Takin' The Reins

by Stacey Coverstone

  A screeching lightning strike jolted her. It sounded like it had hit the barn or something near the house. She scrambled off the bed and fumbled to switch on a light. The power was out! She felt her body with her hands and realized she was wearing jeans and a tee shirt. She remembered hauling herself to bed after talking to Wyatt, but she must have fallen asleep in her clothes.

  Running into the kitchen, she screamed when another boom shook the earth. Rain slashed at the windows. The casings rattled. Through the wild noise, she could hear the horses whinnying outdoors. Her foggy mind raced. Were they still in the field? Had she fallen asleep before bringing them into the barn? If so, they must be scared to death. She’d never forgive herself if they were struck by lightning.

  She frantically searched through the kitchen drawers for a flashlight. When she finally found one, she switched it on. Thank God it worked. Running back to the bedroom, she aimed the beam into the closet and yanked a summer rain jacket off its hanger and stuck her feet into her cowboy boots. She had to get the horses and Houdini out of the field and into the safety of the barn.

  Flinging open the front door, she was met with fierce wind and rain that pelted her face and hands. She sprinted toward the barn. Rounding the corner, she thought for a split second that she was dreaming or seeing a mirage. A truck with a horse trailer hitched to it was backed up to the barn. Was it Wyatt’s truck? She couldn’t tell. Rain battered her eyes. Through the howling wind, Jordan heard the distinguishable bleats of Houdini’s cries, but she couldn’t tell from which direction they came. Wasn’t he with the horses? Could he have escaped again and was calling out from somewhere other than the pasture?

  Her gaze latched onto the truck once more. The scene was surreal. Her feet felt weighted with lead as she watched a man slam the trailer gate closed. When lightning flashed again, he turned and she caught a glimpse of the unshaven face of Cimarron Cruz. Rain splashed off the brim of his worn hat. He’d seen her! His lip curled into an evil grin.

  “Hey, Joe!” she heard him holler. “She’s out here!”

  The driver jumped out of the truck and Cruz began plodding toward her. Jordan knew this wasn’t a mirage, and she was in big trouble. Were they going to attack her? Kidnap her? Alone and helpless with only a flashlight as a weapon, she spun on her boot heel and ran for her life. Her chest heaved as she slipped and slid over the ground that was quickly turning to mud. Fear gripped her—fear that at any moment she’d feel Cruz’s icy hand on her neck. She glanced over her shoulder to see if the two men were upon her. Tripping over her own feet, she fell flat into the mud and struggled to get up as the rain beat down, soaking her to the skin.

  “She fell! I’ll get her, Joe!” Cruz yelled.

  Jordan had to get to the house. She couldn’t let them catch her. With a burst of adrenaline, she pushed herself out of the muck.

  “Shit!” She heard Cruz’s curse, craned her head, and saw he’d fallen and was mired in mud. She ran like the devil to the apple tree. When she turned again, she heard Campbell yell, “Leave her! Let’s get outta here!”

  Huddled under the tree, she saw Cruz wrestle his way out of the mud and jog back to the truck. Wiping the rain from her eyes, she watched—as if she were in a dream—as he jumped into the passenger side of the truck and its wheels began to churn. The cry of a horse in the back of the trailer captured her attention. She also heard bleating coming from the barn. Another lightning strike reminded her she was under a tree—not a good place to be standing in a storm.

  Filthy, wet and scared, she ran to the corner of the barn and peeked around. When the truck tires caught and the pickup finally started slogging away, she spied Buttercup’s white tail flipping up and down inside the trailer. She slapped a hand across her mouth to squelch a scream. The pickup turned and grinded its way over unfenced land that led into the desert. Although she thought it strange that it didn’t travel down her driveway, there wasn’t any time to contemplate further. They had Buttercup, and Houdini was somewhere crying for help. When the taillights grew dim and she was sure they weren’t coming back, Jordan dashed into the barn and found Houdini lying on his side, hogtied on the ground.

