Keeping Secrets (20 page)

T
HE FEELING OF BEING
on horseback again was one of jubilation. Sadie loved seeing Paris throw her head high, her ears swiveling forward then back, tuned in to Sadie’s commands. Of course, there were no commands, and there wouldn’t be. All Sadie had to do was give Paris a slight squeeze on the ribs or lay the reins easily on her neck. The communication between the two was so complete as to be almost imperceptible. But Paris knew, and so did Sadie.

Paris wanted to run. Should Sadie take her to the field of wildflowers? Sadie shivered. Taming Paris and Cody among the wildflowers had been so beautiful, but now a dark sort of foreboding hung over the field, turning it gray with her own apprehension. Could she ever ride there again?

She would never forget Reuben’s sobs and the despair that shook his young body. He still had no horse. He wanted nothing to do with another one.

She held Paris in until the road wound uphill, then she let the horse run. She would let her stretch out, let her gather her feet beneath her, lunge with those powerful haunches, her heavy shoulders, feel the wind in her face just up this ridge. Then she’d turn around and go back.

Paris lowered her head. Power surged through her body as she raced up the winding road of Atkin’s Ridge. Sadie leaned forward, sitting low in the saddle, savoring the wind that rushed in her ears.

They were almost at the top of the ridge. The light was darker here, the trees dense. There was a high embankment to her right, a heavy growth of trees and another steep incline to her left. It would be best to turn around and let Paris go slowly back down the way they had come.

A mockingbird dipped in the air ahead of her, his silly calls following him. First a cardinal’s call, then a thrush, and finally a seagull. Had this saucy bird no shame, mocking these beautiful birds of the air? She turned her head, following his whereabouts until she located him high up in a scraggly pine.

She guessed that was why she didn’t see the pickup truck until it was directly in front of her.

The throbbing, pulsating diesel sound pierced her awareness. A shot of raw fear surged through her with the power of a streak of lightning.

No! Not now! Remorse followed on fear’s heels. Why had she been so foolish?

The truck was coming steadily, slowly. The blue color gleamed in the twilight.

There was only one way out. Up the embankment. Paris could do it.

Turning the horse, Sadie laid the reins on the left side of Paris’ neck.

“Up, Paris! Up, girl.” Sadie leaned forward, preparing herself for the powerful gathering of her hooves, the leaping.

Paris obeyed to perfection. Oh, wonderful horse! Her feet were sure, her hooves ringing on the rocks as she scrambled up, up, sideways up the incline. Sadie leaned over her neck, speaking softly, goading her on.

The occupants of the pickup yelled something. Sadie heard their harsh anger. But what did they say? Would they follow her?

The forest was green and brown, yellow and red with autumn, decked out in its final show before winter winds would howl through it, turning everything stark and white.

“Dear God, keep me safe. Stay with me, protect me, and keep me from harm,” she prayed like a little child.

Paris took one last leap up the incline before pushing her way through the thicket, brushing nervously past two trees. Sadie pulled in the reins, sat up, listened, her heart racing.

There. She could still hear that truck idling. They had not moved on!

What was their motive? Who were they looking for? How could they terrorize a peace-loving, sleepy, little Montana community this way? Sadie was convinced the blue diesel truck held the shooter—or shooters.

Suddenly, anger overtook her common sense, and she turned Paris to the left. If she could get close enough, she might be able to see the license plate through the trees.

Should she tie Paris or stay on her back?

The truck was still idling, and Sadie was afraid to look and see if its occupants were inside or out.

Better stay on the horse.

“Shhh, Paris,” Sadie whispered.

They moved quietly through the trees until the rear of the pickup was in sight. But it was too far away now. She leaned to the right, her eyes straining to see the figures on the metal rectangle. All she needed was that license plate number.

Was that a six? Or an eight?

She screamed then, a sound of pure terror, as two heads appeared coming up over the embankment. Paris lifted her head. Sadie loosened the reins and screamed again.

“Go, Paris! Go!”

She bent low and let Paris take control. Horses could always find their way home, and Sadie trusted Paris more than anything. They raced through the forest, zig-zagging first uphill, then sideways downhill, over rocks, between trees. Sadie looked back, her eyes wide with fear.

What would happen once Paris broke out of the woods? She couldn’t go back on the road. Did those men know where she lived?

A feeling of despair enveloped her, threatened to choke her. She couldn’t go home. Besides, Paris wasn’t going home. She was running downhill in the opposite direction, away from home. She slowed, her ears pricked forward, before wheeling, veering sharply to the right and running diagonally down the side of the forested hill.

The sun was getting very low in the west, dust-laden streaks of light slanting between the trees. The browns and reds turned into stripes of flaming color.

A fence!

Instinctively, Sadie pulled back, but Paris had seen it and was slowing of her own accord.

“Whoop. Watch it, Paris. There’s a fence.”

Horses! This was someone’s pasture.

Well, they’d have to find their way around it.

Paris picked her way carefully now. The horses in the pasture lifted their heads, whinnied. Paris answered with a high cry of her own.

The biggest horse lifted his head farther, then trotted over.

Hadn’t she seen him somewhere before? He was so massive in the shoulders. And that color. So distinct. The grayish-oatmeal color of an Appaloosa mixture.

Sadie rode carefully as the horse trotted up to the fence, tossing his head, his mane whipping in the brisk wind.

The fence dipped into a culvert, then went almost straight up a steep hill. Sadie rode easily, but she was tense, her fear a support that kept her vigilant.

She remained alert for any unusual sound, the sight of a human being, the rumbling of traffic, anything that could mean she was being followed. As she crested the hill, she saw the rooftops of a barn, shed, then more outbuildings.

