by Chris Platt
She waited until the herd trotted into their pen, then went to join the boys. “Duncan, where’s the paint filly?” She tried to keep the concern out of her voice, but she could tell by her brother’s smile that he saw right through her. Later, when he decided it was time to talk, he’d probably lecture her about not falling in love with a horse they were going to sell.
He nodded his head toward the mountain. She shaded her eyes from the sun and saw the lone horse hobbling down the hillside trail. “What happened?” she cried in alarm.
Wyatt rode up beside her and dismounted. He towered over Jessie by six inches. When he smiled down at her, it made her stomach do a funny little flip. She cleared her throat nervously and took a step backwards, waiting for him to speak.
“Your little filly hurt her foot about five miles back,” he said as he led his horse to the water trough. “She couldn’t keep up with the herd, but we made sure she stayed within sight. You might want to walk Rusty out there and see if she’ll follow him into the corral. That’d be a big help. She’ll need to be kept apart from the others for a few days.”
Her little filly? Was she that easy to read? Jessica glanced around for her father. She didn’t want him to have any idea how much she liked the paint horse. All she’d get was a lecture. She already expected one from Duncan. Her chances of owning the beautiful horse had gone up in smoke the moment the lightning struck.
Jessica grabbed Rusty’s halter from the rail of his corral and slipped it over his head. She had to stand on her toes to buckle it because the gelding held his head high, keeping his eye on the lone horse making its way down the trail. “Come on, pal.” She tugged on the lead rope and led him through the gate. Let’s give your new friend an escort back to the ranch.”
Rusty walked at her side, his head bobbing as he eagerly drew closer to the black-and-white filly. Jessica kept the pace slow. Doctor Altom had told her to take him for slow, short walks, but cautioned her not to stress his damaged lungs. Already, she could hear the horse’s breathing grow heavy and they hadn’t even left the stable yard.
They walked another hundred yards and Jessica stopped near the sagebrush line. “We’ll stop right here and wait for her,” she said. Rusty dropped his head and cropped a small tuft of desert grass at their feet. “Eat now, while it’s still green,” she told him as she let Rusty pull her along to the next bunch of greenery. “As hot as it’s getting, it won’t be long before it’ll all be dried up and yellow.”
It always amazed her that the high desert could be so green at the start of summer, and yet within six to eight weeks would take on the muted gold and tan colors of a drought-ridden state. It wouldn’t be long before her father would take their cattle to the high mountain pastures nearby. Without that rich mountain grass, they’d have a tough time putting weight on the calves before they sent them to market.
Jessica watched the filly pick her way gingerly down the path, remembering the mad dash the paint had made into the lightning-filled hills the night the barn burned just a few days ago. “I think I’ll call you Storm Chaser,” she said when the horse came within earshot. “Chase for short.”
At the sound of her voice, Storm Chaser pricked her ears and stared at her with intelligent eyes. Jessica’s heart melted. Chase was the most beautiful horse they’d ever had on this ranch. She reached over to rub Rusty’s neck. Not that she didn’t love Rusty with all her heart. All horses had their own beauty, but the gelding didn’t have the conformation of a purebred, and his coat was plain.
Chase’s short, well-shaped head and her broad chest and hindquarters showed her quarter horse ancestry. A paint horse could only be registered with the American Paint Horse Registry if it had quarter horse or Thoroughbred lineage. If there were any other breed in the line, it had to go to the Pinto Registry.
The filly stopped twenty feet from where they stood. Rusty nickered a warm welcome and Chase returned the gesture. Jessica tugged on the gelding’s halter. “Let’s show her the way home, old man.”
Her father was the only one left in the stable yard when they returned. He watched their approach, and Jessica knew he was assessing the filly’s limp, trying to determine how badly she’d injured it.
“Let her follow Rusty into his pen,” her father said.
Jessica smiled. It made sense that the two horses needing care would be put in the same pen—and they just happened to be her two favorite horses on the ranch. Chase seemed at ease with Rusty, and it would certainly make it easier for Jessica to get acquainted with the pretty paint.
