by Carol Devine
"No strangers here. You know who I am. KSY Stables. Shane Youngblood. Grizzly Springs. Small town up the road?"
She toed the pavement, uncertain.
Where was his giant championship belt buckle when he needed it? Shane jerked his thumb toward his trailer. "My horse, Jukebox. You want to say hello?"
"Jukebox?"
"I'll show you," he said.
Shane sprinted to the trailer, unlocked it, opened the door and pulled the ramp. Jukebox bunched his powerful hindquarters, neighing and jerking his head, but Shane had trained the horse well. Jukebox backed out and Shane seized his halter, unbuckled his blanket, pulled it off and wheeled him around.
The girl's mouth dropped open in what could only be described as a combination of shock and amazement. Jukebox was impressive. A full-blooded Quarter Horse chestnut gelding with a goldish mane, he stood 17 hands tall and competed in reining competitions across the nation.
Shane led him forward. "Meet Jukebox. He thinks he's a lover, a singer, and a performer, in that order."
She hesitated, squinting in the sun. Yep, he'd gone and done something flat out nuts. Better than being a rapist or serial killer, though.
Shane halted about five feet away. "Say hello to the young lady."
Jukebox obeyed, whinnying and bobbing his head.
Her eyes widened. "Did you teach him that?"
"Among other things. Comes natural to him if you want to know the truth. He likes making all kinds of noises. He likes people, too. He likes them to rub the star on his forehead."
Shane demonstrated, brushing the forelock aside. He knuckled the round white star between the horse's ears, going with the spiral grain of Jukebox's coat, focusing on the horse rather than the girl.
She sidled closer.
"Go ahead," Shane invited. "I'll hold him steady."
She fisted her hands inside the sleeves of her sweat-shirt and shook her head.
Shane scratched Jukebox's long nose, acting casual. "You a Vikings fan?"
She didn't answer.
He kept on talking, figuring it was one way to kill time. Juvenile stuff, nothing that might spook her.
"I've done horsemanship clinics in Minneapolis and St. Paul. Lot of Appaloosas in that part of the country. Appys originated west of Minnesota, courtesy of the Nez Perce. Every heard of the Nez Perce?"
She shook her head.
"Native American tribe, out of Montana. Famous for breeding spotted horses. Good-lookers, good for all-around riding. Made in America. Native American. Get it?"
In the face of her silence, he shrugged.
"Bad joke."
She studied Jukebox. "He doesn't have spots."
"That's cause he's chestnut. Red color, white stockings. Only spot he has is the one on his forehead. Horse people call it a star." He paused, hoping she'd reach out, pet the damn horse. She didn't. "Is your dad the Vikings fan?"
"Mom."
"Bet your dad is a Broncos fan."
She nodded, balling her fists in her sweatshirt like she was cold.
"It's warm in the cab of my truck, if you need it."
"I'm fine."
"Suit yourself." Shane groped for another subject. "Can't blame anybody for being a Broncos fan. Playoff contenders every year, seems like. Your family live in Colorado?"
"Lakewood."
"Near Denver. You like the Broncos?"
"Me and Dad make bets with Mom."
Jukebox nickered and pawed his front hoof, tired of being shut out of the conversation. The girl pushed one of her sleeves up and reached out. Her first touch was tentative, on the horse's shoulder. The gleaming arched neck drew her higher. She stroked.
"That's his second favorite spot."
"He's like a huge photograph," she said, tone reverent. "Shiny and beautiful… like a new penny." She riffled along the edges of his mane. "And gold."
"He's usually picky about who pets him." Shane figured a white lie was permissible under the circumstances. Jukebox was the opposite of picky. He lived for affection. Even rookie horseback rider Mariah groomed him, tickled by his soft nickers and snorts that he serenaded everyone with. "He must like you."
The girl moved closer. Jukebox lifted his head, pricked his ears and switched his attention to the long ribbon of road behind them. The highway rose straight into the horizon. Mariah's SUV came into view. From the speed and engine roar, Shane estimated she was going close to 100 miles an hour.
She braked once she spotted them, swerved sideways a hundred yards out, coming to a squealing halt perpendicular to the double yellow line dividing the road. Both front doors of her SUV opened and a man jumped out from the passenger side.
