by Lisa Wingate
“No.” Below, Zach stopped the horse and tipped his hat back to look up at me. Sitting down I scooted to the edge of the cliff on my rear end. Safety first.
He pointed to the cell phone, made the naughty, naughty sign with two fingers, reminding me that all electronic devices were forbidden in Jocelyn’s horse psychology program.
Giggling into the phone, I shrugged with my palms up. Down there, bareback on the spotted horse, Zach looked very much like Tonto in my dream.
“There is something I should know about,” Collie concluded.
“No, there’s not,” I rushed out. I wasn’t ready to bring Collie or anyone else in on this thing, this … whatever it was between Zach and me. “I had a funny dream last night, that’s all. It just came back to me. I was the Lone Ranger on my horse psychology horse. You were there, and Laura, and my mom and dad, and John Wayne.” And Zach as Tonto, but I left out that part.
Collie gasped. “You had a John Wayne dream?” Covering the phone, she repeated to someone else, “She had a John Wayne dream.”
It suddenly occurred to me that she’d been repeating almost everything I said. “Collie, is someone there with you?”
“Laura.” Collie was trying very hard to sound nonchalant. “She says hi and she loves you. I came to her office to go over some things for the article before all her staff gets here this morning. We thought we’d call and see how research on the fossils was coming along.”
“Oh, give me a break.” I lowered my voice, even though I was pretty sure Zach couldn’t hear me from below. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I was girlfriend-talking about him on the phone. “You two are scoping me out, big-time.” All of a sudden it all started to make sense. The picture was disturbingly clear. “Listen, Collie, if you two have some crazy idea about Zach and me, just let it go, all right? Please? He drove me around the other day because my Jeep had a flat tire … well, and yesterday because my Jeep was stuck—long story. He helped me with my horse psychology horse, and I went along with him to fix some windmills. That’s all. End of story.”
Laughter poofed through the phone. “Was that before or after you kissed him under the Lover’s Oak?” The last word broke into a torrent of giggles, and I could hear Laura cracking up in the background.
I dropped my face into my hand, my skin on fire with embarrassment that was probably visible, even from the bottom of the cliff. “Collie … I’m warning you …”
“Those Blum sisters get around,” Collie gasped out between raucous giggles. “And you had a John Wayne dream. I had John Wayne dreams when I met True, and Laura had John Wayne dreams when she met Graham. I knew right then that she was in love. A John Wayne dream is a serious sign.”
“Oh, Collie, for heaven’s sake, that’s—”
“Have a good day, girlfriend. Have fun for a change.”
“Collie—”
“Love you.”
“Collie, you tell Laura that—”
“Laura loves you, too. ’Bye.” Click. She hung up, and the line went dead.
Rubbing my eyes, I set the phone down, trying not to consider the implications of Laura, Collie, and the Blum sisters all being in on my fledgling … whatever … with Zach. I leaned over the cliff so that I could see him.
“Morning.” His voice echoed against the rocks, … orning, orning, orning.
A rush of giddiness danced over me like goose down, tickling my skin. “Hey, you!” I called, and the echo repeated: … ey-oo, ey-oo, ey-oo. He looked good down there, bareback on the painted horse. I felt like Rapunzel in the tower. I wished I could let my hair down and pull him up.
Cupping a hand to his mouth, he hollered, “Lunch at the Big Lizard?” The echo repeated: izard, izard, izard?
“Sure,” ur, ur, ur, I answered.
“Meet you there at noon,” oon, oon, oon.
“Sounds great”—ate, ate, ate. “See you”—ooo, ooo, ooo.
Oooh, oooh, oooh. There was nothing I wanted to do more than meet Zach for lunch at the Big Lizard Diner. Except possibly jump off the cliff right now and have him catch me.
Barring that, lunch would have to do.
Down below, he waved his hat, spun the horse around, and headed back toward the barn. I watched, feeling wistful.
The day was shaping up very well, indeed.
SEVENTEEN
DAY TWO OF HORSE PSYCHOLOGY CLASS WAS AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT experience than day one. I was a star, a leader. Sleepy came to me like an old friend. I stroked his fur, rubbed his muzzle, felt his breath on my fingers, imagined my hands and Zach’s intertwined, bridging the barriers of fear.