Her dad opened the gate to the corral and waited for them to enter. “She seems to like the old guy, and he’s definitely taken a shine to her,” he said. “Rusty’s calm influence will help in getting this filly gentled, and maybe the company will give Rusty something to live for.”
Jessica wanted to shout with joy. Now would be the perfect time to ask her father again about training. She removed the halter from Rusty’s head and turned back to face her father. “Um, Dad, since Storm Chaser is going to be sharing a pen with Rusty, would it be okay if I started working with her?”
Jessica cringed inside as soon as the paint’s new name escaped her lips. She drew a deep breath, watching the way her father’s eyes narrowed. He’d warned her a million times not to name the new horses or get too attached to them. Jessica crossed her fingers, praying he’d ignore her slip-up and say yes to the training.
“Jess, I know you mean well, honey…”
He might as well have put his thoughts in neon lights over his head. She knew what was coming next.
“I still think you’re a little too young to start breaking horses,” her father continued.
“But Duncan was younger than I am right now when he started.” She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned.
Her father removed his hat and slapped it across his leg. “But Duncan was bigger and stronger. He’s, well, a…”
“A boy?” Jessie finished the words for her father. It cut her to the quick to know he thought that way. She could train a horse just as well as any stupid boy if her father would only give her a chance. “You’re not being fair,” she said. Her voice came out ragged as she fought against her anger.
“That’s not what I meant, Jessica Lynn. You have to be good and strong to be able to handle these unbroke animals.” He plopped the hat back on his head, snugging it down like he expected a storm.
Jessica knew the argument was over. Her father only used her middle name when he was at the end of his patience.
“You can try to get the halter on that filly, and I’ll be grateful if you do,” he said, in a voice that brooked no argument. “But the breaking will be left to Duncan. Maybe we’ll get you started next season when you’ve got a little more meat on your bones, Jess.”
Jessica watched her father walk away. There was a sadness in his face when he turned and left. She knew it pained him to say no, but he’d done it just the same.
She turned back to the horse pen, the halter still in her hand. “I don’t supposed you’d let me walk up and put this on you?” she said to Storm Chaser. The paint cocked her ears at the sound of Jessica’s voice, but she maneuvered to stand behind Rusty, keeping a safe distance from Jessica. She moved as if her foot pained her terribly. Jess knew they needed to get Chase gentled quickly so they could treat her hoof.
She dug into her pocket, pulling out the carrot she’d stashed there before coming down to prepare the pen. She snapped it in half, and Rusty immediately recognized the sound. He stepped forward boldly, leaving the paint to fend for herself while he munched happily on the treat.
“You could have one too, you know.” She bit off a smaller piece and offered it to Chase in the flat of her hand.
The little horse sniffed the air, her nostrils widening as she tried to take in the scent. Jessica moved forward one step, holding her breath and praying that she could get close enough for the filly to take the tidbit out of her hand. Chase stood still through one more footstep, t
hen retreated to a safe distance, eyeing her warily.
Jessica’s shoulders slumped. Maybe her father was right. Maybe she needed to wait one more year before she took up training horses. How could she train Chase when she couldn’t even get a halter on her?
“You were handled by people once,” she told Chase. “Don’t you remember? You were brought into the Lightfoots’ barn at five months old with the rest of the colts and fillies and handled for the rest of the winter. Then they turned all of you out to the desert for a couple of years to play and grow.” She sighed. “I guess you forgot everything about people when you were out in the wild. I’ve got to help you remember what it was like when you trusted humans. You’re three years old now. It’s time for you to learn to carry a rider.”
She grabbed the stiff-bristled brush from the bucket outside the corral and ran it over Rusty’s coat, whisking the dirt and loose hairs away with a flick of her wrist. Chase remained on the other side of the gelding. If Jessica stood on her toes and stretched across Rusty’s back, she could reach the filly’s shoulder with the brush.