  “Maaaaa. Maaaaa,” he bawled. Tears of panic washed over her and stung her eyes as she tried, but failed, to loosen the tight knots binding his feet. Racing into the tack room, she searched for a sharp tool—anything that would cut well. Locating a rusty pocketknife, she rushed back to the goat and sawed at the ropes until they broke. When she helped him stand, Houdini thanked her by rubbing his horns against her hip. Before she could stop him, he made a mad dash out the barn door, sniffing with his nose to the ground like a hound dog. Apparently catching the mare’s scent, he tore off into the desert.

  “Maaaaa! Maaaaa!”

  “Houdini! Come back here!” Jordan’s fingers flew into her jacket pockets. She felt around in them, thinking her car keys would be there. But why would they be? She hadn’t had an occasion to wear a rain jacket until now. She considered running back to the house to get the keys, but there was no time. She’d lose the goat in the storm if she didn’t follow him right then. Jordan began the chase.

  It was dark. Houdini was black. She couldn’t see him so she called out his name, but her voice got lost on the wind. Because of the heavy downpour, the ground was sketchy, and rocks washed to the surface. Stumbling more than once, she knew she had to be careful or she’d end up twisting an ankle, or worse. She also had to be careful of the scrub brush and thorny cactus that populated the landscape.

  She ran as fast and as far as she could in the clunky cowboy boots until she was panting and out of breath. Shining a wide arc across the ground with her flashlight, Jordan saw two sets of tire tracks. Confusion momentarily set in. Which of the tracks belonged to the truck that carried Buttercup? Which way did they go? The desert looked different at night, particularly in a raging storm. She knew the main road paralleled her ranch, but she didn’t know how far away that road was. Turning in circles, she’d lost her sense of direction and was off kilter. She couldn’t figure out how the truck had disappeared so fast, or to where it had disappeared.

  “Houdini!” Though she had visually lost sight of the goat, she could still hear his bleats. Her good sense told her it was irrational to be running after a goat in a dangerous thunderstorm, but another side of her told her to keep moving. The rascal was ornery, but she didn’t know if he was strong enough to survive the harsh elements. She had to catch him and take him home, or he could die. She trudged along, battling against the wind and rain and prickly cactus until she thought her heart was going to explode.

  “Houdini! Where are you?” she cried over and over. Bending, she braced her hands on her knees and tried to catch her breath. Soaked to the skin and freezing cold, she wrapped her arms around herself, shaking and shivering as cold rain poured down her face. She jumped and screamed each time thunder crashed or lightning slashed the sky. At least Buttercup was warm and safe in the trailer, she kept thinking. But Houdini was a small animal with no protection but his short hair. She had to find him. Jordan moved on, not knowing in which direction to turn or from which direction she’d come. The desert stretched for miles. Feeling completely lost and disoriented, she began to weep.

  “Houdini!” she called again.

  If he returned her calls, she couldn’t hear him from the howling of the wind. She pushed wet strands of hair from her face and searched the area for a landmark; anything she might recognize. Her feet were numb with cold. Looking up, the sky was a canvas of black, as thick as oil, except where lightning flashed.

  When a bolt struck a tree and cracked it in half, she shrieked and then dumbly watched it catch fire. Please, God, she prayed. I don’t know which way to turn, or where to go. She walked for what seemed like hours in her disoriented state. Her boots sloshed with water and her ungloved fingers felt like sticks of ice that would break if she bent them. A sense of overwhelming isolation flooded her. Letting her tears flow, they mixed with the harsh rain and fro
ze on her cheeks, as she stood rooted to the hard ground. Along with having lost all hope of finding Houdini, she realized she could not find her way home. Confused, tired and her body feeling like petrified wood, she had the urge to lie down and curl up in a ball. Then like a miracle, the wind retreated and Jordan thought she heard a weak cry.

  “Houdini!”

  Weak, but digging deep inside to find the strength to carry on, she shuffled toward the sound, hoping it wasn’t nature playing a cruel trick on her. Her feet hit something hard and…snap! She felt her ankle pop, and she hurtled through the air. When her hip banged against a sharp rock, she knew she wasn’t dreaming. Pain shot through her body as she tumbled head over heels and landed on the ground with a solid thud. With the wind knocked out of her, she could barely breathe for a few moments. Lying on her side, she lifted her foot and excruciating pain caused her to scream out loud. Her back hurt, too. If any bones were broken, she wouldn’t know because the cold had frozen her stiff. The frigid rain continued to pummel her. Exhausted, she buried her head into the crook of her elbow. Distress and misery were her only companions. Not knowing what else to do, she prayed until her world went black.

