Thoughts of Sunny warmed him as he and Diamond plodded on through the thickening snowfall. He turned up the collar of his
sheepskin-lined coat, enjoying the beauty of the snow as it sifted through the pines and settled like lace onto the carpet of needles. The snow and thickness of the cloud cover had brought an early twilight. The wind had dropped and the stillness was profound, making him think of churches…
And then it wasn’t still. He could hear something moving through the trees, something big, by the sound
of it. It was behind him somewhere, following him. Coming fast.
Diamond whickered softly as Sage guided him off the trail, into a copse of young trees. “Easy, boy…that’s it. Quiet, now.” He patted the horse’s neck, then settled down to watch…and wait.
Chapter 10
A
bby wasn’t sure exactly when the realization came to her that she was no longer in control of her horse—if she ever had been. They reached the trees, but Morning Glory’s speed didn’t slacken, not even when Abby pulled on the reins the way Sage had taught her. When she tried that, it felt a little like trying to stop a moving car by hanging on to a rope and digging her
heels into the ground.
Her wild ride through the forest continued without slackening, and her only hope of keeping herself from being swept out of the saddle or decapitated by a tree branch, or left behind in a snowdrift during one of the horse’s lightning-quick zigzags, was to crouch down in the saddle and hold on for dear life.
It was one of the most terrifying experiences of her
life, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t going to end well for her.
But then, miraculously, she felt the presence of something huge and powerful moving alongside her, matching her horse stride for stride. She heard the thunder of hoof beats, the creak of saddle leather, the heavy breathing of another hard-working animal. And she heard a voice—Sage’s voice—speaking in a deep, low croon.
“Whoa, girl…easy, girl…whoa, now…”
Morning Glory’s headlong charge slowed, then bumped to a prancing, panting stop, with Sage’s hand firmly holding her bridle.
Abby lifted her head and slowly straightened up in the saddle. She was shaking violently, from cold, from shock, from fear. She turned her head to look at Sage, dreading his anger. But he was silent, the expression on his
face lost in shadows. He seemed very big and imposing on his tall red horse, with his sheepskin collar turned up and snow sifting over his dark hair and broad shoulders. He seemed…not dangerous, but like a rock, a haven, like safety and shelter.
“I’m…s-s-sorry—” she croaked, but her words came stuttered and broken.
Sage leaned over and took the reins from her stiff fingers. “Hold on,”
was all he said.
Abby was much too cold and contrite to do anything but obey. Morning Glory, too, seemed relieved to have someone take charge, and trotted docilely at Diamond’s side as Sage led her back to the trail.
The trail climbed steadily through thick pine forest. Wind whistled in the high branches, and the snow came in fitful bursts, sometimes sifting down in picture-book flakes,
sometimes swirling so thick it was hard to see even a few feet ahead. Crouched miserably under her stiff, scratchy poncho, Abby wondered how long it would be before she got too cold to feel her grip on the saddle horn. How long before hypothermia took over, and she simply toppled out of the saddle?
Just when she thought she couldn’t possibly stand much more, she noticed the trail was no
longer climbing, that they were moving rapidly down a slope, and the trees were fewer and farther apart. Then…the snow lifted and she saw the dark shapes of buildings up ahead, on the far side of a clearing that sloped sharply down to a wide-open meadow. She uttered a joyful little cry and brushed tears of relief and thanksgiving from her numb cheeks. At almost the same moment, both horses sent up
whinnies of greeting, and from somewhere up ahead the reply came back, shrill and clear as a bugle call.
Abby straightened in the saddle and said, “Is that—”
Sage nodded. “Sam’s place. That’ll be Sam’s horse, Paint,” he added as the not-so-distant whinny came again. “You can go on ahead to the cabin.”
Go to the cabin…Sam’s cabin…meet Sam…all alone?
Abby’s heart was pounding,
and she no longer felt the cold. She sniffed and brushed her nose with the back of her hand. “What are you going to do?”
“I’ll see to the horses. You need to go in and get warm.”
She shook her head. “So do you. I’ll help you.” Her chattering teeth made it hard to get the words out.
Sage looked at her but didn’t say anything.
