Power of the Raven

by Aimée Thurlo

  “You have it, Lori—along with me,” he said, then lowered his mouth to hers.

  She sighed softly and pressed herself against him.

  Feeling her softness melting into him, he sucked in a breath. “You’re too tempting,” he said, then, with a low groan, eased his hold and stepped away.

  “I’m tempting?” she said. “That’s exactly the way I’d describe you.”

  He held her gaze, searching her eyes. “Some people spend their whole lives searching for what we’ve found.”

  “I need to be sure it’s something I really want,” she said in a whisper-thin voice.

  He touched her cheek with his palm, his thumb caressing her tenderly.

  “Mr. Redhouse?” a booming voice suddenly called out from the front room.

  Startled, Lori jumped back.

  Gene took a breath and cursed. “My neighbor’s son. He’s staying in the bunkhouse. I fixed up one of the rooms in there for him.”

  “Hey, Devon,” Gene called out, walking down the hall. “How have things been going here?”

  “Great—if you don’t count Grit,” he said with a grin, shaking Gene’s hand enthusiastically.

  As Lori came up Gene introduced her. “Lori, this is Devon Portman. He’ll be going off to college next year and leaving me without the best ranch hand I’ve ever had.”

  Devon, a blond kid about seventeen in worn jeans and a battered straw hat, smiled at her and offered his hand.

  She shook it. “Pleasure.”

  “It’s like I keep telling my dad,” he said, glancing back at Gene. “I’m not meant for college.”

  “What is it that you want to do?” Lori asked him.

  “I’m a rancher, ma’am, like my dad and his dad before him. Dad says that he doesn’t want his son to have to work with his back all day, but that’s the life I want.”

  “Then go to Colorado State and major in something like agriculture, veterinary medicine or even accounting. You’ll need more than sweat to make things work in a ranch,” Gene said. “Education never hurts, son.”

  “That’s what I keep hearing.”

  “So what’s been happening around here?” Gene asked.

  “Two calves were born, and Ace showed signs of colic day before yesterday. The vet came out and Ace is doing fine now and back on his feed.” He stared at his boots for a few moments.

  “What’s on your mind?” Gene pressed.

  “Someone’s hanging around the property, sir. I noticed him on the way up here. I was working the fence line along the west pasture when I saw an old green pickup parked down the road. He was checking out the front gate, like he was searching for the lock. When I started walking over, he saw me and drove off.”

  “Maybe he was just checking out my brother’s handiwork. Did you recognize the truck?” Gene asked him.

  “No, but the old Johnson place has new owners, and it could have been one of them, I guess. I spoke to Dad about it, and he said I should pass it along to you. There haven’t been any break-ins this year so far, but you never know,” Devon said. “Do you want me to continue to take care of the place, or are you done with your business down in Hartley?”

  “I’ll have to head back to the city on Monday, so why don’t you go home and take some time off while you can?”

  “Thanks, Mr. Redhouse. If you need me, just call. I’ve already tended to the cattle, by the way. All that’s left for today are the horses.”

  “Thanks, Devon. And, by the way, if you see that guy hanging around again, call the sheriff and let him ask the questions. Don’t confront the guy yourself.”

  “Understood.”

  As the teenager left, Lori looked at Gene. “Do you think my stalker followed us here, or maybe checked out your place in case we showed up? So far he hasn’t had any problem finding out where we’re likely to go.”

  “True, but all we can do is speculate until we actually come across the guy.” He remembered the two pickups he’d seen on the back roads, but neither had followed for long and they’d been the wrong color. “Either way, let’s not assume we’re out of harm’s way. Keep an eye out. Right now I’m going to go do some chores like water the horses, put hay in the feeders and clean out stalls.”

  “I’ll help out. That’s basically what I did at the stables back in high school. Times may have changed, but horses haven’t.”

  LORI WAS GLAD THAT IT WAS spring and that the days were finally getting longer. Although it was four in the afternoon the sun was still high enough in the sky to get the work done before dark.

  As they brought down some bales of hay from the barn loft, they heard a horse’s loud whinny.

