Unbridled Dreams (9 page)

“You did?” Monte smiled, clearly enjoying her embarrassment.

“Well, he . . . he had that belt buckle on and shiny boots, and he—” She waved her arm toward Sterling. “He just looked too fine to be a real cowboy. And he let me go on and on about how I was going to be Liberty Belle, a headliner for the Wild West. And all the while he didn’t say one word about knowing you.”

“You went on and on? Why, I’m . . . so surprised, Irma. Shocked, really. You’re usually so shy . . . so reluctant to speak up.”

“You,” Irma said, as she punched his arm, “are having entirely too much fun with this.”

Sterling had roped the chestnut mare. Irma put a hand on Monte’s shoulder and pressured him to turn around. “Pay attention while he works. You might learn something. After all, he’s the King of the Cowboys.”

Together Monte and Irma watched Sterling handle the mare. Bracing himself against the inevitable fight, he held on, all the while talking in a low, calm voice. In record time he was standing next to the horse rubbing her neck while she bobbed her head up and down, nervous but apparently willing to give the stranger a chance.

“Would you look at that,” Monte said with a low whistle.

“I can’t believe it,” Irma said. “The way she was rolling her eyes and dancing around, I expected she’d put up a fight.” She shook her head. “Maybe the man actually
earned
his royal title.” She paused. “But I’m still not forgiving him for not telling me who he was.”

“He
did
tell you.” Monte nudged her shoulder. “You wouldn’t believe him.”

“He should have made me believe him,” Irma said.

“He doesn’t exactly have the title branded on his backside,” Monte blurted out, then gulped. “Oh, Irm . . . I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Irma giggled. “
Backside
is a perfectly accurate anatomical term.” She glanced past Monte to where Sterling was standing, quietly talking to the mare. The horse was almost eating out of his hand.
How did he do that?
As she watched, Sterling began to stroke the mare’s head. Slowly, he moved his hands up to her ears, down her sleek neck, across the withers. The mare shivered and took a step away. Sterling went back to her head and talked some more. Finally he took a step toward Irma and Monte. The horse followed.

He took another step. So did she.

“I believe,” Sterling said to Irma, when he got within earshot, “this fine lady was hoping to make your acquaintance.”

Irma reached up to pull her hatpins out, then took off the hat and handed it to Monte along with her dress gloves. Ever so slowly, she bent down and slipped between the corral poles and stood with her hands at her sides. “Hello, beautiful,” she said.

“Thank you very kindly, ma’am,” Sterling teased, “but I believe her name is Blaze. Or Lady Blaze, if you prefer.”

Without taking her eyes off the horse, Irma said, “And how would you know that?”

“I asked her,” Sterling said. He seemed half serious.

“Well then, Lady Blaze,” Irma said gently, “I am more than pleased to meet you.” Slowly, continuing to talk to the horse as she moved, Irma raised her right hand. When the mare rolled her eyes and tossed her head, Irma stood still, her hand poised in midair. “Sshh, sshhh,” she said. “Now, what are you afraid of? Nobody here’s gonna hurt you. Nobody, nobody.” As she talked, Irma took first one step and then another toward the trembling horse that, in spite of flaring nostrils and an occasional snort, was staying put. Until, that is, someone screamed.

The first thing Irma noticed was that she was no longer out-of-doors. The second was pain—a lot of pain every time she tried to take a breath. Her hands slid to her midsection. There was no corset restricting her, so why was it so hard to breathe? She inhaled again, this time more slowly. There. Not so agonizing. Opening her eyes, she stared up at the ceiling. At the sound of Momma’s exclamations of joy, Irma remembered. A human scream followed by an equine scream and then a flash of white as Blaze’s head went up, and then, as the mare spun around to flee, a hoof lashed out.
How embarrassing.
She’d been kicked while two expert horsemen looked on, all thanks to the infernal petticoats and the whalebone corset that kept her from being able to move quickly. This
never
would have happened if—

“Oh thank God, thank God,” Momma said. She was sitting beside the narrow bed where Irma lay. It was a small room with simple furniture and only one window obscured by plain muslin curtains. A Wild West broadside hung on the otherwise bare wall, a gingham apron on a hook beside the door. With a little grunt, Irma tried to sit up.