A high fence made of logs loomed ahead. He dismounted
and opened a gate, then led both horses through and closed and chained the gate behind them. A pinto horse came trotting out to meet them, head high, whickering excited greetings. Sage took a moment to stroke the pinto’s neck and scratch under his jaw, then, while the pinto trotted happy circles around them, he led Diamond and Morning Glory across the corral to a large three-sided shelter,
also made of logs. Inside the shelter was a hay-filled manger, and behind that, accessible through a wide wooden gate, Abby saw what appeared to be a storage area, with several bales of hay, sacks of some kind of feed, and log racks for saddles. An assortment of tools, ropes and bridles hung on the wall.
Sage looped Diamond’s reins over the manger and unbuckled his cinch. He pulled the saddle
off, hefted it once and started through the gate with it. Then he paused, looked at Abby and said, “You can get off, now.”
She nodded. And didn’t move. “I don’t know if I can.”
For a long moment he looked at her, his eyes dark, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded, said, “Hang on a minute,” and pushed through the gate with the heavy saddle in his arms.
Abby closed her eyes,
feeling on the verge of tears. The thought of being lifted off her horse like a baby was beyond humiliating.
I did this to myself. I can’t—
I won’t—
let it defeat me. I will carry my own weight if it kills me.
Clenching her teeth tightly together and summoning all her willpower, she gripped the saddle horn, lifted her leg over the back of the seat and slid down the side of the horse until
her feet touched the ground. She paused there for a few moments, leaning against Morning Glory’s neck, trying not to make a sound.
Oh, God, I hurt.
She hurt in so many places and in so many ways, she couldn’t tell where one sore place left off and another began.
Move, damn it. You can do this.
Breathing through her nose, lips pressed together, she took a step back, lifted the stirrup
and folded it back over the saddle. Then, though her fingers were stiff and cold and didn’t seem to do what they were told, she began clumsily to unbuckle the cinch.
“Here,” Sage said. “Let me get that.”
“I can do it. I can do this, damn it.”
His hands covered hers, gently moved them aside. His breath was warm on her cheek, and his body strong and solid against her back. She
turned blindly, tipped forward, lifted her arms around his neck and buried her face in the damp sheepskin collar of his jacket. It felt like razor blades on her icy cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m so sorry. You were right. I’m an id…id…idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot,” he said with gravel in his voice. He thought about it while he stroked her hair. “Probably just ignorant. And
too damn brave for your own good.”
She gave a tiny sobbing squeak of a laugh and lifted her head from his shoulder, though her eyes crossed when they tried to meet his. He took hold of her chin and tipped it so that he could look at her. Her eyes were misty and soft, and her cheeks and the tip of her nose were rosy pink. Tiny drops of moisture clung to her lashes and glistened like diamond
dust.
He sucked in a breath and whispered, “What am I gonna do with you?”
The thing was, he didn’t know how to
feel.
It seemed to him he ought to feel angry with her for scaring him half to death, at least. That he ought to think less of her for doing something so dumb, stupid, foolhardy, yes, and
idiotic,
that could very well have gotten her killed, and brought the wrath of Sam Malone
down on
his
head. He thought he might be forgiven for feeling profound relief and gladness that she was okay, even for feeling shaken to his toes with fear of what might have, could have happened to her. But what was this soft, mushy, aching goofy
tenderness
that seemed to have overtaken all those other feelings and wiped them out of his mind? What was it making him feel like he wanted to wrap
her up and protect her and take care of her and make sure she never got hurt or in danger or wanted for anything, ever again? What was he supposed to do with feelings like that?
He didn’t know. So he did what seemed to him then the only thing he could do. He kissed her.
Her lips were cold, but they warmed quickly under his, a moist and heady mixture of cold and warm more potent than
wine. He couldn’t get enough of it.
Except…it occurred to him then, that, although she was definitely kissing him back, that was about the only thing her body was doing on its own. Her weight sagged against him and her head had fallen back on his arm as if her neck had lost the ability to support it. Her hands lay limp on his chest, her fingers curled like wilting flower petals. He drew
back and looked down at her. Her eyes gazed back at him, sleepy and unfocused.
Damn, he thought.
Hypothermia. And here I am, kissing her. Probably the last thing she needs.
He stroked her wet hair back from her forehead. “Sunny—wake up. Look at me.”
Her eyes slowly uncrossed as they struggled to focus beyond the tip of her nose. “I’m awake…don’t be silly. You were kissing me.”