  ~ * ~

  When she woke, the rain had blessedly let up. Thunder continued to roll over the sky, although softer now, but the bitter cold remained her enemy. It was still dark, but at least it was easier to focus now that the rain was no longer assaulting her. Wincing in terrible discomfort, she managed to pull herself up on her elbows so she could gaze around.

  It seemed she’d fallen into a ditch. Steep walls of mud and rock were in front and behind her jutting up like cliffs. A long gully stretched out on either side. It hit her in an instant. She was in an arroyo. In one of his lessons on New Mexico geography, Wyatt had described an arroyo to her. Panic lodged in every cell of her body. How would she get out of here? Her foot throbbed. It might be broken. She didn’t think she could walk. Her head ached. She was dizzy and lightheaded with pain and fright.

  Where was her flashlight? She felt around her, with no luck. When she tried to roll onto her hands and knees, searing pain stabbed her foot like a dagger. With the wind blowing fiercely down the arroyo, Jordan could not stop her teeth from chattering or her body from shaking uncontrollably. She didn’t know how long she’d been unconscious or how long she could last. Her breaths were shallow and she felt so weak. The wind cut through her thin jacket. She laid back and shut her eyes.

  The memory of being a Girl Scout in Colorado played across her mind like a motion picture. She remembered being taught never to go to sleep if you were caught in a snowstorm. Too late for that, she thought, since she’d already drifted off once. The leaders had warned the girls over and over to keep moving. Warm blood circulates. If you go to sleep when the temperature drops, you may never wake up. Maybe she could crawl up the side of the arroyo. She tried to sit up and move again, but it was no use. Her body would not cooperate. Every movement caused severe agony.

  I’m going to freeze to death. Coyotes might eat me. No one will ever find me down here. I’ll never see Wyatt again. His rugged face shone in front of her like a beacon. Help me, Brannigan. Her lips could no longer move. They were cracked and sore, so she sent the message with her mind. Come, my darling. I need you. He’ll hear me. He’ll come for me, she thought. She lifted her hand and reached out to touch his face—the face in front of her that seemed so real. Then he disappeared. She had no strength left to moan, let alone cry.

  She lay on her back staring into the dark sky, imagining it was the hot Southwestern sun beating down on her skin. If she thought hard enough, perhaps she could will herself warm again. Doubtful, but it was worth a try. Closing her eyes, she concentrated as much as her wandering mind would allow.

  “Maaaaa.”

  Her eyes rolled open. What was that?

  “Maaaaa!”

  There it was again. Was the wind playing tricks on her? She strained to focus. Two black, beady eyeballs peered down from the ridge above.

  “Maaaaa!” the figure repeated, this time louder and with more urgency.

  It couldn’t be. Could it? Was it Houdini or a figment of her imagination?

  “Maaaaa,” the goat bellowed.

  Jordan stretched out her hand and whispered in a cracked, hoarse voice, “Houdini.” She watched, mesmerized and amazed, as the animal gingerly waddled down the side of the arroyo on his tiny hoofed feet. She wasn’t convinced he was real, or if he was a cold-induced hallucination, until he reached her side and nudged. She touched a finger to his nose. He was real and his nose was as cold as an icicle.

  “You found me,” she whispered. Every bit of her strength was gone. Houdini must have sensed her distress because he crawled on top of her and nuzzled her neck. The weight of his body didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt anymore. She was just glad to have him with her. Jordan closed her eyes again and went to sleep.

  Chapter Eighteen

  When rolling thunder woke Wyatt, he knew something wasn’t right. He felt it in his gut. Jordan. He glanced at the watch he never removed from his wrist because the face glowed in the dark. It was five o’clock in the morning. He tried the lamp on the table next to the bed. No power.

