A Rush of Wings

by Kristen Heitzmann

  Maybe because of the impending storm, Rick let her take him fresh, though he kept a secure hold of the rope. The air was pungent with wet hide, the reins slick in her hands, the air brisk. It was invigorating—for Destiny as well. He paced with energetic steps, and she exulted in the horse’s motion, his ready response.

  She neither wanted, nor tried to, control him, and she was certain he knew it. Theirs was the mutual understanding she had wished between the animal and Rick. They were one, linked by some connection of mind and soul. Rick might be training him, but she was winning his heart.

  The sky rumbled and without further warning spilled large heavy raindrops. She had been damp already, but it was pelting by the time Rick gripped her waist and swung her down.

  “Get into the truck.”

  She ran even as lightning flashed and thunder punctuated his words, rain slashing down cold and hard. She dove into the truck’s shelter as Rick unsaddled and released Destiny to the pasture. With water streaming off the brim of his gray Stetson, he dumped the saddle into the back and yanked open his door. He pulled off the hat to climb into the cab. His breath steamed the windows as he filled the space beside her and shut the door. Then he turned and grinned, so unexpected and boyishly she had to laugh.

  He rested his forearm on the wheel. “Sorry. I thought it’d hold off a bit.”

  She looked through the streaming windshield. “No holding that off.”

  “It’s about time. It’s been too dry.” He started the truck, and the wipers swished away the watery curtain.

  The days had been for the most part clear and sunny. There certainly hadn’t been any rains like this one. And there were the horses standing in it. “Are they all right? You don’t need to bring them in?”

  “They don’t want to come in.”

  It seemed true. They stood, necks arched and heads high. “What do you call the black stallion?”

  “Hercules.” He put the truck in gear and started down the sloshy meadow.

  “And Destiny’s sire?”

  “Red Skelton.”

  She turned to see if he was joking.

  He read her look. “He was named and papered when I bought him.”

  “Poor thing.”

  Rick swung the truck around a rushing rivulet. “I call him Red. He doesn’t seem to mind.”

  She rubbed the rain from the back of her neck. “And you named his foal Destiny. I thought he needed the sire’s name incorporated.”

  “On paper he’s Red Destiny.”

  “Sounds Marxist.”

  The corners of Rick’s mouth quirked. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Who’s his dam?”

  “Aldebaran.” He eased the truck over a dip. “I told you she was a good horse.” He parked in the yard and turned off the engine.

  Sheets of rain obscured the house and turned the yard into thin strips of gravel between pools. Its force thrummed in her ears. “Guess you’re glad you patched that roof.”

  He glanced sidelong. “I’ll check with you first next time.”

  She raised her chin. “I just think you might have said something.”

  “Ugh-huh.”

  “I mean, given your outspoken and gregarious nature.”

  He cocked his head and stared out at the rain.

  She watched it, too, for a minute. “This should take care of the dryness.”

  “Depends. When it comes too hard and fast it mostly washes away. Ground this steep and dry can’t take it in.”

  “But there’s so much of it.”

  He nodded. “It’s the kind of rain that flash floods. If you’re ever caught out in it, head for high ground away from any streambeds or gullies.”

  The storm was daunting. “Should we make a run for it?”

  He leaned close to the windshield. “Doesn’t look like it’ll stop any time soon.”

  With her neck already wet and the cab getting steamy, running from the truck to the porch wouldn’t be so bad. “I say we do it.”

  From opposite sides of the truck, they ran to the porch, water splashing up their legs. Gripping her hand, he pulled her up the steps to the door where they stopped, breathless and soaked. Noelle caught her streaming hair back with both hands as Rick opened the door and waved her in, but Marta stood in the entry—mop in hand. Noelle felt as though she’d been caught jumping in puddles. She shrugged out of the poncho and dutifully handed it over, then followed Rick’s example and shed her boots.

  “I think a fire’s in order.” He went to the fireplace in his socks, crumpled paper under the grate, and arranged logs and kindling on top. She joined him as he lit the edges. A fire on the first of August. Only in the mountains.

