Read Takin' The Reins Online

Authors: Stacey Coverstone

Takin' The Reins (23 page)

“Houdini!”

Weak, but digging deep inside to find the strength to carry on, she shuffled toward the sound, hoping it wasn’t nature playing a cruel trick on her. Her feet hit something hard and…
snap
! She felt her ankle pop, and she hurtled through the air. When her hip banged against a sharp rock, she knew she wasn’t dreaming. Pain shot through her body as she tumbled head over heels and landed on the ground with a solid thud. With the wind knocked out of her, she could barely breathe for a few moments. Lying on her side, she lifted her foot and excruciating pain caused her to scream out loud. Her back hurt, too. If any bones were broken, she wouldn’t know because the cold had frozen her stiff. The frigid rain continued to pummel her. Exhausted, she buried her head into the crook of her elbow. Distress and misery were her only companions. Not knowing what else to do, she prayed until her world went black.

 

~ * ~

 

When she woke, the rain had blessedly let up. Thunder continued to roll over the sky, although softer now, but the bitter cold remained her enemy. It was still dark, but at least it was easier to focus now that the rain was no longer assaulting her. Wincing in terrible discomfort, she managed to pull herself up on her elbows so she could gaze around.

It seemed she’d fallen into a ditch. Steep walls of mud and rock were in front and behind her jutting up like cliffs. A long gully stretched out on either side. It hit her in an instant. She was in an arroyo. In one of his lessons on New Mexico geography, Wyatt had described an arroyo to her. Panic lodged in every cell of her body. How would she get out of here? Her foot throbbed. It might be broken. She didn’t think she could walk. Her head ached. She was dizzy and lightheaded with pain and fright.

Where was her flashlight? She felt around her, with no luck. When she tried to roll onto her hands and knees, searing pain stabbed her foot like a dagger. With the wind blowing fiercely down the arroyo, Jordan could not stop her teeth from chattering or her body from shaking uncontrollably. She didn’t know how long she’d been unconscious or how long she could last. Her breaths were shallow and she felt so weak. The wind cut through her thin jacket. She laid back and shut her eyes.

The memory of being a Girl Scout in Colorado played across her mind like a motion picture. She remembered being taught never to go to sleep if you were caught in a snowstorm. Too late for that, she thought, since she’d already drifted off once. The leaders had warned the girls over and over to keep moving. Warm blood circulates. If you go to sleep when the temperature drops, you may never wake up. Maybe she could crawl up the side of the arroyo. She tried to sit up and move again, but it was no use. Her body would not cooperate. Every movement caused severe agony.

I’m going to freeze to death. Coyotes might eat me. No one will ever find me down here. I’ll never see Wyatt again.
His rugged face shone in front of her like a beacon.
Help me, Brannigan.
Her lips could no longer move. They were cracked and sore, so she sent the message with her mind.
Come, my darling. I need you.
He’ll hear me. He’ll come for me, she thought. She lifted her hand and reached out to touch his face—the face in front of her that seemed so real. Then he disappeared. She had no strength left to moan, let alone cry.

She lay on her back staring into the dark sky, imagining it was the hot Southwestern sun beating down on her skin. If she thought hard enough, perhaps she could will herself warm again. Doubtful, but it was worth a try. Closing her eyes, she concentrated as much as her wandering mind would allow.

“Maaaaa.”

Her eyes rolled open. What was that?

“Maaaaa!”

There it was again. Was the wind playing tricks on her? She strained to focus. Two black, beady eyeballs peered down from the ridge above.

“Maaaaa!” the figure repeated, this time louder and with more urgency.

It couldn’t be. Could it? Was it Houdini or a figment of her imagination?

“Maaaaa,” the goat bellowed.

Jordan stretched out her hand and whispered in a cracked, hoarse voice, “Houdini.” She watched, mesmerized and amazed, as the animal gingerly waddled down the side of the arroyo on his tiny hoofed feet. She wasn’t convinced he was real, or if he was a cold-induced hallucination, until he reached her side and nudged. She touched a finger to his nose. He was real and his nose was as cold as an icicle.

