Ride the Thunder (29 page)

“No.”

Leaving her cup sit, Jordanna put on her heavy parka. “I think I’ll go outside for a while.”

Brig watched her go without raising an objection.

Max was alone by the fire when Jordanna stepped out of the tent. Tandy was just approaching with an armload of firewood. Jocko was walking from the direction of the stream, carrying a bucketful of water. Jordanna glanced around for her father and brother. Sipping her coffee, she walked to the fire.

“Where’s Dad and Kit?” she asked the man huddling close to the fire.

Max looked at her blankly for an instant, then shrugged. “I don’t know. They walked off somewhere. I wasn’t paying much attention,” he admitted.

Jocko heard the inquiry and offered the information. “I saw them down by the stream.”

“Thanks.” Jordanna paused by the fire for a moment, then wandered off in the direction of the mountain stream.

As she drew near, she heard the rushing sound of the stream. The water scrambled over its rock-strewn bed, polishing the stones smooth and hammering off the rough edges. It was sharply clear and cold. Jordanna followed the snaking course it took, where the mountain offered the least resistance.

The sound of voices raised in anger slowed her steps as she tried to locate the men. Some distance ahead of her, Jordanna saw her father and brother arguing. The tumbling water blotted out their words, but nothing interfered with her vision. Jordanna had never seen her father look so angry. And whatever Kit was saying to him was only making it worse.

While Jordanna watched, her father unleashed a back-handed slap that reeled Kit backwards to the ground. She gasped in shock and rushed forward. Without waiting for Kit to rise, her father stalked off in the direction of camp. When she reached him, Kit was just pushing himself to his feet and rubbing his jaw. After one glance, he avoided her eyes.

“Are you all right?” she questioned anxiously.

“Yes.” He worked his jaw carefully.

“Why did he hit you? What were you arguing about?” Jordanna couldn’t imagine what Kit had possibly said to him that would incite her father to violence.

Kit hesitated, met her look for a searching moment, then turned away. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he muttered.

“What kind of an answer is that?” she demanded.

“Just leave it, Jordanna.” The set of his jaw told her as plainly as his words that he wouldn’t discuss it with her.

At the sound of the tent flap being lifted, Brig turned. He had half-expected Jordanna to return, but it was Jocko who entered the tent. Disappointment flickered in his eyes before it was screened from sight, but not before the shepherd had seen it.

“She has gone to the stream to look for her father and brother,” Jocko informed him.

“I don’t recall asking,” Brig snapped. Was he so transparent?

“No, you did not ask,” Jocko admitted and laughed softly.

Brig walked to the stove and poured himself a cup of coffee, aware that he had refused it from Jordanna. It was black and strong, the way he liked it. He carried the cup to the crude, wooden table and sat down on the rough bench.

“Have you noticed her lately?” Jocko was at the stove, getting a cup for himself.

“Who? Jordanna?”

“Si. Jordanna.” The Basque mocked Brig’s feigned attempt at ignorance.

“What about her?” Brig stared at his cup, feeling the agitation stirring within him like a boiling caldron.

“We have been in the mountains more than a week already and she has not changed. If anything she has grown more beautiful.”

“That’s natural. Being the only woman, she’s bound to look more beautiful,” Brig dismissed the statement.

“No, you do not understand me.” Jocko’s reproval was gentle, as if correcting a child. “It is that she thrives on hardship. She grows stronger on the challenge of these mountains. She can saddle her own horse, hunt her own game, cook her own food, wash her own clothes, and treat injuries. She is not frightened or intimidated by the isolation. She does not long for civilization or the comforts of a soft bed.”

“So?” The enumeration of all her qualities wasn’t necessary. He had noticed all those things that demanded his admiration. Her self-assurance, her strength in adversity, her warm willingness in bed, and her basic capabilities were all traits he had imagined in the ideal woman. That Jordanna possessed them, he didn’t need to be told.

“She is a rare woman,” Jocko stated. “She is like the pioneer women who came West with their husbands and families and worked side by side with them to build a new life.”