At first, Storm Chaser startled at the touch of the grooming tool, but after a few more strokes, she stood still, her lips twitching in appreciation. The paint probably thought it was Rusty giving her a scratch. Jessica leaned a little further over Rusty’s back, trying to reach more of Chase, but when the filly saw her arm move, she stepped nervously to the rail and stayed out of reach.
Duncan appeared outside the corral. Jessica was surprised to see him. She hadn’t heard him approach. “She doesn’t want me to touch her,” Jessica said with a frown as she tossed the brush back into the bucket.
“Give it some time,” Duncan suggested. “She’s been wild for the last couple of years. It doesn’t happen all in one day.”
Jessica didn’t care. She wanted it to happen now. They needed to look at that injured hoof before infection set in. “So what should I do?”
“You’ve got Rusty to help you,” Duncan said. “A lot of the time these young horses take their cues from the older ones. They look to see how the older horse reacts to a situation and they act the same way.”
“Gee, thanks!” Jessica called after Duncan’s retreating form.
Duncan looked back over his shoulder. “You’ll figure it out, Jess.”
Jessica knew she wouldn’t get any more out of Duncan right now. He’d said plenty. She’d have to sort this one out on her own. She leaned her elbows on the fence and observed the two horses for a while. Sure enough, everywhere Rusty went, Storm Chaser followed like a little puppy. The filly limped along behind him, walking when he walked, stopping when he stopped. The paint watched Rusty drink from the water trough and sidled up beside him, sticking her muzzle deep into the trough.
An idea suddenly occurred to Jessica. She knew her father and brother would recommend soaking the hoof to draw out any infection. She quickly ran to the tool shed and dragged a couple of old wooden saw horses over to Rusty’s feeder, blocking off the sides so the horses would have to stand directly in front of the feeder to eat.
Next she went to the old pig pen and found the rectangular feeder they used for the weaner pigs they’d raised last season. The feeder was long and shallow. It would work perfectly for soaking the foot of a reluctant horse. After washing the container thoroughly, Jessica lugged several buckets of warm water from the house and gathered some Epsom salts and vinegar. She’d watched her father use these ingredients before. They worked together to draw the infection out of a wound.
Rusty watched calmly, but Storm Chaser snorted in surprise as Jessica brought the metal pig feeder into the corral and placed it in front of the manger where the horses ate. Next, she poured in the warm water and added the Epsom salts and vinegar.
Rusty stepped forward and sniffed the strange concoction, lifting his upper lip and making a funny horse face. “I know it stinks,” Jessica told him with a laugh. “Like my dad always says, ‘The worse it smells, the better the medicine.’”
Chase stood far back from the odd-smelling brew. Jessica hoped her plan would work. She went to the hay pile and grabbed a big armload of hay. Rusty saw her coming and nickered in excitement. He loved to eat.
Jessica tossed the hay into the feeder and stepped back to see if the horses would venture into the water to get to the food. Rusty gave the pig feeder a suspicious look and lowered his head to sniff the water. He stood for several moments, pondering the situation.
“Come on, Rusty,” she pleaded. “I’m counting on you.”
The old gelding put one foot in the water and snorted. Jessica was sure he was going to turn and run for the other end of the pen, but his belly got the better of him. He put both feet in the pig feeder and stretched his neck toward the manger full of grass hay.
Chase wandered closer. Jessica noticed that when the filly stood still, she shifted the weight off her hurt foot. Her injury seemed to be getting worse. After a few minutes of assessing the situation, the paint apparently realized that Rusty was eating all the good stuff. She hobbled to within a few feet of the hay.
Jessica had to put her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing as Chase contorted her body this way and that, trying to get to the hay without stepping into the water. Rusty continued to munch away, turning his head now and then to look at the filly.
Finally, Storm Chaser could stand it no longer and stuck one foot into the water. Jessie was glad Rusty had his two front feet and most of his weight planted in the pig feeder, because Chase snorted loudly and pulled her foot out of the water with such force, it would have upset the entire thing if Rusty hadn’t been standing in it.
