A Rush of Wings (5 page)

But in the pasture itself were the roan stallion, Destiny, and two others, one red like the colt and one black. They tossed their heads and ran, manes and tails like banners. Their wild abandon touched an ache inside her. What would it be like to ride the roan, to feel his strength and spirit?

“Do you think that colt would carry me?”

“Not a chance.”

“I'm a capable rider. I've had extensive training.”

“I doubt you've ridden an unbroken colt with a will of his own.”

“There's always a first time.” She smiled, but it had as much effect on Rick as on the crags above him.

“Sorry.” He turned away from the pasture. Across the meadow they climbed back into the trees more steeply than before. “I want you to stay away from that high ground up there. The shale on the slope is unstable.”

Noelle eyed the ridge he indicated with disappointment. It would afford the perfect view of the whole valley below. He was certainly full of rules and restrictions, but she merely nodded and followed him back out to the meadow.

She surveyed the long draw down to the ranch. It was shaped like a shallow U with the creek down the center and the grasses rich on either side. The house at its base faced squarely up to them, and she wondered who had placed it so capably.

“Come on.” Rick urged his horse and they cantered down.

She resisted the urge to kick in her heels and challenge him. Now that she'd had a look, she wouldn't jeopardize her chances to ride the ranch alone. She reined in at the yard. “Do I pass?”

“As long as you follow directions.”

She held herself straight in the saddle.
Follow directions. Oh yes, sir. If there's one thing I know, it's how to follow directions
. She brought the horse around and headed back into the trees. The white-barked ones were aspen, she now knew, and their notched leaf stems were what made the vibrant green leaves tremble in the breeze. Quaking aspen, they were called, and they were beautiful.

She wished she had brought her art supplies, then Noelle recalled seeing a section in the general store that might have something she could use. With a sketchpad and pencil—or even better, paints—she could capture the beauty of this place. She looked down toward the ranch house. Rick was no longer in sight.

If she skirted the house along the creek, she could ride down the gravel road to town. Rick had said not to cross into the national park property. She was neither crossing that stream he'd pointed out nor climbing the high ground he'd forbidden. She was only riding to town.

First, she tied the horse behind the house, snuck up to her room, and took another bill from her pouch. Then she rode down and reached Juniper Falls without incident, crossing the highway the greatest challenge. But the horse was even-tempered and steady. She tied it outside the general store and went inside. The same man was behind the counter.

He smiled. “Guess you found a place to stay.”

“Yes. Thank you for your help.”

“Rick know you've got that mare down here?”

She hesitated before shaking her head. She had hoped no one would notice.

“Can I get you something?”

“I'll just look.” She turned for the shelves that held sketchbooks and other art supplies. It was actually a good selection in several media. She
knelt and opened a wooden case that held a portable easel, watercolors, brushes, and heavy-weight stiff rag paper. Not the quality she was used to, but sufficient. She could add to the set as needed. She also chose a sketchpad and pencils and brought it all to the counter.

“Find what you need?”

“A good start, anyway.”

“We get quite a few artists up here. That's why I stock that stuff.”

So she wasn't alone in her reactions. Such natural beauty cried out to be captured.

“I can order things from my supplier as well. Let me know if you want something specific.”

“I'd look at a catalogue, certainly.” This was better than she'd hoped. “But this'll do for now.” She paid for the items and thanked him. At the door, she turned. “If I walk next time, could the mare be our secret?”

He picked up the cigarette from the tray and drew in the smoke, then smiled. “He won't hear it from me. But he might from the rest of the town.”

She could only hope not. With the wooden case under one arm, she walked the horse across the highway, then mounted and rode up to the ranch. She left the animal in the holding pen beside the stable and went inside. Up in her room, she set the art supplies on the table and rubbed her inner thighs, surprised to feel sore. But then, it had been a long while since she'd been on horseback. Keeping her legs straight, she bent and lowered her palms to the floor, then sank her chest to her knees.

The stretch of hamstrings and calves felt good as she reached behind her legs and worked that final pull. She let her upper body hang, then slowly drew her arms up over her head. She reached high, then swung down to the side and around. She bent her knees to plié, then did a series of jazz moves and spun.

