A Rush of Wings (12 page)

“But Rick's quarter horses are fine too. That roan, Destiny, in particular.”

Hank nodded. “Oh yes. Not many like that one.”

“I know I could tame him down—if I ever got the chance to try.”

Hank had betrayed his soft heart the minute he hugged his son. This had to work. He shrugged. “Well, Rick seems to appreciate your ability.”

“Riding maybe. But not with Destiny. He's convinced I can't help him there.”

Hank eyed her. “But you'd like to.”

“I'd love to. Destiny already responds to me, though Rick won't admit it.”

Hank grinned. “Well, we'll see what we can do.”

“Thanks.” She flashed him a radiant smile, not at all feigned, and ignored the twinge of conscience. Rick could have been reasonable on his own.

When he came in, Noelle intentionally avoided the subject. She'd used the same magic with Hank as she had with her own daddy, and he would work on Rick better than she'd been able to. If it needed tweaking, she'd take what opportunities came.

But when she went down for dinner the cabin families had already filled the table where Rick and Hank sat, and Marta had even set the second long table in the dining room. She heard little of Rick's conversation, as she and two mothers shared their table with seven talkative children. Not even Morgan could have gotten a word in.

As one family, then another, retired to their cabins for the night, Noelle, too, slipped away upstairs, leaving Rick and his father alone. Maybe now Hank would speak for her. Maybe tomorrow she'd ride Destiny.

———

Under the afternoon sun the next day, Rick led Destiny over to his father, reading the satisfaction in his eyes. Dad was too good a horseman to miss the roan's quality. The horse still breathed hard from the run he had given him. But though he was tired and currently obedient, he was anything but docile. No, this was one horse that would follow its heart. Rick would have to earn its mastery.

“You've done well with him, son.”

Rick stroked Destiny's muzzle. “He's something, isn't he?”

“He's something. Good blood will show. And every now and then it all comes together.”

“Yeah.” Rick patted the horse's neck.

“He's responding well.” His dad leaned on the fence.

“Better these last few days. Seems to have given up throwing me.” Rick tethered the horse.

“Once they make that decision it's pretty clear sailing. I think Noelle could give him a try if she's as capable as you say.”

Rick frowned. There it was, and he'd expected it. “She's capable
enough on a well-trained horse. I've practically given over Aldebaran to her.”

“She'd sure like to help with Destiny.” Yep, Dad was wax in her hands.

Rick knew well enough how hard she pressed. “She used her green eyes on you, Dad. You know as well as I do—”

“I'm not saying turn her loose on him. Keep him on the tether.”

“Even on the tether . . .”

“Oh, come on, Rick. What can it hurt? She's a delightful young woman. Knows jumpers.” Dad raised a hand in a reasoning gesture Rick knew so well. “She's competition-trained with thoroughbreds. They're flightier than Destiny by far.”

“He's not flighty.” Rick held the horse's nose, conceding in his mind that Destiny had come a long way since the first time Noelle asked to ride him.

“There, then. Give her a try.” Dad's voice had that genial coaxing Rick remembered too well.

Rick shook his head. “I see how it is. Fine. You can tell her she's won.”

“I'll leave that for you.” His father winked.

Rick lifted Destiny's fore hoof and checked the frog. “You have it wrong, Dad. It's Morgan she's been seeing.”

“Morgan?”

“That's right.” The horse had seemed tender, but Rick didn't see anything to irritate the hoof. He dropped it.

“I see.”

Rick was sure his dad did see. Probably more than Rick wanted him to.

“Well, she's an enchanting creature.”

“And conniving.”

His father laughed. “That's the best kind. Just like your mother. Puts the spice into life.”

“Yeah.” Rick palmed a baby carrot for Destiny. “Cayenne pepper.” And she wasn't a believer, was hostile to the gospel, and . . . well, not at all the sort of woman he assumed God would choose for him.