“You left out one key ingredient, Jocko. A heart.” Why had he said that?

“You think your woman does not have one?” He gave Brig a quizzical look.

Brig rose from the table as Jocko was about to sit down. “I didn’t say that.”

“No?” The one word was more than skeptical.

“No.” His was a flat denial. Something was bothering him. He couldn’t put his finger on it.

“I know she is more than just a woman to you. Is it that you are afraid to admit you care?” Jocko gave him a sad look that held pity.

“She warms my sleeping bag on a cold mountain night. She bandages my shoulder. She rides beside me. Yes, I care,” Brig agreed in a confused, irritated voice. “But we’re here to hunt sheep, remember. And her father wants a trophy bighorn.” With a passion that had nearly killed Max this afternoon—and himself.

“What does this have to do with Jordanna? You are making things sound complicated.” Jocko shook his head.

“That’s because you are a shepherd, Jocko. Everything to you is very simple.” Brig was over-ridden by a suspicion that it wasn’t. “You don’t know how devious and cunning the rich and self-centered people of this world can be in order to get what they want. It’s a world of coyotes, Jocko,” he declared. “I should know. I used to live in it. One coyote alone will attack only something that is weaker—a newborn lamb or a crippled animal. But you know what a pack of them will do, Jocko. Working together, coyotes can bring down a full grown elk.” He glanced toward the tent-flap. “We might have a hunting party of four coyotes out there. I have an uneasy feeling that we shouldn’t trust them any farther than you can spit, Jocko.”

“Something happened today that you did not mention?” Jocko guessed.

“Just remember what I said.” Brig took a swig of his coffee and reached for his sheepskin jacket, draping it over his shoulders before walking outside to the fire.

The next day Max decided to stay in camp with Jocko and Tandy. Yesterday’s experience was too vivid in his mind. Brig couldn’t blame him, although he had seen the glitter of disdain in Fletcher’s look.

It was just as well Max had stayed at camp. It had been one of those days that tested the patience of a hunter. Jordanna had picked out a ram from a bachelor group. Its horns hadn’t been the size of the bighorn her father sought, but considerably larger than anything else they had seen. They would have run close to forty inches, only the ram had spooked at the last
minute. Her shot had missed and there hadn’t been time for a second. They had spotted Fletcher’s ram several times, but it was always on the move, scrambling somewhere. Their attempts to second-guess where he was going had continually proved to be wrong. It was a disgruntled and disgusted Fletcher Smith who returned to the base camp at twilight.

It was Max who became the butt of his displeasure. After the evening meal, they were all sitting around the campfire. Fletcher had been discussing with Brig where they would be most likely to find his ram the next day. Since they had never seen the bighorn monarch in the same place twice, Brig had refused to hazard a guess, which didn’t please Fletcher.

He turned to Max and taunted him, “What about you? Are you going with us tomorrow? Or are you staying in camp again?” There was scorn in his look.

Max went white, but attempted a different response. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”

“If you don’t have the stomach for it, you might as well stay here,” Fletcher stated in a voice that said he was convinced Max didn’t have it.

“As a matter of fact,” Kit spoke up, “I was considering staying in camp tomorrow. Like you, Max, I think a change of pace is a good idea once in a while. We aren’t after a trophy like Dad, so there isn’t any reason for us to go out every day.”

“That’s right,” Max was quick to agree with him. “Although, who knows? In the morning, I might feel like riding along with the others.”

“You must suit yourself, of course,” Fletcher said and leaned back against a log to puff on his pipe. “I’ve been thinking about that stock of yours, Max. If I decide to buy it, how would you want the transaction to be done?”

Fletcher had thrown out the lure and like a hatchery fish, Max snapped at it. The two men became embroiled in a legal and financial discussion that lasted the rest of the evening. Before they retired, Max was
talking about continuing the discussion the next day—which meant he had decided to go along.

A cynical dryness was in Brig’s eyes. His cousin’s fear wasn’t as great as his greed. He’d risk anything to get the money from Fletcher. Max had proven that. Brig walked to the small tent, kneading his sore shoulder.