She smiled grimly at the small oval mirror above the bureau, quite a change from the glass wall in the studio. She tucked her toes between the logs of the wall at about the height of a bar and stretched both legs again. She should establish a routine, yet the thought vied with her current rebellion. No routine, then, but she would exercise—when she felt like it.

T
he next morning, Noelle stood on the porch and gazed at the serene beauty of the rosy crags against the cerulean sky. Birdsong floated on the breeze. On the meadow a horse whinnied, and the air was pungent with pine and sage. In that moment, she experienced morning anew, as though everywhere else time passed, but here it was created. She'd been right to come. She hadn't planned it—reacted only—but she'd done exactly what she needed to.

“Enjoying the quiet?” Morgan joined her at the porch rail.

“Yes.”

He looked better than he had the previous morning, but she'd seen nothing of him the rest of that day. Maybe he'd slept it through. He said, “You don't mind solitude.”

“I like it.”

“I prefer people.” He leaned his forearms on the rail.

“Any people?”

He shrugged. “I have a broad tolerance.”

She laughed softly. “I see.” And she had seen it in the way he interacted either with her or the group. Age and gender were no barriers for someone like Morgan.

He eyed her. “You have a nice laugh, Noelle.”

And that was her signal. She reached for the wooden case she had set on the porch.

He was quicker and lifted it himself. “Heading off again?”

She nodded.

“Want some company?”

“I work better alone.”

“Work?”

“Paint.” She indicated the box he held. “Watercolors, paper, and easel.”

“Aha. So you're an artist.”

“I'm schooled in art.” She shrugged.

“And here I thought you were a spy.”

She laughed again, but concern flickered. Why would he think that, even jokingly? Did he wonder about her? Did they all?

He held her case to his chest. “Why don't we search out some fun instead?”

“No thanks.”

He sighed. “You're certainly stuck in the ‘no' mode.”

She reached for her case. “Will you excuse me?”

He handed it over reluctantly. She headed down the stairs, then frowned as Rick led out the mare again. She was a nice horse but stolid and mild-mannered. Noelle craved an animal with spirit. Hadn't she shown what she could do?

He obviously caught her look. “Aldebaran's a good horse. She knows her way home if you get into trouble.”

Noelle stroked the dark muzzle. “I won't get into trouble.”

“Or stray from the ranch.”

She glanced up quickly. Was he referring to her episode in town?

“You do understand the boundaries stop here at the stable?”

She nodded, chagrinned. If he'd hollered or scolded or revoked her privilege she would have insisted he hadn't mentioned that boundary before. But he did none of that.

He tied the wooden box to the back of the saddle. “Then this mare's a good choice.”

“Have I another?”

“String horses.” He tightened the cinch. “They work pretty well for riders who don't know a stirrup from a rein.”

That was a compliment at least, an acknowledgment of her ability. “I could take the buckskin. . . . What's his name?”

“Orion.”

That gelding at least had size and power. “Well?”

“Nope.”

She sighed. Better not push her luck just yet. She recalled Rick's blessing that morning, thanking God for all he'd been given. No point arguing with someone who thought God gave him dominion over everything that crawled the earth.

She mounted. All she wanted to think about was the sunshine on the meadow above her, the willing horse beneath her, and the scene awaiting her brush. She brought the mare around and started up the slope.

The morning chill lingered, though the sun was sharp in the sky. The creek in its stony bed called to her with the voices of naiads. She almost expected to see the water spirits take their maidenly shapes and dance along the banks. She dismounted and dipped her fingers into the flow, stunned by the icy touch. Even the summer sun did little to warm the water, fresh from some spring or glacier melt.

The professor said all the rivers in Colorado sprang from the mountains and flowed outward. No other rivers flowed in. Touching the water now, she felt the newness. This was a beginning for her too. She remounted and continued on, turning into the woods. Light and shadow played over her as she rode.

