"Wh-what?" I choked and punched him in the shoulder. Embarrassed, I checked the front seat to see if Kellen had overhead. Thankfully, he seemed unaware of our conversation in the back. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."
"You're not a guy," he said, leaning away from me to avoid my next punch.
"And if I was?"
"You wouldn't think it was dumb at all. You'd agree with me. One hundred presents."
"You mean percent," I corrected him.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure," I laughed.
"Because seeing you in that pretty dress seemed like a present to me," he argued with a smirk on his face.
"Would you just stop it?" I muttered and elbowed him in the side.
"Why?"
"Because I don't even know what to say to stuff like that."
"You could say thank you," he suggested.
"Okay," I answered on a wry smile. I didn't exactly believe the stuff he was dishing, but my mom says you should always thank someone when they pay you a compliment. So I was just being polite when I thanked him.
"Oh, I almost forgot," he said suddenly, reaching into the pocket of his dark slacks. "I made something for you."
"You made me something?" I asked, surprised.
"Aye," he answered, pulling out a wide bracelet cut from polished wood. An interesting pattern had been whittled into the gleaming surface. The swirling lines reminded me of Celtic knots. "I found an old oak post in the barn," he murmured. "I hope it was alright to help myself."
"Of course it was alright," I answered, slipping the bangle onto my wrist and holding it up so we could check it out together.
"I carved it in the evenings, up in my room. I used the little blade Kellen gave me."
"It's really nice," I told him, and gave him a tentative look. "Does this mean my healing isn't working?"
"Not yet," he admitted. "But I thought we could try again…with the wrist band. Maybe it will make a difference."
"Maybe," I sighed. "But I wouldn't count on magic to heal your face. Not in this day and age when there are so many better options. I wish we could go see a doctor. A little cosmetic surgery would probably go a long way toward fixing you up."
"That sounds expensive," he said.
Again, I sighed. "It probably is," I agreed.
"Let's try the oak band," he said quietly.
I twisted my wrist and looked at the pretty work carved into the bracelet. And as I studied it, it occurred to me that he could have just made a plain bangle; it would have worked just as well for his purposes. So, I thought it was nice of him to go to the bother of carving the design into it. "We'll try it out tomorrow morning," I promised.
When we got home, I put a chicken in the crock-pot then hurried up to my room to call Jesse. She was dithering over her storyline. So, I suggested a romance between Zerena and the bus boy, which would make the cook finally confess his feeling for her and would get the plot moving toward my love triangle. With that taken care of, we worked on the Cantina menu. This month's special was gonna be lady fingers in red sauce.
The next morning after we got breakfast out of the way, Courage and I headed for the dining room per our normal daily schedule. Of course, that schedule was slightly disrupted when Courage pulled one of the chairs beneath him and looked up at me expectantly.
"I…don't need to be touching the table anymore?" I asked, realizing I was actually disappointed. Evidently, I'd gotten used to that nervous feeling I got when we stood about two inches apart in the dining room. Maybe I even looked forward to it.
That familiar glint of humor touched his eyes, telling me I was busted. "The oak is far more powerful than the cherry wood in the table, so it's not strictly necessary."
"Well," I said, clearing my throat self-consciously. "It wouldn't hurt to combine the power of both woods, would it?"
"Nay," he answered, laughing softly. "It wouldn't hurt at all." And rolling back up to his feet, he joined me at the edge of the table with a very self-satisfied smile on the good side of his mouth.
He was doing that infuriating male you're-really-into-me thing and I…didn't have a leg to stand on. I ignored him; what else could I do? Tipping the tube of aloe vera, I squeezed some of the clear gel onto my palm then gently spread it on his face.
"That feels good," he said in a growling purr, his eyelids drifting down and hiding the clear blue color of his irises.
"Is it…working?" I asked quietly.
He took a few seconds to answer. "I don't know," he finally said. "But I always like the feel of your hands on my face."
And that got me to wondering if he liked the feel of my hands the same way I liked standing close to him. And what it all meant. And what was wrong with me. Because at that point, I was pretty confused about my feelings for him…and maybe even a little disappointed in the independent young woman I was supposed to be.
Chapter Five
On Monday, we strung the first strand of barbed wire on the fence posts that were waiting for us out in the northwest quadrant. Courage pulled the wire taut while I followed behind and stapled it to the posts.
We were ready to start on the second strand the next morning. We got out of the house a little earlier than usual because Courage wanted to skip our healing session for some reason. I thought it was a little strange since we had only just started experimenting with the oak bracelet, but he seemed to be in a hurry to get going so I didn't question him about it.
"Do you want to take the tractor or the ATV?" I asked as we scuffed across the yard in front of the house. We'd taken the rolls of wire out to the fields the day before so we didn't have anything big or heavy going with us.
"Don't you ever ride the horses?" he asked, glancing to the east where Molly and Princess were grazing behind the fence.
I wondered what he knew about horses. And if he knew what he was getting himself into. Because our quarter horses don't act like those polo ponies over in England. Our horses tend to think for themselves and do what they think is best. That little personality trait comes in handy when you're cutting out a calf or rounding up the herd but I doubt you could get a quarter horse to chase a ball around a field if it didn't have a mind to.
