Whitehorse (24 page)
TWELVE
May, 1985
The alarm clicked on and music filled the bedroom.
Without turning on the lamp on the bedside table, Leah slid out of bed, grabbed her shorts off the floor and tugged them up her long legs. She dug through a drawer and chose a pale-blue crop top with just enough elastic to conform to her breasts and exposing her midriff to just below her navel.
The excitement she felt had little to do with the fact that there were only two more weeks of school, although the idea that she would soon be a junior in high school, therefore coming one year closer to graduation, was enough to make her giddy. No, her anticipation stemmed from the fact that she had every intention of introducing herself to Johnny Whitehorse.
Barefoot, hairbrush in hand, she made her way down the back stairs, stopped long enough in the dim kitchen to search out a Dr. Pepper and a Snickers bar from the fridge, then exited the house. The grass felt cool and damp, the air brisk enough to bring goosebumps to her arms. That would change however, just as soon as the sun crept up over the mountains.
Lights blazed in the barns. Hands hurried about their chores, graining the eager horses, mucking the stalls, scrubbing buckets they would fill with fresh water. Though daylight was still a half-hour away, there were horses on the track already, full of energy, their lightweight riders carefully going through the ritual of walking the animals out before putting them through their runs. The animals' breath rushed from their flaring nostrils into the cold air like steam from a locomotive's smokestack.
If the grooms thought Leah's appearance in the barn so early unusual, they didn't show it. They nodded respectfully, some being so bold as to smile. She moved down the concrete aisle, flanked by stalls of horses with their heads in the feed buckets. Ah, how she loved the sounds of horses eating in the morning, their contented sighs, the grinding of teeth upon fragrant oats, the occasional blow if they happened to inhale too much dust from the grain. Top that off with sweet-smelling, fresh-cut alfalfa and she felt as if she were in heaven.
She found Johnny in the rehab barn.
On his knees, he carefully wound an elastic bandage around the horse's cannon bone, his long dark fingers gently situating the pressure so as not to hamper the circulation.
Funny how she forgot to breathe. And how the sight of him, bent over, his threadbare shirt pulled tight across his broad back, black hair spilling over his shoulders, made her feel upended and thinking she was really dumb for doing this. After all, what if he turned out to be a creep? Or to have an attitude toward whites like so many Native Americans did.
"Hi," she said.
Johnny looked up. His eyes narrowed, his only show of surprise to find her standing barefoot in the barn before dawn, a Dr. Pepper in one hand, a partially eaten Snickers bar in the other.
"Bowed tendon?" she asked, pointing the candy at the horse's cannon bone.
He looked at her feet. "Nice toes. If you want to keep them you'd better put on some shoes."
Leah wiggled her toes and smiled. "Thanks. I do have nice toes, don't I? Do you like the color on the nails? It's called Flamingo Fruit Passion. It's supposed to smell like papaya. Wanna sniff?" Sticking her foot up by Johnny's nose, she wiggled her toes again, swallowing back her need to giggle at her own outrageousness, but there was something so serious in his face and eyes that she felt obligated to relieve it, if for no other reason than to see him smile.
"Well? What does it smell like?"
"Fruit."
"What kind? Papaya? I think it smells more like peaches. My mom said strawberries."
He looked at her toes, waving just below his nose. "Watermelon."
"Umm. Yummy. I can live with watermelon." Dropping to her knees beside him, Leah forced herself to focus on the horse's leg, and not Johnny Whitehorse's dark eyes. They were beginning to scatter her thoughts and make her realize just how silly she was acting. Normally guys were attracted to ditsy, but not this guy. He was probably thinking now that she was a major doofus.
"So what's wrong with the leg?" she asked seriously.
"A bow, I think."
Leah bent over a bucket of foul-looking goop and sniffed. "Oh my gosh. What is that?"
"Bigel oil, lard, honey, and rosin. It's my grandfather's remedy for bows. You plaster the inside of the cannon bone from knee to fetlock and bind it with warm wraps. It takes away the swelling and soreness and strengthens the tendon."
"Have you called a vet?"
"No need to. The poultice works every time."
"There's talk of magnetic therapy soon. Something about positive and negative ions or something that's supposed to generate heat and better blood circulation to the traumatized area."
Wiping his hands on the knees of his jeans, Johnny shook his head. "Sounds like bad medicine to me. My father won't like it." He stood, grabbed up his pail of goop, and walked away.
His jeans were old and thin and fraying a little along the inseams over his thighs. There was a hoof pick and a comb jutting out of the left rear pocket. His shirt had seen much better days and was just on the verge of being too small. He wore Justin boots. Not the pointed-toe sort, thank goodness. Not rattlesnake hide or ostrich. Just plain brown leather that was scuffed and gouged, the sole nearly worn through and the heels in desperate need of replacing.