Aldebaran stepped nimbly through the woods, and Noelle patted her neck. She was a sweet-tempered horse, if lacking in spunk. Unfortunately they were too well suited. But Noelle was changing that. It wasn't spunk that had driven her here, but now that she depended only on herself, something stirred inside. She emerged into the bright sunshine of the meadow, the high pasture and the fenced corral ahead. Rick had driven up in his truck and was there running the colt around and around on the long rope.

She stopped to watch. Slowly he pulled in the rope, talking low. The roan's hide rippled with the sleek muscles beneath, quivering as Rick reached out and stroked him, then ran his hand down the neck and wither. Rick's own muscles bunched as he gripped the saddle horn. With a smooth motion he was up.

The horse reared and kicked, bucked stiff legged, then jackknifed. Rick landed in the dirt and the colt stopped kicking, wasting no effort once his goal was met. Rick got up, shook himself off, and caught the colt's rope, then led him to where Noelle stood at the fence. “He thinks he has to do that.”

The horse tugged against his hold, and she reached a hand to his muzzle. “I'm sure I could ride him.”

“Yeah, he's just itching to carry you.”

“Maybe it's only you he fights.”

“I kind of doubt it.”

“You won't know until you let me try.” She gave him her full, most winning smile.

Rick returned it with his lips only. “Sorry.”

She cloaked her annoyance. “Why doesn't Morgan work the horses with you?”

“He doesn't like pain.”

She laughed. “And you do?”

“I don't exactly like it, but I accept it as part of the process.”

“Why is he here at the ranch?”

Rick rubbed his forehead with his sleeve. “He's between things.”

“Oh.” Unemployed, downsized, canned. All the situations that “between things” euphemized. Noelle tickled the horse's chin, and he nodded. “I think he likes me.”

“Morgan?”

She frowned. “Destiny. I think he'd carry me.”

“Forget it.”

She added stubborn to her listing of Rick's nature and left him to find a suitable scene to paint. She hadn't gone far enough though, as Shelby's boys swarmed her from the woods with a hundred questions, killing both the wisdom of the trees and the naiad voices.

“Where'd you get the paints?”

“Can I try it?”

“How come you get a horse by yourself?”

“Can we ride it?”

Yes, take her and leave!
But then the morning light was gone on her subject, and the creative flow strangled. She packed up her materials and folded the easel back into the case. Then she looked at the three boys, noting their eager freckled faces.

“Where's your mother?”

“She told us to scram.”

Why hadn't she thought of that? “Did your parents sign a waiver for you to ride?”

The oldest shrugged. “I don't know. They didn't want to pay extra for horse riding.”

Pay extra?
Rick had said nothing about that.

“They don't like horses.” The oldest boy ran his forearm under his nose.

“I do.” That one was Sean, who had dropped the popcorn into the fire.

She nodded to the oldest. “What's your name?”

“Sam.”

“Climb into the saddle, Sam.” She held Aldebaran's head while he mounted clumsily. “Have you ever ridden?”

The boys shook their heads. She was probably on shaky ground, but refusing them now seemed cruel. Every child should experience a horse at least once. Her first ride had been magical.

She helped Sean up behind the saddle, and he wrapped his arms around Sam. She lifted the youngest into the saddle with Sam. A tight fit but manageable. “What's your name?”

“He's Scotty,” Sam said.

She placed the redhead's hands on the saddle horn. “Hold on tight right there, Scotty.”

She took the reins and walked Aldebaran carefully from the trees into the meadow. The boys' grins bunched their freckles, but they held still and stayed quiet, a feat she hadn't thought possible. They were probably terrified. She walked the mare all the way to Rick's corral, where he once again circled the stallion on the long rope.

Seeing them approach, he slowed the horse and drew it in. As she stopped Aldebaran, he caught hold of the rope at Destiny's halter. Without speaking, she wrapped the mare's reins and removed the boys one by one from Aldebaran's back. They clambered onto the fence, peppering him with questions. With a smile she mounted, turned the mare's head, and went back for her wooden case, satisfaction fairly oozing from her pores.