"Caitlyn!" He raced toward them.
Surprise lit the girl's face. "Dad? Dad!"
She sprinted and jumped into the man's arms. He whirled her, toes off the ground. Relief crumpled his face.
Spooked by the commotion, Jukebox danced sideways, neighing and carrying on like a god-damned nincompoop. Mariah came over to help calm him, her blonde ponytail catching sunlight. Shane winked at her as she stroked the horse. "Hey, partner. Nice work."
"Nice work," Mariah said at the exact same time.
They both chuckled. 'Nice' was a word that had special meaning to them, dating to when Shane first visited her fledgling business in Grizzly Springs.
Recalling the moment, Shane upped the wattage and grinned. "Thanks for getting here so fast. I got me one magnificent girlfriend if I do say so myself."
She raised her sunglasses, treating him to a view of her teasing greenish blue eyes. "You fishing for compliments? You want me to say you're magnificent, too?"
"That's me, always fishing for compliments." He eyed the reunion between father and daughter. It appeared to be going well. "Her name's Caitlyn, huh?"
"Yes. Her dad is Roger Cahill. They're from Denver but spent last night in Grizzly Springs. Caitlyn ran away this morning. He called the Sheriff and Wilma took his info, then told him to call me."
"She got her deputies searching town?"
"Yes. She wanted me to interview him in case she needed to widen the search. I was trying to get a feel about where Caitlyn most likely would go when you called. I contacted Wilma on the way, told her you found Caitlyn."
"She wasn't about to trust me. Jukebox saved the day, though."
Mariah rubbed Jukebox's star. "Such a pretty boy, aren't you?"
"Since when do you like petting horses?"
"Well, my boyfriend happens to breed and train them. I'm trying to impress him with my enthusiasm."
"It's working." He kissed her but she pressed her finger against his mouth.
"No PDA in front of our new friends."
Ever the jokester, he pretended to bite her finger, then turned his attention to the aforementioned friends. "Is she going to be in trouble with the law?"
"She's been missing only a few hours. Wilma knows better than to put out an Amber Alert before she's heard the whole story."
"Speaking of Wilma, she gave you a nice recommendation, bringing you in to help. Told you those promo magnets were a nice idea. Best advertising there is."
Mariah fake-punched him in the arm.
"Jus' saying," he said. He tilted his head toward Caitlyn, "She in trouble with Dad, you think?"
Mariah studied the reunion between father and daughter. Roger had his arm around Caitlyn's shoulders and she was patting his chest in a non-sexual manner, as if to reassure him. They were murmuring to each other, neither one angry nor drama-laden.
"According to Roger, Caitlyn's never run away before. But something's up. Yesterday, he was supposed to drop her off at Camp Bristlecone for three weeks. She balked at the last minute, wouldn't get back in the car after they stopped for lunch. They ended up spending the night at the Frontier Hotel. When Roger woke up this morning, she was gone."
"Most kids love Bristlecone."
"I know. Roger says she chose the camp herself for the Alpine Science Program, and was excited to go wh
en they left Denver."
"Why run away then?"
"Good question. She never has before, according to him, so he doesn't have a clue. Neither do I, for that matter. Look at them. They're getting along fine."
"Maybe she's shy, afraid she won't make friends."
"It's a possibility. She's thirteen which could explain the rash decision-making. Did she say anything to you?"
"Not much. She told me she wasn't allowed to talk to strangers."
Mariah's eyes twinkled. "Yet, when I got here, she was talking to you. Why am I not surprised?"
"Jukebox has a reputation with the ladies."
"He's not the only one." Mariah scratched Jukebox's nose, pondering Caitlyn's behavior. "Shane, do me a favor? Let Caitlyn say goodbye to Jukebox. I want to see her interaction with the horse and how Roger handles it."
Shane waved at Caitlyn. "You want to say goodbye to my horse? It's loading time."
Caitlyn grabbed her father's hand and tugged. "You have to meet Jukebox, Dad. He likes me. He's amazing."
Roger extended his other hand to Shane. "Thank you for finding my girl. I was worried sick."
Shane shook the hand. "No problem. I'm Shane Youngblood."