I made a face. "They're hard to catch."
"Really?"
"And they're ridiculously lazy," I added. "The only thing they work hard at is eating. And running away when you want to ride them. They put more energy into avoiding a ride than they'd put into an actual ride."
Courage squinted into the sun as he considered the horses. "I think they'll come for me," he murmured.
"I think they'll come for a bucket of oats and nothing less," I predicted, and started off to the barn to find a pail.
But Courage grabbed my hand before I could get too far with that plan, tugging me along behind him as he jogged toward the fence. And his hand wrapped around mine felt so nice that I went along with it for the time being. I could always go for oats later on, after those lazy old horses had disappointed him.
We reached the fence, laughing and a little breathless. And—amazingly enough—Courage was right about those two mares. They trotted over right away, rubbing their noses into Courage's palms like there was nothing in the world they wanted more than a nice ride across the fields.
I'd never seen those girls act like that before. You'd have thought Courage was wearing some sort of apple-scented cologne—eau du Granny Smith or Macintosh Passion or something like that. Anyhow, we led them over to the barn, threw on some saddle blankets and got going. I gave Molly to Courage because she has the milder disposition and I didn't want him falling off if Princess decided to act up. But Courage threw himself up on that horse's back like he was fresh off the rodeo circuit.
"This isn't your first time on a horse," I remarked.
"My brother had a mare," he answered as we turned the horses onto the well-worn track that led through the fields. "We took turns riding her."
Courage didn't talk about his fami
ly very often and I was always curious to learn more. "Tell me about your brothers," I said.
"I didn't always get along with Defiance and Force," he started.
"Why not?" I asked, turning my head to look at him and noticing that his hair had grown in since I'd found him in the house a week earlier. Even though it was still short, it looked…thick and even luxurious. It was almost brushing the collar of his black vest. And I wondered why I hadn't noticed it the day before.
"They were different than me," he said with a shrug of his lean shoulders. "My mother was killed when I was fourteen. Murdered. Her death made them…hard. Tough. Maybe even unforgiving."
I almost wished I hadn't asked because I was just starting to get comfortable with him, and the idea that he'd been raised in a violent environment reminded me that he might not be the best person to get close to. "Why didn't you react the same way?" I asked.
"I guess it wasn't in my nature," he answered. "It makes me wonder sometimes, why my mother named me Courage. Compared to my brothers, I'm not particularly brave."
His words made me think about the day I'd met him and how he'd joked about his scarred face while I held a gun on him. "I think you're brave," I said slowly. "But it's not the kind of brave that goes looking for trouble. It's the kind of brave that…laughs in the face of danger." I knew it sounded lame, so I added, "Does that make sense?"
Courage smiled. "It does when you say it. But I'm not sure I agree."
"You're just modest," I argued, all the while wondering how I could think he was both dangerous and modest. That's what they call a paradox, right?
"With no father and mother," Courage continued, "Defiance became head of the household. He could be a little…overbearing at times. Sometimes I felt like he was trying to run my life. It chafed a little. But whenever Defiance got out of hand, I could always go to Victor. Victor would usually stick up for me."
"Victor?" I questioned. I knew Victor was one of his cousins but didn't understand why Courage would go to him in a situation like that.
"Victor's the leader of our…pack."
"I see," I murmured, glad to know he had someone who would take his side but thinking the whole pack thing was a pretty unusual arrangement. "Victor sounds like a pretty good guy."
Courage nodded his agreement. "I spent more time with my cousins than I did with my brothers. Dare and Havoc. Valor and Chaos. To be honest, they were more fun."
And when he talked like that, he seemed so normal. Not like he was a dangerous gang member at all. And yet…
And yet, something told me there was indeed something dangerous about him. That he wasn't like other boys our age. That he'd been through a lot in his lifetime and that he'd be a powerful force when angered. A powerful force that could be deadly.
And deadly wasn't good, right? Unless you were in the sort of situation where deadly was the only thing that was gonna save your life. In that case, it might be okay, I reasoned.
We had a character like that in Zombie Cantina. Zane. He was a bad guy in every sense of the word—violent and lethal with a moral compass pointing straight to hell, but when the Cantina was threatened, he was the one who came through at the eleventh hour and saved the day. Not that I thought Courage was a bad guy. Just that I thought deadly could pay off every now and again, depending on the circumstances.
Up at the fence line, we dismounted and got to work. At first, the horses kept getting in the way and sticking their noses into everything, like they couldn't bear to be separated from Courage. I had to give them both an encouraging slap on the backside to get them to move off a little ways. After that, they went back to grazing and we went back to work, stringing wire.
And as it turned out, I was glad we decided to take the horses that day. Because, if it hadn't been for them, we wouldn't have had any warning at all. But when they raced past us and jumped a low spot in the fence, it sure enough got my attention. Because those lazy old mares didn't go jumping no fences if they didn't have to. For several seconds, I stood and stared at their backsides disappearing into the distance just as fast as those two horses could travel.