———

Just before dinnertime that evening, Rick approached her on the porch. “I don't suppose the boys told you their family didn't sign a waiver.”

“They thought probably not.” She smiled. “Sure enjoyed the ride, though, didn't they?”

He hung his thumbs from his belt and eyed her. “The reason I have the waiver is so all parties understand the possible dangers.”

“Is Aldebaran dangerous?”

“Noelle . . .” He seemed at a loss. “Do you have a problem with rules?”

Yes. More so than she'd ever realized. “I thought they'd enjoy watching you work.”

He held her gaze straight on. “Was that what you thought.” His tone made it an untruth, not a question. “Their noise and monkeying on the fence put Destiny so far over the edge, I had to quit.” He lifted one foot to the middle step. “But that's not the point. I run a careful operation. I can't have people crossing highways on my animals and giving rides to kids without permission.”

She winced inwardly but had no answer.

“I pay plenty in liability insurance, but I'd prefer not to place a claim. This ranch has a reputation, and so do I.”

He did have a point. She said, “I understand.”

He drew himself up. “Good.” Then he took the steps purposefully and went inside.

Noelle took a slow breath. What was she doing, antagonizing the man who'd given her a place to stay? What if he asked her to leave? The thought was sobering. She didn't want to leave.

Checking her watch, she went inside for dinner. Morgan must have found his excitement elsewhere, because he didn't join them. A new family had taken the Pathfinders' cabin, and the professor turned his welcome on the lanky couple and two preteen daughters. The honey-mooners also appeared, and the talk turned spiritual—the professor probing and the others responding enthusiastically.

Professor Jenkins's esoteric input contrasted with the newly married couple, who talked as though faith in God was a relationship as real as their own, not one mythology among many. Noelle tried not to stare. The husband was probably her own age, but the wife spoke like a child with embarrassing naïveté. Could she actually believe the things she said?

Noelle stayed quiet but studied them all with interest. Rick said little as well, though what he offered seemed pithy in a way she wasn't sure she understood. As soon as she could, she went upstairs with a history of Western women. She slept deeply that night without dreams—at least none that made her shake and whimper. Maybe the ghost that chased her there would stay away for good.

Only birdsong and crickets broke the silence the next morning as she slipped out into the predawn glow. She had wakened early, eager
for the day in a way she'd never been before. She glanced at Professor Jenkins, who leaned on the porch rail, pipe in hand. His piquant tobacco mingled with the ranch smells and the mountain flora.

She raised her face to the coolness. “Good morning.”

“Good morning to you.” He lifted his pipe to her.

“Ruminating?”

His smile formed crescent creases around his eyes and deepened the lines beside his mouth. “Have to. You see, my treatise is on expansion itself, the drive behind it and the human spirit that longs for it.” He cradled the bowl of his pipe with his palm. “To capture the essence of the human spirit . . . now, that's a challenge.”

“Quite an undertaking. Why does it matter?”

He turned. “You are an artist. Why?”

“Well, I've had—”

“Please don't tell me because you were instructed in art. I passed you in the woods yesterday as you worked, and I saw no trained animal.”

“What did you see?”

“Someone in love with the beautiful, transcending the natural.” He puffed on his pipe. “I think, like me, you seek that same human spirit and perhaps a part of the divine as well.”

She regarded him closely. “How did you come to that just from seeing me work?”

Professor Jenkins smiled. “Not just from that. I'm also a student of human nature.”

Noelle looked out at the paling sky. “I don't think my work is as lofty as that.”

“Do you paint for money?”

Now there was a thought. “If I could.”

He motioned with his pipe. “A touch of the practical perhaps, but it's not at the heart of what you do.”

“I guess you're right. I've never made a cent on it.” Nor even tried. She laughed. “Well, I'll miss the sun if I don't hurry.”

“It'll rise again tomorrow.”

“But it won't be the same as today's.”

“Ah. You prove my point.”

She found Rick in the stable and waited while he picked Orion's hoof, then applied a thrush-prevention product to the sole and frog. He looked up as he released the left hind hoof and raised the right. “Out early today?”

“I want to catch the sunrise.”