But he did respect his father's opinion, especially when it came to horses. He'd learned everything at Dad's hands, most of all the touch that won an animal's allegiance. No brute force could accomplish that. A browbeaten horse would turn at the first chance. And a stubborn one
would resist a weak hand until it was long in the tooth. It was the right blend of constancy and gentleness that made submission possible.

Just as it was with God. No deity that ruled with fear and torment could win the hearts of its followers. They became animals themselves, thinking of baser and baser modes of worship until they threw their very infants to the flames. Only in Jesus was submission perfected, God made man. And through Jesus, man committed his heart to the only entity worthy of service—something else he'd learned from Dad, whose heart was always humble before God and whose example Rick strove to follow.

But humble or not, when they gathered around the tables for the evening meal, Rick avoided Noelle's hopeful glances. If Dad wanted to tell her he'd acted on her charm, taken her part against the better judgment of his son, let him. But the other families kept the discussion on kids and religion, which didn't become contentious since they were all like-minded. Except Noelle, though he noted she didn't press her arguments on Dad or the others. That must be his singular privilege.

After dinner, his father followed him outside and assisted with the evening chores. Rick was glad for the time alone with him, especially since the visit would be a short one.

“So how is Morgan?” Dad's tone was neutral, but Rick knew what he asked.

He just didn't know how to answer. He heaved a hay bale to the manger at the side of the stable and snipped the wire. “New Corvette, new contract, all the time and pleasure money can buy.” He pulled apart the bale as the horses clomped over and dipped their heads, tearing at the aromatic hay with ivory teeth and flapping lips.

“Drinking?”

“I've seen him worse.”

Dad was not averse to a beer on a hot day, but they both knew that wasn't what he meant. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I promised Mother I'd ask.”

Rick nodded.

Dad reached to help with the second bale. “Maybe he'll find a reason to straighten out.”

Noelle flashed to Rick's mind, but he didn't say anything. He could be way off base, but if she were strong enough to straighten Morgan out . . . well, he couldn't see that happening. Of course, she had outmaneuvered him on the Destiny matter. He turned the faucet
on over the trough, guessing he'd have one peaceful night before she was on him like a horsefly on sweat. Dad had armed her, and there was no getting out of it.

His father left early the next morning, and sure enough, Noelle was ready the moment her hand dropped from waving Dad off in his truck. “Rick, did Hank—”

“You know he did.” And there came the full force of her eager eyes and way too confident smile. “All right, come on.” He hoisted the saddle into the bed of his pickup.

Noelle climbed into the truck. “It's a shame your father couldn't stay longer.”

“Lord knows what I'd be doing if he had.”

She didn't bother to hide her satisfaction as they drove up. He looked at the stallions running in the high pasture and Destiny trying to reach them from the training corral. His muscles gleamed in the sunlight as he strained and circled. This was crazy.

Rick stopped Noelle at the gate. “Wait out here.” He whistled through his teeth. The colt stood still for the bridle, but that was the easy part. He'd been halter-trained almost from birth, had taken to the bridle without concern. Rick fastened the reins to the fence, then tossed the blanket over the horse's back. Destiny stomped one back hoof but still made no move.

Noelle leaned on the fence. “You've tamed him already.”

“Don't let him fool you. He wants to obey, but he also wants his way. It's a battle inside him.”

Destiny snorted and jerked up his head as though to prove him right. Rick hauled the saddle from the truck and put it on over the pad. He could feel Destiny quiver and spoke to him softly. “You know this part, boy.” He fastened and tightened the cinch, gently kneed the air from the horse's belly, and gave the cinch another tug.

He unfastened the rope. “I'm going to take him first and see what kind of mood he's in.” He swung up into the saddle. Destiny wheeled, and Rick pulled him back. “Whoa there.” He nudged him with his knees and Destiny started forward, then broke into a trot, followed by a lope and canter as Rick urged him.