I talked to Sleepy as if he were a person, an extension of Zach. “Hold still, wait, wait. Give me a minute,” I crooned as I tried to untangle the halter and put it on while keeping the rope off the ground, which was still slightly damp from yesterday’s rain.
Sleepy sighed, blowing a spray of horse snot on my pants. I didn’t care, really. I was completely comfortable and at ease. Sleepy knew that, and so he was relaxed, as well.
I began to see the magic of Jocelyn’s horse psychology school. You couldn’t put on airs with a horse, as we so often do with people. Horses look through the masks we wear and the things we say. They see who we really are. They gauge our intentions in a thousand invisible ways that have nothing to do with the words we say. They shy away from the barriers of fear, self-centeredness, jealousy, anger, impatience. They are drawn in by kindness, understanding, concern, openness, love.
The thing is, so are people.
I got it.
Right there in Jocelyn’s horse corral, with the flies, and the dust, and the milling college kids, and the professor scribbling in his notebook, I had an epiphany.
Trust is the invisible string that binds a relationship. Fear is the knife that severs it. Fear manifests itself in many ways—fear of being alone, fear of losing control, fear of being hurt, fear of loving too completely, fear of being unloved, fear of the future. The list went on and on.
There is no way to mix faith and fear. They repel each other like oil and water.
Jocelyn nodded approval as I led Sleepy to the second corral. She knew I got it. “Good work, Lindsey,” she said as I tied Sleepy to the railing, lifted his feet, and began cleaning them, as Jocelyn had shown us at the beginning of the lesson.
“Thanks,” I said. It was work, this learning to build relationships, not to mention picking up the feet of a thousand-pound horse and chipping out cakes of compacted muck and horse poop, but today I was doing a good job. I was a crackerjack student.
Halfway through class, I started handing out free advice.
Madison, the blonde who’d had so much trouble the day before, was having difficulty picking up her horse’s feet today. She was sure that the horse had decided again not to like her.
“See? He’s trying to kick me!” she squealed.
“He’s swishing at flies,” I said, like the old pro I was.
Crossing her arms, she gave me a murderous sneer and tossed her ponytail with a bobble-head maneuver that said, Who do you think you are? “He doesn’t like me. I swear, if I get a bad grade in this class, my dad is so gonna be at the dean’s office.”
On the fence, the professor wrote furiously on his notepad. Bratty society girl, obviously a victim of parental overprotection. Classic case of chronic overindulgence. Suffering from ego dependence. Unprepared for life in real world. In lay terms, spoiled …
I moved closer to Madison. Having just figured out the meaning of life, I was inclined to share it. “Horses don’t like or dislike people. They react only to trust, or the lack of it,” I parroted Zach’s mantra from the day before.
She vacillated, reluctant to listen to the strange, thirty-something lady in the discount-store T-shirt and the slightly out-of-style jeans.
“Well … hold his head.” She waved her fingers toward the horse, or me, or both.
“That’s against the rules.” I was patient. Surprisingly so, for me. The o
ld Lindsey would have told her to drop the royal attitude. “You have to do it yourself. All the work that really matters in life, you do yourself. Other people can’t do it for you.”
Frowning at the completely foreign concept, she slowly uncrossed her arms. “So … like, what do I do?”
“Try approaching him slowly,” I advised. “Run your hand down his legs a little at a time. Lean your shoulder against his shoulder. Let him shift his weight around and get comfortable; then lift the foot when he’s ready.”
She did, and it worked. Madison successfully cleaned her horse’s feet, and not long after that she was giving advice to Robert, the sheriff’s deputy with the bad attitude.
Around that time I checked out of horse psychology class. I was such a whiz that I got to leave early.
Jocelyn complimented me on my performance, then told me that Pop had found his Big Lizard Bottoms box, containing copies of Caroline Truitt’s journals and some photos of the tracks, and I could pick them up at the main house after lunch, when Pop returned from his domino game in town. “In the meantime,” she said with a conspiratorial smile, “I know you have other things to do.”