  “It’ll be warm in a minute.” His voice alone warmed her. That and his sock feet.

  She looked down at her own and suppressed a laugh. “Destiny responded well to me.”

  Rick poked the fire. “Well enough.”

  “Admit it. He was eager to perform.”

  Rick leaned on the mantel. “I wouldn’t say eager.”

  Noelle turned her back to the fire and let the heat rise up her legs and spine. “I can take him by myself.”

  “No.”

  She huffed. “Then why did you tell your father I was capable?”

  Rick shrugged. “Just being polite.”

  She shook her head. “You meant it.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  She turned and held her hands to the fire. “Why don’t you save yourself the argument and just say yes?”

  “Because the minute I do you’ll start pushing for the next thing.”

  “Which is?”

  “God only knows.”

  She met his gaze, and they smiled with their eyes, warmth reaching deep inside her.

  Noelle basked in the coolness the following evening, lulled by the rhythmic creaking of the porch swing, one leg folded up beneath her. The crag was stained with rubescent rays of westering sun. In the grasses below, crickets sang, but beyond that, silence. It was Marta’s day off, Rick had gone to Denver, and the cabins were actually empty until tomorrow. Noelle had the ranch to herself. Luxury.

  She had painted a scene of eroded ground, cut into veins and cracks by yesterday’s rain on either side of a white-faced aspen scrubbed clean behind the ears, with mushrooms that had sprung up overnight in the bright springy moss at its base. It was a study in contrasts and the tenacity of mountain life. She was learning.

  An engine and tires in the gravel ended her solitary reverie. Rick’s truck pulled in and came to a stop, but he wasn’t alone. Morgan climbed out looking rakishly handsome, sleeves rolled, tie loose. He must have taken the job. As Rick headed for the stable, Morgan strode up the steps and raised her to her feet. “More beautiful than before.” His eyes roved the length of her. “Did you miss me?”

  “You were only gone five days.” But his piece was back in her puzzle and it did fit.

  “Well, I missed you.”

  “Why didn’t you take the job?”

  He cocked his head. “I presented my proposal; they accepted. I’ll be facilitating a sticky merger, so the Windy City is going to be home for a while. Want to come?”

  “I don’t think so, Morgan.”

  “I’d show you a good time.”

  “I have a good time here.” She pulled her hands free.

  He shook his head. “Some things never change. But that’s okay. No rejection fazes me. I have a heart of steel.” He gave her a suave smile. “Let’s go somewhere. I only have tonight.”

  Her heart thumped. “You came back for one night with me?” Did he expect she’d make it worth the trip?

  “I came back for my car.” He brushed her arm with his fingertips.

  “But I’m accepting offers.”

  “Your car?”

  He nodded. “I left it in the barn. I just flew out to negotiate. Now that I know I’ll be there awhile, I’ll drive out.” He took her hand. “Come on.”

  She let him lead her off the
porch to the Corvette in the barn. He uncovered it and opened her door, expecting as usual to whisk her off on whatever adventure he envisioned this time. As she hesitated he cocked his head and hummed “Little Red Riding Hood.” She flashed him a glance. He was not the big bad wolf; she knew that. He was only Morgan. She slid into the seat and he closed the door.

  Dusk was deepening as he backed out into the yard. Rick crossed behind them and went into the house. Morgan shifted into drive. “Have you eaten?”

  She shrugged. “Marta’s day off.”

  “Good.” He pulled to a stop beside Rick’s truck, climbed out and took an insulated container from the bed, then got back in and set it on her lap.

  “What’s this?”

  “Picnic.”

  She looked out at the deepening sky. Picnic?

  He took the gravel road slowly since the rain had deepened the ruts and the Corvette rode low on the grasses rubbing beneath. In town, he turned right, heading up toward the national park. If he thought she was going to hike in the dark with elk and fox and bears and mountain lions…

  He drove to a half-circular lookout and parked. She stared out at the early stars pricking the clear sky. Morgan got out and opened his trunk. What was he planning this time?