They circled the enclosure. Destiny seemed eager to please. Round and round they paced, his hooves chunking yesterday's drying mud. Noelle leaned on the fence, waiting. Each time he passed, Rick saw her
look up expectantly. Well, he may as well get it done. He dismounted before her. “You sure about this?”

There was no mistaking the look she gave him.

“All right, then.” He attached the tether rope to the bridle, and Noelle climbed up. This was new for the horse, and he could sense Destiny's confusion. No one else had ridden him, no one but Rick, and even that was a tenuous arrangement at best. “Steady.”

Slowly, he played out the rope as the horse backed. He tried not to convey his concern but watched for a widening of the eyes, bunching muscles, flaring nostrils. More rope. Destiny twitched. Suddenly he reared, and Rick tugged him sharply down.

Noelle clung. “Let him run!”

His heart jumped. “Not on your life.” He held Destiny's head immobile until he sensed submission, in both rider and horse. Again he let the rope out. This time the horse stayed calm. He led him to the center of the corral. Destiny began to circle, built speed, but kept steady. Noelle moved in sync with him. At least there was that. Destiny could do worse than a well-seated horsewoman.

Rick trained the horse's control, now urging him to a canter, now slowing to a walk. He made him stand, then circle, then stand again. Destiny didn't want to stand. He fought the rope but obeyed until Rick urged him again. Noelle did nothing more than ride, but she seemed as intent on learning Destiny as the horse did her. When Destiny had done enough, Rick brought them to a stop. The horse stood calm as Noelle swung down. Another good sign.

“Satisfied?” Rick asked.

“Not even close.” Her eyes shone. Her faraway look was gone, and she seemed achingly present, her vibrancy unveiled.

He couldn't help but respond. “Want to help me train him?” The words were out before he considered.

“Do you mean it?”

Did he? One look and he wondered what he'd done. Give her an inch, she'd take the whole ranch. “Now that you've got a taste of him, you won't let it go.”

“You're right.”

“ 'Course I'm right. When you want something, you don't quit until you get it.” He undid the cinch and pulled the saddle off. “You have a real subtle way, but it doesn't hide that mulish streak.” He hung the saddle over the fence.

“I'm not mulish,” she said.

“Yes, you are.”

“I am not.”

“You are.” He removed the halter, and Destiny bolted for the pasture.

“And you're argumentative.”

“Only when I'm right.” He hauled the saddle to the truck.

“That's smug.” She followed him over.

He closed the tailgate. “You've been pushing for this since the day you came. Then you had Dad weigh in. If that's not mulish . . .”

“What's mulish is the way you refused every request.”

“You rode him, didn't you?” He pulled open her door.

“Only because I had your—”

Leaning over her, Rick raised his brows. “Yes?”

“Because Hank saw my point.”

He grinned. “Is that what he saw?”

Noelle raised her chin. “What, then?”

“Oh, the way you peer up through those eyelashes and flash your smile.” His eyes went over her face. “Dad's a pushover, but I'm not.”

“Then why did you ask me to train with you?”

Rick looked out to where Destiny grazed. “Because he responded.” That was half true. The other half he wouldn't admit. The way he'd felt when her eyes filled with whatever it was he'd seen there.

Her smile was pure satisfaction. “I told you he would.”

Shaking his head, he waved her into the truck and closed the door. “Thanks, Dad,” he muttered as he crossed to his side. But maybe she was right too. Maybe he'd been mulish, unwilling to believe that she might succeed where he was struggling. And then there was the rest of it, the time they would spend together, the companionship of a shared goal.

He pulled onto the apron and parked. “You did a nice job. Thanks for the help.”

“Maybe I could help with the new foals too.”

Yep, the whole ranch. He had to grin. “Maybe.”

D
riving through the traffic, Michael seethed. Ilse Blandon had broken under cross-examination, no other witness could outweigh that defect, and there was the matter of the receipt, tangible evidence of their client's opportunity. The judge had withered both William and himself with his comments before the jury went out to deliberate, and Michael still stung from William's cool displeasure.

