Helen DePrima - Into The Storm

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.