Momma’s hand pressed her back down. “No. Don’t move. Not a muscle. Not until Dr. Sheridan has a chance to examine you.”

Beneath the covers, Irma slid her right hand up under her chemise. She could feel an especially tender spot. Some swelling. No . . . a
lot
of swelling. Had she broken a rib? And how many shades of green and purple would she be in a day or so? “I’m fine,” Irma protested and tried to ignore the pain and force herself to sit up. “Just a little kick—nothing serious.” But her best intentions meant nothing. As pain rocketed through her body, she gasped and lay back.

“I don’t know what he could have been thinking, letting you in a corral with a wild animal!” Momma dipped a cloth in a bowl and, wringing it out, laid it across Irma’s forehead.

“She wasn’t completely wild, Momma. And I’m the one who got in the corral. There wasn’t any reason to think anything would happen.” Irma puzzled for a moment. “What
did
happen, anyway? What was all that screaming about?”

Her eyes snapping with anger, Momma said, “Well, apparently Mollie was coming to find you and Monte when Jason Zigler dropped a garter snake down her dress.”

Irma closed her eyes and stifled a smile. “He did?” She put her hand over her mouth.

“It isn’t funny,” Momma said.

Irma shook her head. “It’s just that you’d think Mollie would know to watch out for Jason by now.” Jason Zigler had had a crush on Mollie Mason since the two of them were eight years old. The last seven years had been one long prank that included all kinds of critters. But to Irma’s knowledge the garter snake approach was new. “He must really love her,” Irma said, grinning.

“If that’s love, heaven help Mollie if the boy ever decides he hates her!” Momma almost smiled, then recovered her indignance. “You could have been killed,” she insisted. “This is no laughing matter, Irmagard. I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

“And what lesson would that be?” She would have sighed if inhaling didn’t hurt so much.

“That associating with those Wild West people is more than just unwise. It’s dangerous.”

“Perfectly nice people get kicked by horses all the time, Momma.

I hardly think the fact that Shep Sterling was there when this happened justifies a character judgment on the entire Wild West troupe. And besides that, from what I saw before I got kicked, the man is flat-out amazing with horses.”

Momma got up. “I’ll get your father. He’s been pacing back and forth outside like a crazed man.” Taking the cloth from Irma’s forehead, she grabbed up the basin of water she’d been using and bustled out of the room.

Daddy came in. Alone. “Your Momma’s gone outside to wait for the doctor with the others.”

“The others?”

“Aunt Laura, Uncle Charlie. Monte. Minnie. And Shep Sterling—although now that Momma’s outside I expect he’ll hightail it. Even Ned Bishop came running when he heard what happened.”

“Ned? How long have I been in here? Did I miss the last of the auditions? Did they get hired on?”

Daddy cleared his throat. “Yes, yes.” He waved one hand in the air. “Monte and Ned both got hired. I can’t believe you’re asking about them when—”

Irma noticed his eyes were red. And watering. “Hey,” she said, holding out her hand. “You don’t have to look so worried. It’s not that bad.”

Daddy dropped into the rocking chair beside the bed. “I will never forget the sight of you being carried unconscious—”

Whoa! Carried unconscious?
“Carried?”

Daddy nodded. “Apparently Shep Sterling had you scooped up before Monte could so much as blink. Monte opened the gate and Sterling carried you up to the house bellowing for a doctor at the top of his lungs. I’d just come to the house to check in with your mother.” He brushed his forehead with a trembling hand. “You were so pale when Sterling laid you down on this bed. I thought . . . I thought . . .” He gulped and covered his eyes with his hand.

“I’m so sorry, Daddy. I never meant to cause so much trouble. I just didn’t think. Mr. Sterling had Lady Blaze calmed down and she’s so . . . so beautiful, Daddy. Did you see her? Don’t you think she’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?” The phrase echoed in her head and, remembering her introduction to Shep, she felt her cheeks warm with color.
Shep carried me up to the house?
And when had he become
Shep
instead of
Mr. Sterling
in her mind?