He almost resented the man for not chastising him. If it weren't for his relationship to Noelle, would he be so lenient? Michael pulled his sister's junker to the curb and got out. He'd already phoned for a cab to meet him there, but it hadn't arrived. He went down the curbside stairs and rapped on the door with one knuckle.

Jan opened, and Michael held out the keys. “It's running again.” He'd picked up the car and paid the bill, but returning it was always the hardest part, seeing how she lived.

She took the keys and waved him in. “I feel bad . . .”

“Don't.”

At nineteen, she looked washed out and tired. Her blond hair hung limp. There were circles under her eyes, and her skin had that translucent quality that made her look fragile, more fragile than she was. She had faced the truth, cut strings he couldn't cut. She was free of the past, on her own.

Not that she did very well at it. He looked around the studio apartment, slightly larger than an elevator, with stained floors and walls.
The bed was folded up to the wall, but the bedclothes hung out the side. There was scarcely space to walk around the dishes and clothing that cluttered the floor.

He walked to the counter, picked up the bottle of Jack Daniel's lying on its side. His blood ran cold at the thought of Jan being a lush like Mother. “What's this?”

“Bud left it.” She shrugged and tossed it to the trash. It hit the edge and knocked the can over. “Oops.” She giggled and bent to stuff everything back in.

“Does he stay here with you?”

“What's it to you?” She tossed her hair and reached for a pack of cigarettes.

What was it to him? The men she saw made his skin crawl. Why couldn't she see what they were? He'd worked himself ragged to escape this ugliness, had won a full academic scholarship to Harvard Law School, graduating in the top two percent.

And not only that. He'd learned the mores of the upper crust until he could assimilate without effort, while Jan wallowed lower and lower. She'd be diseased before twenty and it wasn't her fault. A fresh surge of hatred for his mother seized him.

Oblivious to his darkening mood, Jan giggled again, an unnatural sound.

With a swift motion, he gripped her chin and bent her head back. She shrieked and struggled, but he held firm. It was there in her eyes. “What are you on?”

“Nothing. Just a little upper.”

“From Bud?”

“It was, like, free. Given to me.”

Sure. That's how it started. You only paid once you were hooked. “Where'd you get it?”

“I don't . . .”

He tightened his grip. “Where!”

“Okay. Bud.” She pried his fingers from her chin.

He swallowed his fury. “Listen to me, Jan. . . .”

“Like, get off my case, all right?”

He forced his voice to calm. “This is no place for you. Let me set you up.”

She tapped a cigarette free with a smirk. “Like Mom? Can I be a bird in a cage too?”

He didn't show the hurt. Jan was high or she'd never have said it. She knew what it cost him, not in money but in his soul, to hate the woman so much and still see that she had a life, even a comfortable one.

She put the cigarette between her lips and flicked the lighter. “I'm not doing anything hard.” She inhaled and blew the smoke slowly. “I just, like, want to make it on my own.”

As though she could make it without his help. Her memory was awfully short. “Cut loose of Bud. He's a scumbag.”

She shrugged. “So he's not hoity-toity like Noelle. Have you two even—”

“Stop it, Jan!” He gripped her shoulders and tossed her to the beanbags along the wall. What was the use? He could wring the truth from a witness, spin the truth for a jury, but he couldn't tell the truth to the ones who mattered.

He couldn't tell Jan she was ruining her life. And he hadn't told Noelle she made every day worth living. That with her, he almost felt . . . human. Instead he'd proved he wasn't.

Jan rolled to her side, frightened but sullen. And suddenly it wasn't Jan he saw crumpled, it was Noelle. His heart pounded; his eyes burned with unshed tears. He reached down to help his sister up. He could tell her. Jan was probably the only one who would understand. But he didn't.