Puzzled, I turned to search the direction from which they'd come, wondering what had set them off but not expecting to find much since I figured a snake had probably startled them. And I was never gonna find a skinny old snake hidden in the tall grass.
But I was wrong about the snake. We had a bigger problem than rattlesnakes. Way bigger. And even scarier. We were dealing with a tornado…touching down about a hundred yards to the southwest.
In case you don't know, there are three kinds of tornadoes.
The first is the kind you can see coming from a long way off. They're scary but at least you feel like you have a fighting chance against them. You have time and room. And you can try to get outta their way.
Next, is the kind you know is out there in the center of a storm or in the middle of the night, sneaking up on you in the dark. Those are terrifying but you can always go out to the storm shelter or down to the basement to ride it out. Crouching in the corner of a foundation wall might not save your life but it will definitely give you some better odds.
Lastly, is what I consider the worst kind. It's the kind of tornado that strikes without warning, that comes out of nowhere, dropping out of the blue sky on otherwise sunny day. Then BAM—half your house is gone before you even know you're in trouble.
This one was a blue-sky tornado.
But most folks who live on the plains know a little something about twisters. In particular, they know about the warning signs and how to survive one. They know that greenish clouds are a sign that tornadoes are brewing. They know that tornadoes usually travel northeast in a relatively straight line. But those suckers can move at sixty to seventy miles an hour so you can just forget about outrunning them…even if you are driving a truck with a big hemi engine.
Windspeeds in the funnel can reach three hundred miles an hour and that means the truck you're driving ain't gonna offer you much protection when that twister catches up to you. The winds will blow out your windows and embed the glass in your carcass before it's over. So, you might as well go ahead and get outta your truck or your hay baler before it's too late. If you don't have time to find shelter, move at right angles to the direction that the tornado's traveling. If it's coming straight at you, look for a ditch or a dry gulch. Jump in and lie down with your hands locked behind your neck. Then start praying.
Without a doubt, everyone who lives out on the Colorado plains knows these facts. More to the point, I certainly know all this. And as I watched a dark cloud of dirt and debris swirl up around the base of the tornado, my brain told me to run. But the rest of me was just so surprised to see a tornado so near that I didn't get around to it right away. And after I finally got my surprise out of the way, I wasted precious seconds trying to figure out what direction it was moving so I could either run in the opposite direction or at least at right angles. By the time I realized it was heading straight for us, we didn't have much time left to react.
The tornado was still on the ground, its needlepoint stinger creating havoc as it ripped through the fields, sucking up dirt and grass and even fence posts. I watched a piece of debris fly out and crush into one of our stock tanks, scattering the cattle that was watering there. It looked like the roof to our neighbor's trailer.
I turned to scream a warning at Courage who was working about twenty yards down the fence line but he was way ahead of me. Only, he wasn't running away from the funnel bearing down on us. He was sprinting in my direction.
"Run," I yelled and started toward the nearest drainage…which I wasn't sure was deep enough to be helpful.
Courage angled through the grass toward me. When he reached me, he grabbed my hand and took the lead. "Where are we going?" he shouted.
"There's a ditch up ahead," I panted, glancing fearfully back over my shoulder, hoping the tornado had gone back up into the sky or veered off or any kind of good news that would suggest maybe we were
n't about to lose our lives.
"Where?" he shouted. "Where?"
"Not much farther," I gasped, almost tripping because he was moving so fast and I could hardly keep up with him.
His arms wrapped around me as we stumbled into the shallow ravine that cut into the fields maybe a foot deep. Then he gathered me into his chest, holding me with an almost desperate ferocity, his fingers spreading behind my head and shaping to my skull and pulling me into the ragged beat of his heart. "This is it?" he yelled as we stood in the ditch.
I just gasped for air and tried to nod. At that point, we were out of time. We needed to get down into the shelter of the gully. But Courage wasn't moving.
"C'mon," I yelled, trying to drop to my knees, which wasn't working because he was holding me so tightly.
Still, he didn't move. He scowled down at the shallow ditch then shot a quick glance back at the funnel cloud. "I don't think this is going to work," he said like we were discussing the best way to open a jar of olives.
Dirt and gravel swirled up into the air, pelting us like rough hail. The wind took my hair and whipped it around my face while the roar of the tornado filled my ears and vibrated through my frame. "It's our best chance," I shouted.
Still he hesitated, like he was trying to decide on something.
"Do you have a better idea?" I screamed.
He hesitated only an instant longer. Finally, he let go of me. "Maybe," he answered in his rough lilt.
Then he opened his wings and flew us out of there.
He opened his wings and flew us out of there.
Oh, I can act all chill about it now. But at the time, I was pretty shocked. Stunned. Even astonished. Actually, there isn't a good currently-popular word to describe my reaction. Courage slipped the straps of his overalls off his shoulders, and tied them around his waist. And the leather vest he wears all the time just unwrapped itself and snapped open into two black wings. Then he picked me up, took a few running steps and we lifted off the ground just as the roaring winds reached us.
His strong arms held me against his hard frame. His hands crushed my face against the smooth skin of his chest. I couldn't see a thing.
Courage Page 6
