Appaloosa Blues (Sisters of Spirit #8) (3 page)

"Whoa. Easy girl." Jo took a deep breath for courage, bent forward, and pulled both feet from the stirrups.

The mare turned her head to look back, nostrils flared.

"Whoa, Paca," Jo murmured...and slid gingerly off into the looping wire. Several barbs scratched painfully up the length of her calf and another left a bright trail across her bare arm. One long loop encircled her and pulled her T-shirt up to her chin. She should have put on her jacket first, but it was too late now.

Paca shuffled nervously sideways, the horse almost sitting down in fear...and the loop tightened around Jo.

"Steady, girl. Easy," Jo said, trying to keep her desperate whisper sounding as calm as possible. She couldn't let her fear transmit to the horse, but her mouth felt so dry, she could barely speak. "Don't move. Please."

Jo lifted the loop off her body, feeling the barbs dig into the skin on her back and side. She caught her breath as the trembling mare shifted back toward her. "Whoa, girl. Whoa. Easy now. Stand still."

 Forcing herself to move slowly, Jo reached down and grasped one of the three strands pulled tautly against the Appaloosa's legs. None were wrapped clear around, cutting off circulation, but the strands held the animal trapped. Jo wiggled a small section of the wire back and forth, trying to break it.

Back and forth, back and forth—Jo felt the heat build up under her fingers, but the wire resisted, being too new, too strong...and there was too much of it. Only a pair of wire cutters would release Paca.

The nearest ranch—the only close one—was Adam’s. It was the last place Jo wanted to go for help, since she had vowed never to speak to Adam. But Paca's life counted more than her pride.

Almost in tears, Jo stroked the neck of the intelligent animal. If she had been more careful, she might have avoided the danger.

"Good girl, Paca. I'll go get help. I'll be as quick as I can." Of course the Appaloosa didn't understand, but the sound of Jo's voice seemed to steady her. Jo dropped the reins.

The tangled wreckage extended out several yards in each direction—most of it on Adam's land—and Jo had to fight her way through the dense brush, the wire looped through it as if to protect a military installation. Each step required care, as the springy wire recoiled on her when she least expected it. It was as unpredictable as trying to deal with Adam himself, and as sharp-edged as her grandfather's tongue.

As she picked her way through the last of the fencing, Jo pictured Adam's strong features, the proud lift of his head. The older of the two Trahern brothers, Adam had inherited his rugged features from Kimana, his Shoshone ancestress—broad forehead, straight nose, prominent cheekbones and blue-black hair. From her and her Irish husband, Charlie Web, had come a love of music, an unpredictable sense of humor and an unbending pride.

Therein lay the problem. Adam was proud, her grandfather set in his ways. Neither would make the first move towards reconciliation. Like the two bulls, they constantly pushed at each other.

Pausing, Jo stared up the mountainside where the bulls had disappeared and prayed they wouldn't return to where Paca stood. She visualized the nearby terrain, seeking an alternate route through the brushy area that would take her to the Trahern ranch and still avoid the bulls. To meet a bull on foot was a different matter than chasing one with a horse, and getting treed by one would not help Paca.

She could see no definite trail, only meandering cow paths, but knew that by following the fence line to the top of the ridge where the foliage thinned out, then turning away from the sunset, she should be able to find Adam's home.

The Blues were deceptive mountains, gently rolling and not very high when compared with the other mountains of Oregon—like the Wallowas—but they were dangerous because of their similarity. The pattern of heavy growth in the valleys, coupled with bare or lightly covered ridges, repeated itself in regular sequence, forming few landmarks. People became lost easily, as many a hunter had discovered, and Jo treated the low mountains with the respect they deserved.

She would follow the fence-line "trail" and hope the bulls had abandoned it.

Jo glanced backward at Paca, praying that the mare's innate intelligence would keep her from injuring herself. Paca stood still as a statue, her white coat marked by the Appaloosa's spots. As soon as Jo got out of sight, she started to run.

Old Levi's and cowboy boots did not constitute ideal track clothes, but the brush-covered mountain slope was not an ideal track. Roots and stones tripped her, while the low scrubby thorn bushes grasped her clothes with jagged claws. Sweat ran into her eyes and soaked her lime green T-shirt as she struggled up the rocky slope. Blood pounded in her head blocking out sound. Every muscle strained to hurry upward while inertia held her back.