Daddy forced a smile. “I suppose if you’re wanting to talk horses you can’t be hurt all that badly.”

“I’m just sore where Lady Blaze kicked me,” Irma said. “It was an accident,” she added quickly. “She spooked when Mollie screamed. You heard about that, right?”

He nodded. “So the mare already has a name, does she?”

“Riding her would be like riding a cloud. I just know it.” She was just getting up courage to ask Daddy to buy Lady Blaze when Momma’s voice sounded just outside the door, and in she came with Dr. Sheridan in tow.

“Well now,” the doctor said, “from the crowd that’s gathered and what your mother said, I expected you to be on the edge of the great divide.” He set his black bag down at the foot of the bed.

“Not nearly,” Irma said, wincing as she moved. “But I caught a real wallop in the ribs. And it hurts. A lot.”

“What if it’s more serious than broken ribs? Can we move her?”

Momma clasped her hands before her. “Oh, I do hope we can take her home.”

“If I can examine the patient,” Dr. Sheridan said, then shepherded Daddy and Momma out of the room, returning with Aunt Laura in tow. “All right if your aunt assists me?”

Irma nodded, grateful that Momma wasn’t going to be here to see the result of Lady Blaze’s frenzied kick. While the doctor opened his bag and put on his stethoscope, Aunt Laura removed the pillows from behind Irma so that she lay flat. When Dr. Sheridan was ready, Irma folded down the comforter and Aunt Laura raised her chemise.

“Hmmm,” Dr. Sheridan said, peering at Irma’s midsection.

“Probably the shape of a hoof,” Irma joked.

Dr. Sheridan nodded. “I’ll make it as quick as I can, but I need to be thorough. And it’s going to hurt more than ever.”

Irma nodded. A few minutes later she was once again propped up on a pillow, her tousled hair damp with sweat from the effort not to yell as the doctor examined her. “I guess,” she sighed, “corsets are good for something after all. It would probably be a lot worse if it hadn’t been for the whalebone.”

Dr. Sheridan chuckled. “I’ll have to start prescribing them as rib protectors, although I personally would clarify that they must not be adjusted any smaller than the owner’s natural waist measurement. I have this unshakeable belief in the benefits of breathing.”

“You’ll never get the ladies to agree to that,” Aunt Laura said.

“Can I get
you
to agree to it?” the doctor asked Irma. “I don’t think anything is broken, but I suspect you have a cracked rib or two. It’s hard to tell. Happily nothing is out of place, so there’s little to do but prevent further damage while it heals. If you’ll be sensible about lacing the corset—which means
snug
but not
tight—
I think you’ll find it helps you bear up under the pain.” He peered over his glasses. “I’m sorry, dear girl, but the next week or so may be very unpleasant for you.”

Irma smiled a lopsided smile. “Well, that’s not entirely bad news.” She glanced at Aunt Laura. “Especially if it gets me out of a certain luncheon.”

Aunt Laura waggled her finger in the air. “Oh, no you don’t, young lady. I’m not going to conspire with you on that one. Your mother’s been planning that for weeks. She’ll want to prop you up on the horsehair fainting couch and carry on with the show. And besides that, Minnie is really looking forward to a fancy day in town.”

“What good is a kick in the ribs if it can’t get me out of that ridiculous party,” Irma whined.

Dr. Sheridan cleared his throat. “If you have no further questions for me, I’ll be going.” He looked over his glasses at Irma. “My medical opinion is that you can do whatever you feel like doing. It’s what we call a self-limiting injury. When you’re doing too much, you’ll know it.” He patted Irma’s shoulder. “I’ll check in on you this evening.” He looked at Aunt Laura. “I’ll tell Otto and Mrs. Friedrich what I’ve just said. I expect they’ll want to take the patient home.” He glanced back at Irma. “And I’ll tell your crowd of admirers they can call on you in a few days.”

Irma shrugged. “That’ll be up to Momma.” She frowned a little. “I really wanted to see the broncobuster that’s challenging Buffalo Bill’s champion. Who d’ya think it is?”