“You found me,” she whispered. Every bit of her strength was gone. Houdini must have sensed her distress because he crawled on top of her and nuzzled her neck. The weight of his body didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt anymore. She was just glad to have him with her. Jordan closed her eyes again and went to sleep.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eighteen

 

When rolling thunder woke Wyatt, he knew something wasn’t right. He felt it in his gut.
Jordan.
He glanced at the watch he never removed from his wrist because the face glowed in the dark. It was five o’clock in the morning. He tried the lamp on the table next to the bed. No power.

Flinging himself out of bed, he stuffed his legs into a pair of jeans and his feet into boots. He threw on a shirt, grabbed his cell phone from off the bureau, and bundled up in a jacket. On the way out, he grabbed the big flashlight he kept in the laundry room. While running out the door, he slipped on some gloves and adjusted a baseball cap so it fit snuggly on his head.

He gunned his pickup and splashed through puddles before turning onto the main road. A sense of dread grew, causing his pulse to quicken as he closed in on the Lucky Seven. It didn’t matter who he might wake with his squealing tires. He barreled up the drive and slammed on the brakes. The truck jolted to a stop, and he dove out and sprinted up the newly paved sidewalk. The front door hung open and the screen door banged against the house. With an ever-tightening chest, he ran inside and called out her name. Her bed was empty. He flipped a light switch. The electricity was off here, too. Racing out the door, he hustled to the barn, all the while yelling her name. The wind was harsh—whipping at his face and blowing through his coat, cutting at his legs. There were no horses in the stalls. He ran outside and flashed the light on the ground and saw tire tracks in the mud, heading into the open field.

Following the tracks, he saw human and hoof prints in the same direction. Striding to the pasture, he swung the flashlight beam around. The herd was huddled together; all except Buttercup. No sign of the goat, either. This was a bad sign. Wyatt rushed back to his truck and slammed it into four-wheel drive. He turned into the field. As he tracked the footprints with his high beams on, only one thing was on his mind—finding Jordan.

Obviously the footprints were hers, sure as the hoof prints were that ornery goat’s. What would have made her come out in this God-awful weather? That damn goat must have escaped again. But how would she have known? Why would she have been up so early in the morning? Probably the storm had awakened her, but surely she had more sense than to go out in a thunderstorm looking for an animal that had caused her nothing but trouble. Wyatt shook his head knowing she had a soft spot, just as Lydia had.

As he drove over ruts and past scrub, he worried that she was not dressed for the foul weather. She was a newcomer to New Mexico and didn’t know how cold it could get, even in the summer. With this storm, the nighttime temperature had dropped to a bitter thirty degrees, according to the gauge on the dashboard. He prayed she wore a coat, boots and gloves. At least her tracks were clear and easy to follow. Maybe he’d spot her in a matter of minutes.

In short time, he came across a downed tree that looked like it had recently been hit by lightning. Something lay twisted on the ground several feet from it. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
Dear God, don’t let it be…
He threw the truck into park and jumped out. Running to the tree, he was overcome with relief to discover it was only a large burnt limb. He jogged back to the pickup and put it in gear again. Continuing along the ruts and dips in the ground, he peered through the windshield into the hazy shadows as he drove slowly, praying, and searching for any kind of movement amongst the scrub. At one point, he saw something stir, but it was only a huge jackrabbit that had been standing on its hind legs. When Wyatt kicked a rock, it hopped into a cluster of sagebrush.

God. Let me find her alive. Protect her in this storm. Keep her safe until I can get to her. I’ve been waiting for this woman all my life. Don’t let me lose her now.

Thankfully, the sun began to inch into the sky, slowly spreading light over the desert. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard and it read almost six o’clock. The time had flown. Where could she be? How far could she have gone in the storm? A voice inside his head told him to stop. He knew this area. A deep arroyo was just ahead. He shut off the engine and rolled down the window. In the past ten minutes, the wind had died down and the rain dissipated.

As the sun rose, muted stripes of pink and orange were painted across the gray-blue sky. Wyatt stuck his head out the window and listened to the sounds of the desert—light drops of rain hitting the ground, the distant roll of thunder, the scurrying of lizards under the scrub, and the twitters of birds hiding in mesquite trees.
She’s near. I can feel her.
He placed his hand over his heart, but it was as if he felt hers beating.

“She’s alive,” he whispered.