This, too, seemed vaguely familiar. But, no. She wasn’t far enough out to be on Mark Peight’s property, was she?

The fence stopped at a corner, then turned straight across the hayfield to the barn. She stopped Paris, indecision making her falter.

As if on cue, she heard the low rumbling of traffic. Was it the diesel truck? Well, if it was, they could just drive straight on past Mark Peight’s place and be gone. She was safe for now.

Suddenly she became rigid with anger. Who in the world did they think they were? Riding around like cowards, wreaking havoc on people’s lives, wrecking livelihoods, creating heartache.

The police were doing what they could, but there was no evidence, so they weren’t making much progress. That made her mad, too.

Something had to be done. Someone had to take charge. If Mark was any sort of man, he’d stand by her and help out.

Besides, if he truly was innocent of ever having anything to do with these twisted individuals, who seemed to receive some sort of nameless thrill by killing innocent animals, this would be his chance to prove it.

Over and over he had assured her that this thing was way over his head. He couldn’t fathom it, this senseless killing. In typical Mark-fashion, he had pouted and ignored her, his way of letting her know she had hurt his feelings by refusing to place her trust in him.

Hadn’t he pledged his word the night of the cookout? That long magical evening when their words flowed, an artesian well of entwined emotions, a night she would never forget.

Kicking the stirrups and yanking on the reins, she startled Paris into a gallop across the hayfield and into the barnyard. She hauled back on the reins, then waited.

When she heard no one, she called his name.

Mark rounded the corner of a building wearing a nail pouch, his sleeves rolled up, hatless, surprise written all over his face from his wide-open eyes to his open mouth.

“Sadie Miller! What on earth…?”

She dismounted, led Paris into the forebay, and said, “Shut the door.”

He obeyed immediately, latching it securely.

“Mark, I want you to listen to me. I need your help. These men are shooting horses again. I went for a ride, and they…” She caught her breath. “They saw me.”

“Who are they?”

“How would I know? It’s that blue diesel pickup. They have the gall … the … the … indecency to ride around wrecking people’s lives as if a horse, a beautiful creature, was a … a
stump
used for target practice. And listen, I think they’re after Paris. For a long time I didn’t want to believe that, but now I’m sure Paris has something to do with it.

“Remember the black?”

Mark nodded.

“Well, he was shot. So was Cody. I still think there’s a connection between the horse thieves and these shootings. Now they must be after Paris. I think she’s a valuable horse in some way I don’t even know.

“Mark, let’s get close to the road, maybe put a roadblock across it. They’re in the area. We need to get that license-plate number. I’m tired of everything. The fear. The not knowing. If no one else does anything, I will.”

In the dim interior of the barn, Mark could see this was no lady in distress. He watched her face intently and saw her honest resolve. She meant business, and she meant it now.

He smiled at her. “You really mean it?”

“Yes, I do. Now hurry. Can Paris have a drink? Some hay? She’s been ridden hard.”

Snapping a neck rope around Paris, Mark loosened her bridle, then took it off, hanging it on a nail nearby. Paris dipped her head as if to acknowledge the kind gesture, then drank deeply, her nostrils quivering.

Sadie laughed. “That’s funny. She never drinks out of water troughs she’s not used to.”

Mark lifted his eyebrows suggestively. “A good omen for us,” he teased.

Sadie blushed and kicked at some loose straw, as if her concentration could push his teasing away.

They tied Paris in a stall, gave her a block of fragrant hay, and turned to go. The sun was setting behind a distant ridge, and Sadie’s heart sank along with it.

Sadie had to let Dat and Mam know where she was. Bewildered, she asked Mark what she should do. He steered her into the implement shed where a black phone hung on the wall.

She picked up the receiver, dialed the number, and, of course, no one answered. She left a quick message, saying she was at Mark Peight’s house with Paris, and they were not to worry. She couldn’t tell them how she’d get home because she didn’t know. Darkness was fast approaching.

When she hung up, she looked at Mark.

“Can we put a roadblock across the road?”

“I don’t think that’s legal.”

“Can we stop them somehow? Can you flag them down? What reason could we give for trying to stop them?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll think of something.”

He strode off toward the barn, returning with a heavy Stihl weed whacker.

“I’ll work at the weeds around these buildings. You sit behind that row of pine trees.”

Sadie assessed the trees, and then nodded her head.

“I’ll climb up. They’re easy.”

They parted ways, Mark going to his designated area, Sadie to hers.

There was plenty of light. Good.

Mark pulled at the weed-wacker rope again and again until it sputtered to life, then moved it back and forth in long, sweeping motions.

Sadie listened, wondering if they would hear the sound of the diesel truck above the whining of the weed wacker.

Sadie watched Mark, the play of his shoulders, the ease with which he handled the heavy equipment.

Why did he have to be so complicated?

A little while later, Mark laid down the weed wacker and looked in the direction of the pine tree.

“You still up there, Sadie?”

“Yep!” she answered.

“I think your buddies went home the other way.”

“I guess so.”

When had their friendship turned into this? They were both more relaxed this evening than ever. It was an easy, natural feeling. It seemed as if she had known Mark all her life, and this was an evening where everything would go right. He had come to the end of his driveway with her. Not once had he laughed at her or made sarcastic remarks about the Amish. And that was something. Perhaps it was the circumstances, the danger, or maybe it was Paris, or something other than themselves to worry about.

Uh-oh. There they came.

At first she thought it might be a tractor; they were moving so slowly. Then she saw the gleaming silver smokestacks and heard the rumbling of that diesel engine. Her heart beat faster with the realization that they might be stopping.