“Come on, Chase, you can do this,” Jessica said encouragingly as the little paint moved forward and sniffed the water. This time when she stuck a foot in, she pawed at the metal feeder, sending water all over herself and Rusty. She played around for a few more moments, trying to figure it out. Then she took her cue from the calm old gelding and lowered her injured foot gingerly into the water, pushing her muzzle into the hay.
“That’s my girl!” Jessie crowed, but not loud enough to spook the filly. She hoped she’d put enough hay in the feeder to keep the horses standing still for at least another half-hour. That would go a long way to helping Chase’s foot.
Jessica sat on a bucket outside the fence and watched the horses eat. From time to time Rusty would poke his nose at the filly, letting her know he was boss. “Be a gentleman,” Jessica scolded. “She’s your guest.”
“Hey, Jess!” Duncan called as he came up behind her. He stopped and looked at the two horses standing in the container of water. “Whew!” he said, wrinkling his nose. “Smells like Dad’s drawing liniment.”
Jessica smiled. “Maybe.”
Duncan tousled her hair. “Pretty smart. Dad will be impressed that you came up with that one.”
Jessica couldn’t help but feel proud. It felt good to do something right for a change. Her father and brother seemed to come by their horse knowledge naturally, but it was a whole lot harder for her.
Duncan nodded toward the house. “Dinner is ready a little early. Dad wants to have another one of his family meetings. Why don’t you toss another flake of hay into the feeder so that filly can soak her foot a little longer?”
Jessica placed a flake of hay in the feeder from Rusty’s side, being careful not to startle the younger horse. “I’ll be back later,” she promised, then turned and followed Duncan back to the house.
She wondered what her father would have to say this time. “Please let it be something good,” she whispered to herself as she climbed the back steps. At this point, she didn’t think her family could take another slam of bad news.
SEVEN
Jessica took her cue from the somber look on her father’s face. She slipped quietly into her chair at the dinner table. Her dad needed to stop handing out bad news in the kitchen or they’d all end up with ulcers after every meal. She put her napkin in her lap and waited.
Her father picked
up the platter of chicken and took two big pieces. Jess knew he was trying to act as if everything was normal, but she knew better. Things were not normal, and wouldn’t be anytime soon.
As the food was being passed around, Mr. Warner began, “I’m sure everyone has noticed the travel agents who’ve paid us visits all year long?”
Duncan couldn’t hide his grin. “Kind of hard to notice when you chase them off so quickly.”
Jessica wasn’t sure the mood was right for joking. She quickly took a bite of a chicken leg to stop herself from laughing.
The corner of her father’s mouth turned up in a half-smile. “Well, all that’s about to change soon.” He glanced at his wife, who nodded encouragingly. “Your mother and I have decided to give the dude ranch idea a shot.”
Jessica’s mouth dropped open.
Her father continued, “Starting tomorrow, we’re going to clean out the old bunk rooms and get them ready for guests. Wild Hawk Ranch is about to change.”
Jessica wanted to jump from her chair and yell, Yes! but she sat tight. Beside her, Duncan frowned.
“We’ve got a lot of work to do, folks,” her mother said.
“And we’ll need something safe for the city slickers to ride,” her father reminded them. “We can borrow a couple of gentle horses and tack from the Lightfoots to begin. I want to start small to make sure we can handle this. And find out if it’s what we want.”
Jessica took the salad bowl from Duncan and put two big scoops of mixed lettuce and a bunch of cherry tomatoes on her plate.
“According to one of the travel agents, some of the visitors may be real horsemen who are looking for someplace different to vacation with their animals. They’ll bring all their horses and tack with them. It’s the new ‘in’ thing to do,” he said with a chuckle.
Jessica hoped that some of those visitors would be kids her own age. Summer vacation had barely started, and already she was lonely.
She thought about Marybeth and felt a small twinge of guilt. The younger girl considered Jessica her best friend. But Jessica couldn’t help wishing for someone more her own age to be best friends with. The visitors would only be temporary guests, but it would be nice to have other kids around the ranch—especially if they were horse crazy like her.