  Flinging himself out of bed, he stuffed his legs into a pair of jeans and his feet into boots. He threw on a shirt, grabbed his cell phone from off the bureau, and bundled up in a jacket. On the way out, he grabbed the big flashlight he kept in the laundry room. While running out the door, he slipped on some gloves and adjusted a baseball cap so it fit snuggly on his head.

  He gunned his pickup and splashed through puddles before turning onto the main road. A sense of dread grew, causing his pulse to quicken as he closed in on the Lucky Seven. It didn’t matter who he might wake with his squealing tires. He barreled up the drive and slammed on the brakes. The truck jolted to a stop, and he dove out and sprinted up the newly paved sidewalk. The front door hung open and the screen door banged against the house. With an ever-tightening chest, he ran inside and called out her name. Her bed was empty. He flipped a light switch. The electricity was off here, too. Racing out the door, he hustled to the barn, all the while yelling her name. The wind was harsh—whipping at his face and blowing through his coat, cutting at his legs. There were no horses in the stalls. He ran outside and flashed the light on the ground and saw tire tracks in the mud, heading into the open field.

  Following the tracks, he saw human and hoof prints in the same direction. Striding to the pasture, he swung the flashlight beam around. The herd was huddled together; all except Buttercup. No sign of the goat, either. This was a bad sign. Wyatt rushed back to his truck and slammed it into four-wheel drive. He turned into the field. As he tracked the footprints with his high beams on, only one thing was on his mind—finding Jordan.

  Obviously the footprints were hers, sure as the hoof prints were that ornery goat’s. What would have made her come out in this God-awful weather? That damn goat must have escaped again. But how would she have known? Why would she have been up so early in the morning? Probably the storm had awakened her, but surely she had more sense than to go out in a thunderstorm looking for an animal that had caused her nothing but trouble. Wyatt shook his head knowing she had a soft spot, just as Lydia had.

  As he drove over ruts and past scrub, he worried that she was not dressed for the foul weather. She was a newcomer to New Mexico and didn’t know how cold it could get, even in the summer. With this storm, the nighttime temperature had dropped to a bitter thirty degrees, according to the gauge on the dashboard. He prayed she wore a coat, boots and gloves. At least her tracks were clear and easy to follow. Maybe he’d spot her in a matter of minutes.

  In short time, he came across a downed tree that looked like it had recently been hit by lightning. Something lay twisted on the ground several feet from it. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. Dear God, don’t let it be… He threw the truck into park and jumped out. Running to the tree, he was overcome with relief to discover it was only a large burnt
limb. He jogged back to the pickup and put it in gear again. Continuing along the ruts and dips in the ground, he peered through the windshield into the hazy shadows as he drove slowly, praying, and searching for any kind of movement amongst the scrub. At one point, he saw something stir, but it was only a huge jackrabbit that had been standing on its hind legs. When Wyatt kicked a rock, it hopped into a cluster of sagebrush.

  God. Let me find her alive. Protect her in this storm. Keep her safe until I can get to her. I’ve been waiting for this woman all my life. Don’t let me lose her now.

  Thankfully, the sun began to inch into the sky, slowly spreading light over the desert. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard and it read almost six o’clock. The time had flown. Where could she be? How far could she have gone in the storm? A voice inside his head told him to stop. He knew this area. A deep arroyo was just ahead. He shut off the engine and rolled down the window. In the past ten minutes, the wind had died down and the rain dissipated.

  As the sun rose, muted stripes of pink and orange were painted across the gray-blue sky. Wyatt stuck his head out the window and listened to the sounds of the desert—light drops of rain hitting the ground, the distant roll of thunder, the scurrying of lizards under the scrub, and the twitters of birds hiding in mesquite trees. She’s near. I can feel her. He placed his hand over his heart, but it was as if he felt hers beating.

  “She’s alive,” he whispered.

  “Cak-cak-cak!” He stepped out of the truck and looked up. Stiff wing beats captured his attention. A brown hawk glided above, screeching out to him. Native Americans believed birds carried magical powers. He could use any help he could get.

  “Lead me to her,” he implored the hawk. As the hawk flapped ahead, Wyatt followed its path on foot, and the bird led him to the arroyo. Cupping his hand to his mouth, he shouted Jordan’s name, his deep voice stretching out across the desert.