  “That’s Grit,” Gene said. “He’s restless. I should try to work that edge off him on the lunge line before we settle him down for the night.”

  “Let me,” she said.

  He shook his head. “No, just take Ace out and put him in the corral. Once he’s outside, it’ll be easier for me to get Grit to follow.”

  “How will I know which is which?”

  “Ace is a brown-and-white pinto, Grit is black-and-white, but don’t worry. The easiest way to tell is to see which one comes up to you right away. That’ll be Ace. The other horse, the one that’ll probably try to bite if you get too close, that’s Grit.”

  “Okay.” Lori went into the barn and saw a pinto drinking water. “Hey, are you Ace?” she asked softly, trying to guess how dark he was. She couldn’t see the other horse to compare.

  The animal lifted his head, then turned around so that his hind legs faced her, ears pinned back. Guessing he wouldn’t hesitate to kick if she stepped in there, she went to the next stall.

  The other horse was one of the most beautiful animals she’d ever seen. As she drew closer, the horse nickered, a friendly greeting. As she continued speaking to him, trying to decide if he was white and black, or white and brown, his ears pricked forward as if not only listening, but interested.

  “You must be Ace. Why don’t you and I go outside,” she said, reaching for the halter on a nearby hook, then going into the stall.

  “It looks like it’s you and me, guy.” Lori fastened a halter on the horse, then tied a lead rope to the ring at the bottom and led him outside.

  As she walked beside him, the horse seemed perfectly calm and content. Following her heart, she unfastened the rope and looped it through the bottom ring. Using the rope as makeshift reins, she jumped on the horse’s back and rode him to the corral.

  A second later Gene came out of the barn and stared at her. “How did you do that?”

  “You told me to bring Ace out to the corral, so I didn’t think you’d mind if I rode him around just a little. If you do, I can get off right now.”

  He shook his head.

  Seeing Gene struggling with something, she added, “The other horse wouldn’t even turn around for me. All he showed me were his hind legs, and I didn’t want to risk getting kicked.”

  He nodded slowly. “Ace may have thought you were connected to Doc Linda Bailey. He hates our vet with a passion,” he said. “The one you’re riding—that’s Grit.”

  She looked down at the gentle creature that was carrying her. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?” she said with a half smile. “Well, it won’t work.”

  She looked down at her mount, clicked her tongue, and the animal began to lope, taking easy, gentle strides.

  Gene watched them in silence.

  “Ace likes me,” she said and smiled happily. This was heaven. It was her favorite gait. It felt as if you were on a giant rocking horse. “He moves so smoothly.”

  Five minutes later, she rode him over to where Gene stood, and slid to the ground. Even after she unfastened the halter, freeing the horse, it remained by her side.

  “Grit doesn’t accept riders easily. Consider yourself the chosen one.”

  “Are you serious?” she asked, giving him a long, hard look. “This is the problem horse you’ve been telling me about?”

  �
��Yeah. You should hear some of Paul’s stories.” At the mention of the name, the horse snorted derisively.

  She laughed. “He must be sending the wrong signals or it’s a personality conflict. It happens.” She patted Grit’s neck, pulled his massive head closer to her and blew in his nostrils. The animal seemed to mellow out. “I hope you’ll let me ride him again. He’s really terrific.”

  “Sure. Anytime,” he said. “You’re used to riding bareback?”

  “Yeah,” she said and smiled. “When I worked at the stables, I often got the feeling that some people liked the way they looked on the horse more than they liked the horse itself. I wasn’t interested in sitting pretty. I enjoyed the freedom of going bareback. I felt more in contact with the horse that way.”

  “You’ll always have a standing invitation to come riding at Two Springs.” He glanced back. “I better get Ace and turn him out. It’s time to feed the other horses out in the pasture and top off their water, too, then I’ll muck out the stalls.”

  “I’ll take care of the stalls.”

  “Not necessary,” he said. “You took care of Grit, and that was the hard part.”

  “Not for me,” she said, laughing. “You’ve helped me a lot, so let me give you a hand with whatever needs doing.”