“T
HE BUCKSKIN
’
S GOT
a loose shoe.” Tandy made the explanation to Brig while he saddled a big bay packhorse that doubled as a spare riding mount. “So you’ll have to ride Jughead today.”

“Jughead?” Jordanna glanced at Brig, a laughing twinkle in her eye. “What a terrible name to give a horse.”

“Just be glad you don’t have to ride that hard-mouthed, bull-headed, and downright stupid excuse for a horse.” A lazy hint of a smile edged the corners of Brig’s mouth.

“Is your shoulder bothering you this morning?” Tandy wanted to know, grunting as he tugged the cinch strap tighter. “Do you want me to top him off for you?”

Brig hesitated, then nodded. “You’d better. I might get bucked off and that would really be adding insult to injury.”

He held the horse’s bridle while Tandy swung aboard. Everyone, including Jordanna, had stepped
to one side to watch. Tandy pulled his hat down tight on his forehead and settled deep into the saddle seat. When Brig let go of the bridle, the bay horse gave his audience a spirited bucking exhibition. With a rolling snort of defeat, the gelding smoothed out his back and swung into a trot.

“Does he always do that?” Jordanna asked, a smile still softening her mouth.

“With a rider or a pack saddle,” he nodded.

Tandy rode up to them and dismounted, handing the reins to Brig. Jordanna stood beside her sorrel. She never tired of watching the way Brig stepped into the saddle. The action was smooth, one fluid motion. Astride the horse, his gaze swung to her. She moved to the side of the sorrel, but as she put her foot in the stirrup, she noticed the saddle was loose. She started to tighten the cinch.

“I’ll do it.” Tandy was right there. “Dandy always blows himself up. I forgot to check him.”

“There’s something wrong with my horse,” Max stated. “He won’t move.”

Jordanna glanced over to the brown-spotted gelding. Max was jamming his heels into the horse’s side, but it didn’t even flicker an eyelash. It stood as unmoving as a statue, despite his rider’s harsh proddings.

“The cinch might be too tight,” Tandy suggested. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“I’ll do it, Tandy,” Fletcher volunteered and swung down from his horse. He walked to the pinto and looked up at Max. “You’ll have to get off,” he told him with taunting patience.

“I didn’t know.”

Fletcher loosened the cinch a fraction and adjusted the saddle to be certain it was sitting squarely on the horse’s back, then stepped away. “Try that, Max.”

He mounted and kicked the horse. “It still won’t go,” Max declared in disgust.

Tandy slapped the belly of the sorrel horse and snugged Jordanna’s saddle cinch tighter. “Maybe there’s a crimp in the saddle blanket. That paint is a
canny horse. He won’t go one step if there’s something wrong with the gear. He had a bad back when we got him. I guess he made up his mind it wasn’t going to happen to him again.”

Max dismounted again and Fletcher completely loosened the cinch. He checked under the saddle and under the saddle-pad, smoothing them out. At one point he stopped.

“I think I found it, Tandy,” he said. “There was a little crease in the pad.”

“That probably did it.”

When Max climbed into the saddle again, the spotted horse stepped right out. “That’s a smart horse, Max,” Smith observed, and walked back to his own.

Within minutes they were all mounted and Brig led them away from camp. Jordanna rode behind him. It had become her place in line. She liked following his broad shoulders. She always felt especially safe and secure when he was around—not that she had ever really been frightened, because she hadn’t. It was a sensation she couldn’t explain.

The plan for the day’s hunt was to return to the place where they had first sighted the big ram. It was close to camp. From it, they could begin a circle to the other places until they found either that ram or one for Jordanna.

She glanced back at the rest of the group. Max was directly behind her, followed by her father, and finally Kit. He had decided to come after Max changed his mind about staying in camp. Jordanna had found it slightly touching the way her brother had leaped to defend Max last night from her father’s baiting. Of course, Kit hadn’t understood that their father hadn’t meant to be so biting. It was his frustration over that elusive ram, something which she well understood.