  Near the edge of the lookout, beside the boulders that marked its drop, he spread a woolen blanket. On that, he placed a three-wick candle that he lit with a lighter. She climbed out and watched, gooseflesh rising on her arms in the evening chill. She was glad for the jeans she was wearing.

  He came and took the insulated cooler from her, then noticed her shivers and handed it back. He reached into the car, took out his suit coat, and wrapped it over her shoulders. Then he took the cooler and placed it on the blanket. “Voilá. Picnic.” He motioned her to sit.

  His jacket smelled of his cologne as she held it close around her. He unzipped the cooler and removed several packages. “French bread medallions, goose liver pâté, smoked gouda, and grapes.”

  He took out a bottle of club soda and two plastic flutes. “Not my beverage of choice, but in consideration of your preference …” He poured her flute and passed it.

  She sipped. “When did you plan all this?”

  “In the airport. One of those gourmet shops.”

  She smiled. “It’s nice.”

  “I would have chosen more, but Rick was antsy.”

  Noelle imagined him waiting while Morgan compiled their picnic. She hadn’t known he’d gone to the airport; he’d only said Denver. “We should have invited him.”

  Morgan gave her just the look she expected.

  She spread a medallion with pâté. “I’m sure he’s hungry.”

  “He’s got a whole kitchen.”

  That was true. But they had the starlit mountain vista and an orange moon creeping up the horizon. Rick would have blessed their food. She took a bite. “Delicious.”

  Morgan pulled a grape from the stem. “So are you bored yet, holed up on the mountain with Rick and Marta and assorted guests?”

  “Not very. And we had company.”

  “A flatlander from Kansas with a fat wife and twelve kids.”

  She cocked her head. “Wrong.”

  “Who, then?”

  “Your father.” She straightened the napkin across her knee.

  “Dad was up?”

  She nodded. “He brought Rick a pair of fillies to start. He was sorry to miss you.”

  “I’m sorry too.”

  “The best part is, he convinced Rick to let me ride Destiny. And train him.”

  Morgan sat back with a grin. “Good for Dad. Bet it gave Rick fits.”

  “He only convulsed once or twice.” She laughed.

  “So how is it?”

  “Destiny? It’s …” She recalled the feeling of being on his back, sensing his mood and matching hers to it. “Beyond words.”

  Morgan reached across and grasped her hands. His eyes were deep as the night shot with moonglow. “Promise me one thing when I’m gone.”

  Her throat tightened. “What?”

  “You’ll stay just the way you are right now. You won’t climb back into your shell.”

  She searched his face, saw there something real and painful. He cared. He truly cared. “I promise.” But she was far from sure she could keep it.

  CHAPTER

  12

  The next morning’s sun beat hot on Noelle’s head as she perched on Destiny’s back. Morgan had left an hour before in his Corvette, top down, music playing. He had asked her again to join him in Chicago. He wouldn’t be Morgan if he hadn’t, but it was out of the question, especially after the terrible night she’d had, wrenching awake from a dream more real than any of the others. She’d actually felt the plunge of the hawk, the assault of its talons. Her head beat now with the glow of amber eyes. Ridiculous. She’d never been attacked by a hawk.

  Something had happened, obviously, to trigger such horrific dreams. One didn’t leave everything and run halfway across the country without cause. And something kept her from returning or even communicating with that portion of her self. What fragments broke through her resistance triggered panic and nightmares. So, yes, something had happened. But it was now about moving on.

  Noelle was safe at the ranch. She had her painting, and now she had Destiny. She had purpose and identity. Morgan wanted to find the real Noelle, but she wasn’t trapped inside. She didn’t exist—yet. The person who cowered in her dreams was not the real thing. She had nothing but scorn for that compliant being. She could stay buried forever.

  Rick brought Destiny to a stop. “Are you ready?”

  She tugged herself into the present. “More than ready.”

