Roz Fox - Wide Open Spaces

“Don’t have one.” The old man shook his head. “Can’t think what we—”

“Virgil, what about Audrey’s knitting basket?” Summer broke into the men’s conversation. She nudged him and winked. “I realize if the birds poop in it I’ll owe her a new one.”

“Why, that’s just the thing. You go ask her, Summer-girl. She’d never refuse you. If I unload that woman’s knitting, she’s liable to smack me upside the head with a frying pan.”

Summer chuckled. “You old fibber. Audrey loves you to pieces. But I’ll go do it. I want to fill a thermos with coffee and toss a couple of apples in a saddlebag. I figure this trip will take a lot of energy.”

“Do you mind bringing an extra apple?” Colt put in.

“For the horses, you mean?”

“Well, that’d be nice, too. No, I’m being purely selfish. The café hadn’t opened yet when I left town.” He rubbed his stomach, which chose that moment to growl.

“Why didn’t you say something earlier? Heavens, you’re probably starved. Come inside. I’ll ask Audrey to whip you up some eggs and toast.”

“No. Don’t go to any trouble. An apple will do me. We should get underway. This is going on day two for those birds. Once the sun rises, they’ll be increasingly exposed to predators.”

“Exactly.” Summer turned to Virgil. “Will you saddle Starlight for me, please? She’s surefooted enough for the gorge.”

As Summer loped toward the house, Colt backed Spirit out of his trailer.

“Your horse favors his foreleg, son,” Virgil said.

“He landed sideways on a rock the other day. I’m lucky all he did was strain a muscle.” Colt bent over his horse and ran a hand down the leg, checking for swelling.

“My wife makes a herb ointment to help with my arthritis. The stuff works wonders on animals. Why don’t you leave the gelding for me to treat? You can ride one of Summer’s horses.”

“I’d appreciate it. I thought a workout might help him, but I don’t want to push him if he’s not a hundred percent.”

“Then it’s settled. You assemble your climbing gear and I’ll swap your mount for one of ours. It’ll only take me a few minutes to saddle two horses.”

“Use my saddle. It has extra ties for attaching mountaineering gear.”

“Sure. Here, cut the wrap off Spirit’s leg. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” Virgil produced a rusty pocket knife that had seen better days. Colt finally found one blade that literally chewed through the medicated wrap he’d put on his horse yesterday.

Summer beat Virgil back to the place where Colt was readying his equipment. A dog, a mixed breed with some spaniel and terrier—or that was Colt’s best guess—bounded up to him, barking, and sniffing the items he’d laid out on the ground.

“Don’t mind Lancelot.” Summer rushed to catch hold of the dog. “His bark is fierce, but he’s really friendly. The best cow dog that ever lived,” she said with a high degree of immodesty.

“Best ever, huh? Tall praise, boy.” Colt let the dog sniff his hand before trying to pet him. He’d owned a cutting dog named Vic. Monica had given him away. At least it was to a family with kids. Vic loved kids. Colt hadn’t had the heart to demand him back and disappoint little children.

“Oh, shoot. You’ll want to wash before you eat this biscuit sandwich I brought out. Lancelot, no,” she commanded as the dog sailed through the air, attempting to steal the napkin-wrapped biscuit she handed Colt.

“I’ll use the napkin to guard against dog germs.” Colt hopped up on the running board of his pickup in order to keep his food out of the dog’s reach. Lancelot was quite a jumper. “You didn’t have to do this, Summer, but my stomach thanks you.” As if on cue, Colt’s stomach growled again. Louder this time. The dog gave a funny yip, dropped to his belly and slithered back to Summer. Both she and Colt laughed.

“Well,” she said. “I’ve never seen him do that before. You’d better wolf that down fast before he gets brave again.”

“I take it he’s your pet and not Rory’s,” Colt remarked as he began to devour the egg, ham and biscuit sandwich.

“Interesting you should think that. I saved him after he’d been hit by a car. The month before Rory was born. When the baby came, the dog appointed himself guardian extraordinaire. Last year, Rory started school, and I had a terrible time keeping Lancelot off the bus. Which is why you didn’t see him earlier. We’ve learned to lock him inside the house until after Rory leaves. Otherwise, he’ll park himself next to the gate all day.”

“That’s a great trait. I had a loyal dog…once….” His sentence trailed off as Colt wadded the napkin, shoved it into his pocket, then jumped to the ground. “There’s Virgil,” he exclaimed, starting off to meet the man.

Summer wasn’t so quick to follow. Obviously something had happened to his pet, she decided, based on the abrupt way Colt dropped the subject. Men! He probably regretted letting her see an emotional side. The Callan men and Frank, too, had all been miserly with any show of softness. Rory would be different if she had any influence. Yet his bouts of tears, no matter how infrequent, were a bone of contention with Frank. He insisted to any and all who’d listen that she’d turned their son into a sissy. But she knew it wasn’t sissified to want Rory to express honest feelings.

Summer gave a start when Colt took the knitting basket out of her hands and replaced it with the reins to her horse.

“Sorry to break your train of thought, but the sun’s climbing fast. Hadn’t we better go?”

“Yes. Virgil,” she said, swinging into the saddle. “Hang on to Lancelot, please. I don’t want him scaring those eaglets to death. Oh, and Phil Eubanks might deliver our roundup supplies this morning. I left his check with Audrey.”

“Anything else?”

“One other thing. Bozo Bear’s off his feed. Check to see if you think he’s sick. From what I’ve read on bears since we got him, I would’ve expected his appetite to pick up around this time, since he’ll be heading into hibernation soon.”

Virgil nodded and grabbed the dog’s collar.

“You have a bear?” Colt shifted in his saddle to eye her as they rode out.

“An orphan I ran across after a summer forest fire. I’m surprised Myron didn’t fill you in on what people around here call Summer’s Wildlife Sanctuary. As a kid, I was forever dragging home injured squirrels, birds and motherless calves. Now, anytime anyone within driving distance comes across an animal in need, they drop it on my doorstep. My goal is to return them to their natural habitat as quickly as possible. At the moment we’re boarding the bear, two fawns, a disagreeable badger, a snow goose, a family of sage grouse, a great horned owl and…you’ve met the eagle. Those are the wild creatures. Any number of cats and dogs show up in any given year, too. Fortunately, the vet who served Callanton before Myron set up an endowment to cover my costs. Otherwise, I couldn’t afford the menagerie.” She paused, then said softly, “I’ll always be grateful to Dr. Ross. He died the same year my father did, and I miss them both.”

“You don’t sound as if you mind the time your… menagerie must take.”

She smiled. “Not really. I can’t stand to think they’d be left to suffer and die. Although sometimes—for instance, in the case of the eagle—care becomes a challenge.”

Colt pondered the pain evident in her voice when she talked about what might happen to the animals except for her. He was struck by how different she was from his ex-wife. Monica had once refused to help him bottle-feed twin fillies delivered by a mare that didn’t make it through the night. Why hadn’t he seen Monica’s self-centeredness before they got married? Colt strove to remember. Had Monica changed, or had he? Probably both. He hadn’t known her long; theirs had been a whirlwind courtship. And he had to admit that prior to his struggle to stay alive day after day in that rebel prison, he’d been shallow enough to derive importance from how attractive Monica looked on his arm.