I wasn’t sure whether she was talking about Zach or the dinosaur mystery, and I didn’t ask. “Great! See you later.” As I untied Sleepy from the fence, the college kids glared at me like I’d just set the curve on a test.
“Teacher’s pet,” one of them grumbled as he squatted with both hands wrapped around his horse’s leg, tugging like a frog trying to pull up a lily pad.
I smiled pleasantly and said, “Try putting gentle pressure against his shoulder with your shoulder and rubbing your hand down his leg until he shifts his weight.” Then I offered a thumbs-up, adding, “Good luck,” before I took Sleepy out to the pasture, giving him a last pat and a bear hug before heading for my car.
The professor nodded and said, “Good work,” as I slipped out the gate.
“Thanks.” Masquerading as a horse psychology student was kind of fun, I decided as I untied Mr. Grits from the fence and loaded him into the car. Ranch life seemed to suit me. I liked the long, busy days close to the land, the company of the animals, and, of course, the rancher.
Giggling, I danced a quick little jig as I climbed into the driver’s seat. Dan, the grouchy ranch foreman, watched me from the barn. As usual, he looked like he’d just bitten into a lemon. Refusing to let anything dampen my spirits, I waved. I was having a zippity-do-dah day, and nobody was going to talk me out of it. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt such anticipation for whatever lay ahead. It was good to be operating without a strict plan, filled with enthusiasm and curiosity about what the day might bring. The possibilities seemed endless.
I checked the time, trying to decide what to do next. It was eleven o’clock, too early to meet Zach at the Big Lizard, but there wasn’t enough time for exploring the track site, either. The best idea was probably to go into town and find Melvin Blue. I wanted to make some field notes about the dinosaur bone in the closet, snap a picture or two, and take some measurements. I needed a more detailed look at his pretheft picture of the Jubilee tracks, so that when I picked up the Big Lizard Bottoms box from Pop this afternoon, I could go to the riverbed with a before picture in my mind. Caroline’s field notes and Pop’s old pictures of the site would also be helpful in that task.
I should have done all of that yesterday, I reminded myself with a small measure of guilt. This afternoon I needed to stick to business. I had to avoid becoming all light-headed and moony over Zach Truitt and getting coerced into being his assistant windmill fixer, or anything else—at least until after my work was done.
But even as I lectured myself, as I tried to focus on calculations about the age of the stolen Acrocanthosaurus tracks and the dimensions of Melvin’s dinosaur bone, and whether it could be from a tyrannosaurus, I found myself, instead, pondering lunch with Zach. I couldn’t wait to tell him how well Sleepy and I had worked together. Zach would be impressed. He would wink and say it was because I had private lessons; then he’d grin in that slow, lopsided way that sent a glimmer all the way to my toes.
When I thought about that, the dinosaur mystery hardly seemed important, and all I wanted to do was spend the day fixing windmills. I fell into a daydream as I stopped the car, allowing a slow-moving line of cattle to cross the driveway. In my mind I was Rancher Woman, rescuer of trapped horses, defender of threatened fossil sites, dog trainer, windmill mechanic, and romantic lead in whatever cowboy adventure Zach was starring in today.
I wished I knew the script… .
A rumbling diesel engine broke into my thoughts, and Mr. Grits sat at attention as I glanced in the rearview mirror. A truck was speeding along the road behind me, kicking up a cloud of dust that obliterated the view for a half mile. For an instant, I imagined that it was Zach, but this truck was dark and his was tan. A dark-colored truck … like the one I’d seen in the woods last night.
Slowing the SUV, I pulled over in a grassy spot to let the truck pass, so I could see who was driving.
Dan, the ranch manager, passed by without looking my way—as if, out here in the middle of the prairie, he hadn’t noticed my Jeep beside the road. The squeal of brakes cut the quiet air as he turned the corner ahead.