———

Noelle flounced down on the couch and glared out the front window. She'd earned the chance to train Destiny, had one glorious time on his back, then awakened ready for more. The clouds that had moved in overnight hung misty and cold, but that wouldn't stop her or Rick, either, she was sure. Not that he was anywhere in sight to ask. And she knew because she'd gone out and looked extensively and had damp stringy hair to prove it.

She crossed her arms and dropped them across her ribs. He had to know she'd be aching to continue. Yet even though his truck was in the yard, he was nowhere to be found, except perhaps the places she hadn't looked, like his bedroom and bath. But if Rick were still in bed, it was time to call 9-1-1. No, he was up and out somewhere, intentionally frustrating her.

The door opened and Rick stuck his head in. “Ready?”

She jumped up. “Where have you been?”

He drew his brows together and rested his palm on the doorjamb. “Working.”

“I tramped all over the ranch.”

“I know.”

She clipped her hands to her hips. “You know?”

“I saw you.”

“From where?”

“The stable roof.”

She looked out the window at the stable's roof that slanted low on the backside. She could have missed him there, but if he'd seen her . . . “Why didn't you say something?”

“Like what?”

“Like ‘here I am.' ”

He stood a long minute without answering.

“You must have guessed I was looking for you.”

He hung his thumb in his belt. “No, actually . . .”

“Oh, never mind. I just wanted to get an early start before it rained.”

“And I just thought I'd patch a spot on the roof before it rained.”

She held his slightly mystified gaze and realized how high-handed she'd sounded. “Oh.” Yes, patching the stable roof before a rain was a good, worthy use of his time.

“So . . .” His mouth pulled to one side. “Are you ready?”

She expelled a quick breath. “Yes.”

He looked her over. “Where's your coat?”

“I don't have one.” In the summer heat of her shopping trip in Denver, a coat had not been on her mind to purchase.

“Come with me.”

She followed him to the stable where he pulled from the hook on the wall a poncho like the one he wore and slipped it over her head. It fit like a tent, but he didn't snicker. Rick knew when not to tease. Together they climbed into his truck, and he drove up the storm-hushed slope. Destiny came to meet them, seemingly eager.

Maybe because of the impending storm, Rick let her take him fresh, though he kept a secure hold of the rope. The air was pungent with wet hide, the reins slick in her hands, the air brisk. It was invigorating—for Destiny as well. He paced with energetic steps, and she exulted in the horse's motion, his ready response.

She neither wanted, nor tried to, control him, and she was certain
he knew it. Theirs was the mutual understanding she had wished between the animal and Rick. They were one, linked by some connection of mind and soul. Rick might be training him, but she was winning his heart.

The sky rumbled and without further warning spilled large heavy raindrops. She had been damp already, but it was pelting by the time Rick gripped her waist and swung her down.

“Get into the truck.”

She ran even as lightning flashed and thunder punctuated his words, rain slashing down cold and hard. She dove into the truck's shelter as Rick unsaddled and released Destiny to the pasture. With water streaming off the brim of his gray Stetson, he dumped the saddle into the back and yanked open his door. He pulled off the hat to climb into the cab. His breath steamed the windows as he filled the space beside her and shut the door. Then he turned and grinned, so unexpected and boyishly she had to laugh.

He rested his forearm on the wheel. “Sorry. I thought it'd hold off a bit.”

She looked through the streaming windshield. “No holding that off.”

“It's about time. It's been too dry.” He started the truck, and the wipers swished away the watery curtain.

The days had been for the most part clear and sunny. There certainly hadn't been any rains like this one. And there were the horses standing in it. “Are they all right? You don't need to bring them in?”

“They don't want to come in.”

It seemed true. They stood, necks arched and heads high. “What do you call the black stallion?”

“Hercules.” He put the truck in gear and started down the sloshy meadow.

“And Destiny's sire?”

“Red Skelton.”

She turned to see if he was joking.

He read her look. “He was named and papered when I bought him.”