  “Balance,” Gene said with a nod. “Let’s get started.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  By the time they’d tended the other horses and finished cleaning the stalls, it was dusk. Gene and Lori led Ace and Grit back into their stalls, where there was fresh hay waiting for them in their feeders.

  “How come you keep these two in here instead of out in the pasture?”

  “Grit needs to be around people, and he’s also too hard to catch if he’s not in an enclosure. Believe it or not, he’s not always the gentleman you saw today. Ace is company for Grit. He’s also normally the steadiest ride I’ve got, so I keep him here for Devon. He needs an available, steady mount to do things like check the fence line and get around the ranch. Ace doesn’t spook easily and he’ll tell you if danger’s close by. When his ears go flat, you can figure that a snake or another predator is in the immediate area.”

  “You’ve got a good life here,” she said, placing Grit inside his stall. “I envy you.”

  “I’m glad you see it that way. My brothers prefer to work in the city, but I wouldn’t trade Two Springs for anything. I’ve got sixty-five acres, but that’s only a fraction of the huge ranch Two Springs used to be back in the late eighteen hundreds. Still, for now, it’s enough,” he said. “I’m also hoping my spread will eventually become a place my brothers will learn to use as an escape from their high-pressure jobs.”

  “Yours has pressures, too,” she said.

  “Yeah, it does, but they’re a different sort. The guys deal with lawlessness of one kind or another. Here I contend with nature, which has no agenda. It can be unpredictable, and the challenges—whether bad weather, drought or fires—can all test a man. But for the most part, hard work will determine my destiny.”

  She looked around, enjoying the sunset. “It’s so beautiful here. I can see why you’ve chosen to call it home.”

  “Maybe you’re meant to be a rancher, too.”

  She smiled. “I love animals and the outdoors, and if I could afford to buy a place like this, I’d go for it in a second. Not for ranching so much, but for raising horses. The time I worked at the stables was the happiest of my life.”

  He sat down on a bale of straw and began wiping off one of the bits with a damp cloth. “You do have a way with horses.”

  “No, not really. I get along with some, but not with others. Ace, for example, wanted to kick me through the side of the barn.”

  He laughed. “No, he’s mostly all show and no action. I just forgot how much he hates the vet visits, and Ace has a way of holding a grudge. Normally, he’s not like that. Grit, too, wasn’t acting like himself. You should see him around Paul. Grit goes out of his way to torment my brother.”

  “Maybe Grit noticed that I’m much prettier and sweeter smelling.”

  Gene roared with laughter. “I’m going to share that with Paul next time I see him.”

  Finished with the bits, Gene hung the bridles back up on a hook. Then, placing an arm over Lori’s shoulder, he walked out of the barn with her, heading for the main house.

  He remained quiet, thinking of Hosteen Silver’s message. He’d said that as the unlikely happened, the lost one would show him the way. He’d just seen Grit accept a rider, and that was as unlikely as things got. As for the second part, Lori had been searching for direction in her life....

  An explosive bang suddenly shattered his train of thought and he heard a bullet whine overhead, dangerously close.

  Reacting in a heartbeat, Gene grabbed her hand and pulled her to the ground beside the pump shed. “Stay down!” he said, as he tried to spot the shooter.

  “What do we do? He’s armed and we aren’t,” she whispered. “And I don’t even have my cell phone.”

  “Me neither, so our only chance is to work our way to the house. I’ve got my rifle in there and can even the odds. Once we’re inside, stay away from the windows and doors and call the sheriff’s department in Cortez. If the sniper tries to come in, lock yourself up in one of the rooms and stay flat on the floor. Let me deal with him.”

  Moving in a crouch, they worked their way to the corner of the shed, watching in every direction as they hugged the walls. There were no more shots. Now all they had to do was make a run for the back door—across about a hundred feet of open ground.

  Lori took a quick glance around the corner of the pump house. “Maybe that’s it. He took his best shot, missed, then decided to take off.”

  Gene shook his head, motioning for her to be silent. It was quiet for about a minute, then a pair of doves suddenly flew out from beneath a tree beside the house.