Johnny disappeared down another barn aisle, obviously uninterested in her ploys to get to know him. That didn't surprise her, really. The Apaches were known for showing great caution toward strangers, especially whites. They did not trust easily, and friendship was something to be earned.
Johnny sat on a bench in the supply room, elbows on his knees, forehead propped upon the palms of his hands as he stared at the floor between his feet. Leah leaned against the door frame and watched him a long moment before speaking.
He looked up, as he had before, face expressionless. Yet there was something in his eyes that had not been there before.
"I suppose I should introduce myself." Smiling, she crossed the small room that smelled like liniment and pine tar and Leather New, and extended her hand. "I'm Leah Foster."
Ignoring her hand, he stood and, turning his back to her, began collecting an assortment of vet wraps, rice brushes, and hoof dressings. "I know who you are," he said, dropping a wash mitt into a bucket, along with shampoo and a bottle of baby oil. "You're the boss's daughter. And you shouldn't be out here dressed like that. The men talk among themselves and say things that are less than honorable."
Hot color rushed to her cheeks as she stared at his back, her hand still extended. She could put anyone in his place, should she decide to, and had been known to get in an employee's face if she didn't like his manner or attitude or his treatment of a horse. She could cut Johnny Whitehorse off at the knees with a slice of her tongue for his rudeness and blatant honesty, but she wouldn't because he was right. She had dressed like this to catch his attention. To flirt. To … tease, which was totally unlike her. She had never been an airheaded bimbo, so why was she acting like one?
Johnny turned and looked down at her with a gentleness in his face that had not been there before. "You're a very pretty young woman, Miss Foster. Your heart is good, and your eyes honest. If your face looked like that of a horn toad you would still be attractive to me."
"Should I take that as a compliment?" She grinned.
"A very big compliment. There are few things as ugly as the face of a horn toad."
Leah laughed and shook her head. "Gosh. Beneath that somber if not outright grim demeanor, Mr. Whitehorse, I suspect there is a sense of humor lurking."
"Don't count on it." He moved around her toward the door.
Stepping in front of him, Leah offered the Dr. Pepper and candy bar. "A peace offering. Wanna bite?"
"Could be dangerous. You might catch Apache fever." As Leah frowned, Johnny took the candy from her hand and bit into it, then replaced it between her fingers as she continued to stare up at him, waiting for an explanation. "Your skin will gradually turn dark and you'll develop a craving for mescal."
"I could think of worse things than my skin turning dark."
"I'm not so sure your father could."
Johnny left the supply room and Leah fell in beside him. "I guess you're wondering why I'm here," Leah said, virtually running to keep up with Johnny's long stride.
"It's your barn. You need no explanations."
"I wanted to see you for several reasons. First, to apologize for Larry's rudeness last week. He knows nothing about horses. I'm sure he didn't realize that honking like he did was very dangerous."
"Then my assessment of him was right. He's an idiot."
"Secondly, I was very impressed by your handling of the situation. You managed to control the horse beautifully, and you were riding bareback. My gosh, most people would have hit the ground—"
"I'm an Indian, Miss Foster. My father is a trainer. It stands to reason that I'd know how to ride a horse bareback."
"Exactly. Which is why I'm here. I'd like you to give me lessons."
Johnny dropped the bucket next to an empty wash stall. His hands on his hips, he finally looked down at her. "I've seen you ride. You don't need any lessons from me."
"But I don't normally ride bareback. And when have you ever seen me ride?"
"You ride with your mother a lot. Out there." He nodded toward the distant pastures. "You're a decent rider. You have good hands, and a good seat. The horse is happy with you. Besides, what with school and helping my father, I really don't have time. Sorry."
He walked away, toward a rider and horse that had just entered the barn. Steam rose off the heated animal and lather dripped off its belly and ran down its legs. The jockey removed his protective glasses that were
spotted with dirt and tossed them to Johnny.
"Fine," Leah said to herself. "Be that way."
She headed for the back barn, where the pleasure horses were stabled.
Genesis nickered as Leah slid open the stall door and looped a lead rope around the stallion's neck. As always, he lowered his head, nuzzled it against her and waited for her to stroke him.
"Big baby," she murmured, sliding her hand down his silken muzzle. His eyes grew drowsy and he released a sigh of contentment that made Leah smile. "You'll be a good boy for me this morning, won't you, Pooh? You'll keep your mind on me and not the babes? I've already made a big enough fool of myself this morning. We don't need to add insult to injury."
After securing the big bay between cross ties, Leah curried his dark coat until it shone, brushed out his black mane and tail, then wrapped his lower legs with polos—the ones she kept for special occasions—then located her bridle in the tack room.