“Cak-cak-cak!” He stepped out of the truck and looked up. Stiff wing beats captured his attention. A brown hawk glided above, screeching out to him. Native Americans believed birds carried magical powers. He could use any help he could get.

“Lead me to her,” he implored the hawk. As the hawk flapped ahead, Wyatt followed its path on foot, and the bird led him to the arroyo. Cupping his hand to his mouth, he shouted Jordan’s name, his deep voice stretching out across the desert.

“Jordan!”

“Maaaaa,” came an answer.

He stopped dead. “Jordan!” he called again.

“Maaaaa!”

He strode briskly to the edge of the arroyo and gazed down. His heart jolted, and relief washed over his body. There she lay at the bottom of the ravine with that fat, furry goat stretched on top of her like a rug. Houdini looked up and fixed his glazed eyes on Wyatt.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed 911. “Jordan! If you can hear me, I’m here and you’re safe. I’ll be right down!” He hadn’t even considered the call might not go through, but remarkably it did. After describing the emergency, he gave the dispatcher the exact location of the spot, which wasn’t but a mile off the hard road. “The paramedics will see my pickup. She’s in the arroyo. I’m going down. Tell ‘em to hurry!”

After flipping the phone shut, he began the trek down the steep rock wall. Loose stones crumbled under his feet, but he somehow managed to keep from getting hurt by sliding down mostly on his butt. Houdini eyed him with glassy pupils. As Wyatt approached, the goat cried and tried to bite and jab with his horns. It was apparent he didn’t have much strength left since he ceased to resist when Wyatt gently pulled him off Jordan’s body. The animal’s breathing was ragged, and he coughed like a baby with a bad cold. Wyatt scratched Houdini’s head.

“It’s okay, boy. You did your job. Now, let me do mine.” Eased onto his side, the animal laid his weary head on the ground and closed his eyes. Wyatt noticed Jordan’s chest rise and fall gently. Thank God she was alive! He yanked off his gloves and covered her wind-burned cheeks with his large, warm hands.

“Honey, I’m here. Stay with me. You’re going to be all right.”

 

~ * ~

 

Jordan dreamt she was in the middle of the ocean; the bright azure-colored ocean, adrift on a chunk of ice. The water surrounding her was beautiful, but cold. So cold. But her body was warm. She stroked the pretty, soft fur coat she wore around her body. It kept her toasty on this piece of floating iceberg.

She was lying on her back gazing into the night sky which was dotted with twinkling white and blue stars. The ice bobbed along in the water, rocking her gently back and forth. One star shone brighter than all the others. This one she spoke to without using words, because no words were needed.
You’re the one. I trust you. Take me home.
Sadly, she watched the star fall from the sky, as if it’d been hanging on a thread that had snapped. It dropped behind a mountain and then rose up and transformed into the brilliant, hot sun. She smiled, happy again. When it reached its pinnacle in the sky, which had grown light and blue, it morphed once more into the face of a man. Her man. Wyatt.

“Jordan. Jordan. Wake up.” She felt someone jiggle her arm. Her eyes slid open slowly, but it was as if weights held them down. Exhausted, she struggled to keep them open. She could feel her face stroked as a familiar voice spoke. Was she still dreaming?

“Can you hear me?” the voice asked. “You’re alive and you’re safe now. You’re not alone anymore. I’m right here with you.”

She tried to nod her head. The hand caressed her damp, matted hair.
Was
she alive? Was the man talking real and not a dream?

“Can you hear me?” he repeated. She opened her eyes again and strained to focus on the face hovering above her. Intensity radiated from those green eyes; eyes she’d know anywhere.

“Brannigan? Is it you?” She wasn’t sure whether she’d said his name out loud or not. Her lips felt swollen and they burned. It hurt to talk.

His voice was soothing, calm. “It’s me, honey. The paramedics are here now. They need to know where you hurt. Don’t talk. Just point, if you can.”

She heard more voices surrounding her and feet shuffling on all sides. She attempted to shift her stiff body and groaned.

“Don’t move, Miss Mackenzie,” someone ordered. “Point to where you hurt.”

She blinked and realized the sun was out. It wasn’t dark anymore, and there was no more rain slicing into her body like knives. Several faces floated above her in a circle. She sensed urgency in their voices, so she forced herself to move a frozen finger and point to her feet, back, and face.

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