  Someone was close. As Gene listened he heard muted footsteps.

  “He knows our plans and is between us and the house now,” Gene whispered. “Stay low and circle back around the pump house, then head for the barn. Use the pump house to screen your movements. We won’t be able to reach the pickup or get to the house without giving him a clear shot, so we’ll have to use the horses to get away. When we reach the barn I’ll grab a bridle and get Ace out of his stall. We’ll ride double and head for Crossroads Ranch. Devon and his dad will help us out.”

  They made it back to the barn double time. Gene got the bridle on Ace as Lori grabbed Grit’s halter. “Ace doesn’t like me. Let me take Grit. It’ll be faster than riding double,” she said.

  “Yeah, okay. Let’s go,” he whispered.

  She led Grit out of his stall, but as she passed by Ace, the gelding slipped Gene’s grip on the reins and spun, ready to kick.

  “Ace, quit!” Gene grabbed the reins and gave them a quick tug, then took a second bridle from a hook. “Here, use this on Grit instead of the halter and rope. You’ll have more control.”

  She made the change in seconds, then started to lead the horse out. Suddenly a dark figure blocked their way.

  “That’s far enough,” the man ordered, pointing a Western-style revolver at Gene. The weapon fit the situation—the cowboy with the .44 wore a red bandanna over his face like an outlaw from an old Western. “The woman comes with me.”

  Gene, his hand still holding Ace’s reins, moved closer. A few more steps and he’d make a move for the man’s gun.

  “I’m not after you, Redhouse,” the man said. “Stop or I’ll gun you down.”

  The man’s voice sounded familiar to Gene, but he couldn’t put a name to it. “Who sent you?” Gene demanded, hoping to stall.

  “Don’t know, don’t care,” the man spit out. “You, sweetie,” he said, pointing the gun at Lori, who hadn’t moved. “Let go of the reins and come with me if you ever want to see Redhouse again.”

  Lori was holding Grit tightly. He was prancing nervously, ears pinned back. “All right.” She let go of
Grit’s reins, then took a step forward.

  Grit, already spooked, snorted, ducked his head, then suddenly brushed past Lori at a gallop.

  The gunman jumped back, but the horse caught his outstretched arm and spun him around, knocking him face-first into the barn door. Grit thundered past him out into the paddock, bucking like a wild mustang.

  Their would-be kidnapper, who’d dropped his gun, spun around in a panic, trying to find his weapon.

  Gene leaped forward, doubling the guy up with a punch in the gut. He followed with an uppercut to the chin that bounced the back of the man’s head against the side of the barn with a hollow thud.

  The man ducked his head and hurled himself at Gene, but Gene raised his foot and met his charge with a boot to the chest. The blow forced Gene backward, but his opponent was knocked to the ground, landing with his back against the wall.

  Seeing that Lori had already retrieved the man’s gun, Gene yanked the bandanna off their assailant’s face.

  Now he recognized the guy. Gene took a step away from the dazed man, who was rubbing the back of his head and cursing, his lips moist with blood.

  “Well, if it isn’t Duane Hays,” Gene said. “I thought they’d thrown you into the county jail after your last brawl.”

  Never taking his eyes off Hays, Gene took the offered revolver from Lori, then asked her to go to the house and call 911. While Lori took off, Gene remained with his prisoner.

  “I want to know who hired you, Hays. Keep in mind that no one around here would say a word if I ended it right here for you. You came onto my property and started shooting, held us at gunpoint, then tried to kidnap the woman. I have a witness, and that’s all the sheriff will need to know.”

  “I need to reach for my wallet so I can show you something,” Hays said.

  “Then do it slowly, Hays. If you make the wrong move, it’ll be the last thing you do.” For emphasis, Gene cocked the hammer with his thumb.

  Duane moved carefully, his eyes on Gene. “Chill out, will you, and keep your finger away from that hair trigger. All I was doing was trying to make enough money to get me out of this rat hole of a county. After your neighbor fired my ass, I haven’t been able to find work anywhere. Times have been tough. My trailer got repoed last week and I’m living out of my truck.”