  He unclipped the tether rope. She had the stallion to herself. He was hers to control, or she was his. She absorbed his energy, the power of smooth muscles in his back and shoulders and loin. He was magnificent.

  Rick stood close. “Easy now. Take him around. Let his energy control the pace.”

  Noelle did as he said, thrilled by the horse’s nervous power. She circled him, round and round, feeling him relax until he pranced obediently, willing and eager. She let out the rein, and he quickened his step, choosing his pace, working out his nerves.

  She understood. She didn’t need Rick’s admonition to give Destiny his head. This was his time as much as hers. You’re free, Destiny. A sudden urge seized her to let him run, to feel the rush of his speed, his wild blood. She stopped him before Rick. “Let me take him down the meadow.”

  “No way.” He deflated her dream with two words. Who did he think he was?

  “I can do it, Rick.”

  He shook his head. “You can’t handle him if he bolts.”

  “I can; I know it.”

  “He’s getting restless. Take him around the corral.”

  Around the corral, around the corral. The story of her life! Anger flaring, she kicked in her heels and immediately realized her mistake. Destiny bucked and twisted, his power unleashed. Her arms wrenched and strained. She lost her hold and slammed to the ground, her breath stopped by the impact.

  She rolled, gasping, and saw Rick lunge. He stood over her, guarding her from Destiny’s hooves as the horse reared and charged, then veered away, tossing his head. Air flooded her lungs, and she staggered up behind him.

  He kept his eyes on the horse but clipped, “Are you all right?”

  She drew a sharp, choppy breath. “Yes.”

  He turned briefly, and she caught the full force of his expression. “That sets us back. Now he doesn’t know what to expect from you. Or me.”

  He was right. She swallowed her damaged pride. “I’m sorry.”

  He looked at Destiny, standing nervously, pawing one hoof. “You’ll have to get up again. He’s enjoying what he did.”

  Her heart jumped, but it wasn’t fear. He was letting her try again, letting her undo her wrong. A rush of gratitude filled her.

  He walked toward the stallion, confident and steady. If the horse read
his body language as well as she did, he would not run. Rick caught the reins and patted Destiny’s neck. “Now come slowly.” He kept his attention on the horse but spoke to her.

  She obeyed.

  “Get on up.” He held Destiny’s head while she mounted, then said, “And don’t vent your temper on the horse again.” Though his voice was low, there was no mistaking his anger. He was a fine one to talk about temper.

  If he had just let her take Destiny down! The moment had been right for both of them; she knew it. But Rick had to control, protect. She was sick to death of that kind of protection, as though she were some invalid or idiot with no will of her own. But she bit back her retort.

  She had mishandled it and wanted this opportunity too much. He had also put himself between her and Destiny’s hooves.

  “Talk to him now.”

  She bent and stroked the stallion’s neck, felt his hide quiver, then still. “I’m sorry, Destiny. I should never have kicked, no matter how provoking your master is.” She kept her voice soothing as she nudged the horse with her knees and avoided Rick’s eyes.

  The pain in her hip proved him right. She couldn’t control the horse. Not yet. Maybe not ever if the animal pitted its strength to hers. Not even Rick had strength for that. It was in the mind, in the training, that they were able to manipulate Destiny at all. In the horse’s own willingness. And it had been there. She had sensed it, matched it, then spoiled it. She tried to find the rhythm they’d had before but couldn’t. Their connection had severed. She brought the horse to a stop and dismounted.

  Rick took the reins without speaking. She had betrayed his trust, jeopardized his progress. She shied when he reached toward her, but he only touched a finger to her jaw, a scrape she only now became aware of. “Ask Marta for something to treat that.”

  She nodded, knowing well enough the infection she could get from a scrape in a horse corral. Daddy had been manic about cleanliness, especially after contact with the horses. He’d been manic about anything threatening her health. Again the shadow, and a rush of wings in her ears. Was it Daddy?

  Rick opened the gate to let her out. “Do you mind walking down? I want to finish here.” He meant remedy the damage she’d done. He wanted time with the horse alone. She had failed him and Destiny both.