Her lips widened in a sleepy smile. “Nice. Do it some ’ore…”
“I’d like to,” he said grimly. “Believe me.” Damn. He didn’t know what to do first. She needed warming up, and quickly. But there were the horses. He couldn’t turn them out in the cold, hot and sweaty like they were. “Right now I’ve got to get you warm. And the horses—”
“I’m helping.” Her face took on a stubborn look. She
tried to turn back to the horse and swayed. He steadied her, and she said, “Oops,” and giggled. “I feel a little dizzy.”
“Yeah. You probably have hypothermia. You need to get out of your wet clothes. What’s this thing you’re wearing?”
“I don’t know…” She looked down at her shoulder and plucked at the wool poncho. She sniffed and made a face. “It smells funny.”
“Um, hmm—wet wool.
Or wet dog—it’s possible Freckles has used that thing for a blanket. Here—arms up.” She obeyed, more or less, and he managed to get the sodden poncho over her head. She gave a little gasp when the cold air hit her, and shivered violently.
Moving as quickly as he could, he took off his jacket and wrapped her in it, then walked her into the back of the shed and sat her down on a hay bale.
Leaving her there looking hunched and miserable as a lost sparrow, he went back and finished unsaddling Morning Glory. He used the poncho to rub down the two horses as best he could, threw a couple of flakes of oat hay into the manger, and went back to get Sunny. She’d gotten her arms into the sleeves of his jacket but was still shivering in waves. Which he thought might actually be a good thing—her
body’s way of warming itself. At least when she looked at him now, her eyes seemed to focus.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled between those violent shudders. “Really. It was really stupid.”
“Forget it,” he growled. He took hold of her arm and lifted it, lowered his shoulder under it and hoisted her to her feet. “Can you walk?”
She threw him a look of pure misery, but sniffed and then
nodded. He put his arm around her waist and snugged her close to him, and they slipped past the horses, now contentedly chomping on hay as wisps of steam rose from their backs.
The snow had stopped, but the wind had picked up. It punched through Sage’s shirt like daggers, making the gentle uphill climb across open ground to Sam’s cabin seem more like half a mile than the hundred yards or
so he knew it was.
Later, he thought it might have been because he was so damn cold—or worried about getting Sunny to a warm place, maybe?—that he didn’t notice there wasn’t any smoke coming from the chimney, or light showing in the windows. It didn’t occur to him until he was stomping his way across the porch, making enough noise to raise the dead, to wonder where Sam was and why he hadn’t
come to see what all the ruckus was.
Cold settled into his belly that had nothing to do with the weather.
It was his worst fear. Sam Malone was an old man—nobody, probably not even Sam, knew exactly how old, but most likely getting pretty near a hundred. One of these days, Sage had always figured, he’d come up here and find nothing but Sam’s dead body. This looked like it might be
that day.
He turned the knob on the heavy plank door—which Sam naturally would never bother to lock—and kicked it open. Inside, the cabin was all shadows, and not much warmer than it was outside. And there was something else: a peculiar metallic smell that made Sage’s belly clench with dread. He knew what blood smelled like.
“There’s no one here,” Abby said. Disappointment drained
her of her last ounce of strength, and she sank heavily onto a wooden chair beside a small table made of pine planks.
Sage didn’t answer. In the half-dark cabin, he moved like a shadow himself, closing the door, first, shutting out that cold, howling wind, then turning on the battery-powered lantern that sat on the table near Abby’s elbow. He picked it up and held it high, splashing weird
shadows across the pine walls as he slowly turned, lighting up every corner of that single room. Illuminating first the old-fashioned iron bed against the wall to the left, neatly made and topped with what looked like a down comforter, and next to it a small dresser with a smoky mirror hanging above it; the stone fireplace—dark and cold, now—opposite the door, and the chair made of lashed-together
logs and thick canvas cushions that sat in front of it; the ornate cast-iron cookstove against the wall to the right, and next to it a porcelain sink with an old-fashioned hand pump. There were only two windows in the cabin, one on each side of the door, looking out over the meadow. Under the one nearest the bed was a small writing desk and chair. Under the other one was the table where Abby sat,
occupying one of two small chairs. There were two large Navajo rugs on the floor, and some old black-and-white photographs in frames on the walls. A couple of hooks beside the door held a long black Western-style overcoat and a black cowboy hat. Everything seemed very neat and clean, although it was hard to tell for sure in the dim and wavering light.