Suspect number two: grouchy ranch manager with latent resentment toward horse psychology camp. Feels position on ranch is threatened. Possible motive—revenge or sinister plot to blame fossil theft on presence of tourists on ranch …
What if it really was him at the fossil site the night before? Then again, what if the truck I saw by the river last night was there on some official ranch business, making a night check of cattle or trying to chase away those annoying coyotes? What if I’d given Gracie an erroneous report of a suspicious dark pickup prowling around the river in the dark?
The vehicle disappeared around a curve, and I pulled out again. Dan could be the insider Jocelyn was worried about—someone who would have known the ranch schedules, and could have told the fossil thieves when the cabin by the river would be empty.
But if he knew I was in the cabin last night, why would he come down to the track site? Was he trying to frighten me off? Or was he just a harmless old coot, completely uninvolved with the fossil theft, just resentful of the tourists invading his territory? A dark truck and squeaky brakes weren’t much to go on. I’d have to try to ferret out more information.
Pondering the mystery, I drove to town. By the time I reached Melvin’s store, I had decided that a few tactful questions about the sour-faced ranch manager might be in order. I phrased and rephrased them in my mind as I parked in the shade, cracked the windows to give Mr. Grits some air, and headed up the steps to the store.
There was a note on the window that said, Back at one, so I drove over to the Big Lizard to see if Melvin was there having an extended lunch.
Vanita met me at the door to the dining car, which at the moment was full of old folks playing dominoes. I wondered if Pop was in there somewhere.
“Come on in. Lordy, these flies are terrible.” Vanita gave me a little hug around the shoulders, pulling me into the coach and squeezing us through the doorway area, which was crowded with extra domino players and chairs. “Well, how are y’all today?”
I glanced over my shoulder. Y’all … who? Did she know that I had more than one personality in here? “Great,” I answered.
Glancing out the door, she knitted her dark brows, which were out of keeping with her graying hair. “Oh, I just figured Zach would be with you, considering that—” Popping her mouth shut, she snapped to attention, just short of saying too much, I had a feeling.
The domino players paused in their games and regarded me with interest. From the far end of the room, Pop waved, and said, “Hiya … uhhh … Lin … Lindsey.”
I waved back, feeling like an exotic specimen in one of the glass cages at the zoo. Clearly the Blum sisters had spilled the news about the incident at the Lover’s Oak.
“Actually, I was
hoping to catch Melvin,” I replied, and Vanita looked perplexed.
“Oooh. About the bones in the closet?”
I jerked back, wondering if anyone else had heard. Fortunately, the domino players had returned to their games, all except for the Blum sisters, who were eagle-eyeing us from three booths away. “I wanted to take some measurements,” I said.
The Blum sister on the right gasped and whispered to the Blum sister on the left, who blinked in astonishment.
“Why, sure,” Vanita replied, shooing me toward the exit. “You go right ahead. The door’s open over there. I’m keepin’ an eye on the store while Melvin’s gone to San Saline. Luckily we don’t have too many customers this time of day.”
“Thanks.” I wondered when, exactly, rush hour started at the Over the Moon. “If Zach shows up, tell him I’ll be back in a minute. We’re supposed to meet for lunch.”
Looking pleased, Vanita nodded as she held open the screen. “Oh, I know. He called while ago.” Her tone made me wonder if Zach was up to something, but I didn’t ask, because the Blum sisters were listening in. They had enough ammunition already. In the third booth on the left, they were retelling the story of the infamous dog chase. I heard it while trying to squeeze past Vanita in the doorway.
“… thought maybe it was some kind of a drunk, driving across the pasture like that. Looked like one of them four-wheel-drive commercials. And I said to Iris, ‘Iris, we’d better see what’s goin’ on down there. Might be some joyriding teenager’s made off with the Jubilee Ranch truck, and we need to call the county sheriff.’ So Iris and I loaded up and we drove down there, we did, and there they were. That pretty girl with the dark hair and Zach Truitt, parked smack-dab under the Lover’s Oak. Wasn’t no little chitchat going on, either, let me tell you. They were wrapped around each other like lizards on a beanpole. Full-frontal kiss …”
I let the door slam behind me, cutting off the rest. Good God, what a mess. By the time the Blum sisters got through with the story, there was no telling what everyone would be thinking about Zach and me.