Slow. So slow!

Tears of frustration and helplessness formed as Jo thought of Paca patiently waiting...but for how long? If she lost this mare—like she had her black one years ago—out of her own stupidity....

Refusing to think negatively, Jo pushed on. She had to get some wire cutters, that was all there was to it. Even if it meant facing Adam.

Given the long twilight hours, she felt certain she would have enough light to find the way to Adam's ranch. If Gramps ever found out she had gone there, he would explode, but she had no other recourse.

She didn't want to get tangled up with Adam or anything belonging to him...especially now, while she tried to help out Karen. Gramps always said the Traherns were an irresponsible lot, with Adam the worst of the bunch.

Adam. A source of mixed emotions, the object of her early teen-age dreams.   He angered her, yet attracted her. Her adversary with Gramps, he was also her dragon-slayer when she landed in trouble.  

She hadn't seen him for years. She wondered what he was like, now.

 Suddenly the huge bulk of Adam's young bull loomed in front of her, blocking her path as it leisurely scratched its back on one of the thorn bushes. Desperate to keep going, Jo yelled and hurled a rock at its flank.

The animal spun around to look at her, and Jo dodged behind a tree, ready to climb it if necessary. Bulls killed more people than any wild animal, but she would still rather face one than Adam.

"Heah! Heah! Get out of there!"

The animal snorted, shaking its head, its ears twitching away some flies. She yelled louder and the bull responded this time, turning to crash through the brush for several yards before stopping again.

Jo walked backward and sideways, edging past him, then continued on. She wished Adam could be so easily handled.

Five more minutes and she gained the ridge. The brush was scattered thinly here, leaving large open stretches. Nearby lay the lookout point she’d been so determined to reach. As long as she stayed on the ridges, she knew where she was.

Pausing only a moment to catch her breath, Jo turned her back to the setting sun and began to run down the long gradual slope towards Adam's home. Her shaky legs refused to function properly going downhill, and she stumbled and fell, skinning herself on the porous lava rocks. Picking herself up, she ran again, trying to take more care with her footing.

Suddenly, Adam's home came into sight, brightly lit, with the dark shape of the barn nearby, and a man moving about in the corral.

Was it Adam? She couldn't tell for certain because of the dim light and the large brown Stetson the man wore. He stood some distance from the barn. Maybe she could sneak in and get some wire cutters without his knowing it. She would mail them back...or something.

Anything to keep from speaking to him.

How could she break seven years of silence? She had rarely encountered Adam before leaving for college, but the few times their paths had crossed she had looked the other way and kept her lips firmly sealed. At first, anger over the bet he’d made, kept her quiet. Then time and distance widened the gap.

She no longer resembled the person she’d been when she first vowed never to speak to him, but in the interim her wall of silence had become an insurmountable barrier. She felt she could not speak. The barrier was too high.

If she had to, what on earth would she say? "I know I haven't spoken to you for seven years, but it's an emergency." She wouldn't blame Adam for laughing in her face.

Four years older than she, he would be...twenty-seven, almost twenty-eight now. Had he changed for the better—or had the bitterness between him and her grandfather etched its way deep into his mind?

The last time she’d seen him, she had been in town with her grandfather. Adam had said "Hello, neighbor," a bit sarcastically, and her grandfather had turned and walked the other way. Jo had turned and gone with him, feeling caught between the two of them, with no way out.

The figure in the corral was busy, working on one of the gates, his back to her. Praying he wouldn't turn around, Jo ran closer, slipping through the wooden rails of one of the corrals, scurrying silently across the dusty enclosure, and climbing up and over the other side.

A few more steps put the bulk of the barn between them and Jo grew confident she could get the wire cutters undetected. The door to the tool shed hung open and she slipped inside, pausing to accustom her vision to the dark room. Walking around slowly, she found the area where the hand tools were stored. Someone had painted white silhouettes behind each tool, so it took but a few moments to locate what she wanted.

Elated, Jo took the cutters and dashed towards the door... only to collide with the solid body of the man just entering.