“Poor thing.”

Rick swung the truck around a rushing rivulet. “I call him Red. He doesn't seem to mind.”

She rubbed the rain from the back of her neck. “And you named his foal Destiny. I thought he needed the sire's name incorporated.”

“On paper he's Red Destiny.”

“Sounds Marxist.”

The corners of Rick's mouth quirked. “I hadn't thought of that.”

“Who's his dam?”

“Aldebaran.” He eased the truck over a dip. “I told you she was a good horse.” He parked in the yard and turned off the engine.

Sheets of rain obscured the house and turned the yard into thin strips of gravel between pools. Its force thrummed in her ears. “Guess you're glad you patched that roof.”

He glanced sidelong. “I'll check with you first next time.”

She raised her chin. “I just think you might have said something.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I mean, given your outspoken and gregarious nature.”

He cocked his head and stared out at the rain.

She watched it, too, for a minute. “This should take care of the dryness.”

“Depends. When it comes too hard and fast it mostly washes away. Ground this steep and dry can't take it in.”

“But there's so much of it.”

He nodded. “It's the kind of rain that flash floods. If you're ever caught out in it, head for high ground away from any streambeds or gullies.”

The storm was daunting. “Should we make a run for it?”

He leaned close to the windshield. “Doesn't look like it'll stop any time soon.”

With her neck already wet and the cab getting steamy, running from the truck to the porch wouldn't be so bad. “I say we do it.”

From opposite sides of the truck, they ran to the porch, water splashing up their legs. Gripping her hand, he pulled her up the steps to the door where they stopped, breathless and soaked. Noelle caught her streaming hair back with both hands as Rick opened the door and waved her in, but Marta stood in the entry—mop in hand. Noelle felt as though she'd been caught jumping in puddles. She shrugged out of the poncho and dutifully handed it over, then followed Rick's example and shed her boots.

“I think a fire's in order.” He went to the fireplace in his socks, crumpled paper under the grate, and arranged logs and kindling on
top. She joined him as he lit the edges. A fire on the first of August. Only in the mountains.

“It'll be warm in a minute.” His voice alone warmed her. That and his sock feet.

She looked down at her own and suppressed a laugh. “Destiny responded well to me.”

Rick poked the fire. “Well enough.”

“Admit it. He was eager to perform.”

Rick leaned on the mantel. “I wouldn't say eager.”

Noelle turned her back to the fire and let the heat rise up her legs and spine. “I can take him by myself.”

“No.”

She huffed. “Then why did you tell your father I was capable?”

Rick shrugged. “Just being polite.”

She shook her head. “You meant it.”

“Oh yeah?”

She turned and held her hands to the fire. “Why don't you save yourself the argument and just say yes?”

“Because the minute I do you'll start pushing for the next thing.”

“Which is?”

“God only knows.”

She met his gaze, and they smiled with their eyes, warmth reaching deep inside her.

———

Noelle basked in the coolness the following evening, lulled by the rhythmic creaking of the porch swing, one leg folded up beneath her. The crag was stained with rubescent rays of westering sun. In the grasses below, crickets sang, but beyond that, silence. It was Marta's day off, Rick had gone to Denver, and the cabins were actually empty until tomorrow. Noelle had the ranch to herself. Luxury.

She had painted a scene of eroded ground, cut into veins and cracks by yesterday's rain on either side of a white-faced aspen scrubbed clean behind the ears, with mushrooms that had sprung up overnight in the bright springy moss at its base. It was a study in contrasts and the tenacity of mountain life. She was learning.

An engine and tires in the gravel ended her solitary reverie. Rick's truck pulled in and came to a stop, but he wasn't alone. Morgan climbed out looking rakishly handsome, sleeves rolled, tie loose. He must not
have taken the job. As Rick headed for the stable, Morgan strode up the steps and raised her to her feet. “More beautiful than before.” His eyes roved the length of her. “Did you miss me?”