"What the...?" His voice rose in angry protest.

"Oh!" The impact threw her back and she sat down, hard, on the concrete floor, feeling the fine particles of grit that covered it. She felt embarrassed at first, then guilty—then frightened. Backlighted against the door, his face in shadow, the tall man looming over her seemed too large to be Adam.

The man raised his fists. "What do you think you're doing?"

Adam's voice...Jo remembered it well, although it was deeper now. Her fear left.

"Who...?" Adam bent closer, the better to see her in the dark tool shed. "You! I might've known. No one else would dare sneak around here."

Filled with guilt, Joanna's mind raced erratically, unable to form a coherent sentence. She felt lower than low, caught acting like a thief. It would have been so much better if she had just walked up to Adam and asked for the cutters.

He scowled at her as she sat upright, his face twisting with bitterness. "I take it you hoped to come and go without being seen."

He sounded angry enough to wallop her, yet Jo felt no fear. Adam was the one who had always rescued her when she got into trouble as a child. Surely he would help again— although, after seven years, he might not even loan her the wire cutters.

"Well, when did you get back home? Or are you still not talking to me?" he demanded, spitting out the words as if they had a bad taste.

"Late this morning." Her throat constricted, making her voice come out weak, ineffectual. She gasped for control. "I spent a week in Seattle." The words sounded awkward, sitting there alone, so she explained further. "I’d gone to a wedding.”

"Huh...she's got a tongue. That must have cost you something." He removed his Stetson to wipe the sweat from his broad forehead. "So...your first day back and you throw yourself at my feet. There has to be a reason." He stared hard at her. "Well?" he demanded. "What do you want?"

"These." She held up the wire cutters.

"You planned to take them? Without asking?"

She nodded. Guilt flooded her face with a hot blush and she felt thankful for the room's darkness.

"Figures. What happened this time?" he asked, reaching down and hauling her to her feet, his strong hand encompassing her wrist. "Well?" He flicked on the light.

The reality of the man took over the image of the youth she remembered. A very powerful man. One who would make a dangerous foe.

Adam was burned brown from working outdoors, his broad-brimmed hat unable to protect him entirely. Sweat trailed narrow streaks on his dust-covered face and his troubled eyes held the tiredness of long hours. A dark stubble covered his squared chin, emphasizing the tight line of his mouth.

"What on earth...?" His gaze roved over her, piercing as an eagle's as he examined her dirt-torn condition. "What happened to you?" His deep voice sharpened in concern. He must have spotted the scratches under the dirt.

Without warning, he swung her up into his arms and carried her outside into the last of the light, sending her heart skittering in alarm. "Let's get you to the house. Couldn't you even wait a day to get into trouble?"

"I didn't plan this." Even in her distraught state Jo noticed the ease with which he held her and the broad, muscular depth of his shoulders and arms, the work-hardened build of a man who was no longer a boy. "Put me down." She shoved hard against his chest.

"Nothing doing." He looked around the barnyard, the iron bands of his arms effectively limiting her struggles to get away. "Stop squirming," he demanded. "Where's Paca?

"In the wire."

"Huh?"

"I was chasing the bulls. Yours...ours were fighting in the fence between the pastures. Paca's caught in the wire. I don't know how long she'll stand—"

"She didn't panic?" he demanded to know.

"No. But I couldn't get her loose. She must think I've deserted her by—"

"Where at?" he cut in sharply, giving her a small shake as if to quicken the flow of information.

"At the corner. Where our pastures join."

"I know the spot—you always use that gate."

What he said was true. She always headed for the lookout spot in his pasture area at sunset time, if she happened to be anywhere near.

Adam stopped abruptly, dropped her to her feet, and plucked the cutters out of her hand. "Stay here. I'll pick you up on the way back."

He sprinted towards the barn, his long legs covering the ground in a fraction of the time she would have taken.

Jo shoved back her bangs and watched as Adam disappeared inside to reappear almost immediately and enter the corral. In spite of Gramps' dire warnings about how vindictive Adam had become, Jo had known subconsciously that he would help. He might not think much of her or her family, but he wasn't the type to let an animal suffer.