"Roger Cahill. Caitlyn, this is Mariah McBride. She's a private investigator who works with the Sheriff to find people.
"You can call me Mariah."
"Good to meet you." Caitlyn stroked Jukebox's neck. Mariah noted the oversized sweatshirt and too long sleeves, like Caitlyn was trying to hide her body. Maybe she was self-conscious. Not unusual at her age. On the other hand, maybe she was simply making a fashion statement. Oversized shirts and teeny shorts or micro skirts were the height of teenage girl couture.
"See, Dad? Isn't he beautiful? He's the best horse ever."
Mariah watched and listened critically as Roger joined in stroking Jukebox.
"Camp Bristlecone has horses, remember?" he said.
"It doesn't mean I want to go there."
"You wanted to when we left Denver."
She grew tearful. "Why won't you listen? I changed my mind."
"We've been through this, Caitlyn. It costs thousands of dollars. We can't get our money back. It's only for three weeks. You chose it, remember? You begged us. Now you have to honor your decision."
Caitlyn buried her face in Jukebox's mane. "Don't make me go, Dad. Please."
"Caitlyn--"
"I'll do chores, get baby-sitting jobs to pay for it…"
"You made a commitment, sweetheart. That's our rule. You have to try it for at least a week. If you still feel the same way then as you do now…"
"Stop!" Hands to her face, she stumbled away, sobbing. Roger corralled her, bringing her close to his chest. She rested her forehead against him, agitated, crying, forlorn yet defiant.
"Why can't you understand?" she cried.
Roger looked at Mariah over Caitlyn's head. "Can you help her?"
Caitlyn reared back, shaking her head. "You need to help him," she said, indicating her dad. "Tell him to take me home."
Mariah laid her hand on Caitlyn's shoulder. "Let's drive back to Grizzly Springs. We'll get this sorted out, come to a decision everybody can live with."
"No, I want to go home!" Caitlyn stomped off, heading for the SUV.
"Sorry," Roger said, rubbing his neck in frustration. "She's not usually like this. Of all my daughters, she's the steady one, the smart one. Doesn't sweat the small stuff. I don't understand what's wrong."
Mariah pursed her lips, intent on problem-solving. "Can we get her mother involved?"
"Lisa talked to Caitlyn last night. It's the same thing, over and over. 'I don't wanna go. I don't wanna go.' She won't listen."
Mariah considered Jukebox. "She likes the horse. Shane's established a rapport with her. Maybe he can get through, get her to at least look at the camp. She may find it's worth checking out."
Shane scratched his head. "I'm not a miracle worker. Isn't this what thirteen year-old girls do?"
Roger agreed. "I'm about ready to hog-tie her myself, drag her to camp and let the people there deal with her."
"Does she have friends there?" Mariah asked.
"No, she's a first timer. I was so proud of her, wanting to come here and participate in this science program, even though she doesn't know a soul."
"Has she done that before?" asked Mariah. "Gone places far from home and done things on her own?"
"Sure she has. She likes to challenge herself. We've always encouraged it. Caitlyn's been through some tough times in her life. She's strong, stronger than most girls her age."
"Tough times? Explain."
"She was in a car accident when she was three. Oil tanker jackknifed, creamed our car. We got out okay but a fire broke out. Took just a few extra seconds to unbuckle her car seat but she got burned, one of her arms, especially bad."
"She was hospitalized?"
"Two months. We thought we might lose her from smoke inhalation. Then it was the burns, infection from the skin grafts. Seven operations since then, five on her hand alone. Doctors saved it but it took some doing."
"Having a disfigured hand doesn't bother her?"
"Not at all. She'll show you. She doesn't mind. We've treated her normal, like she's the same as everybody else. No excuses, no coddling. She's not some poor handicapped girl who can't live the life she was meant for. We didn't even mention it on the camp application. All it does is give people pre-conceived notions. They think they have to treat her differently but they don't. Her arm might look bad, but she can make what's left of it work any way she needs to. Never complains, even if kids at school tease her. She knows how to handle herself."
"You must be very proud of her."
"You bet. She's our superstar. I don't call her that in front of our other kids, but I've told her privately. She understands how special she is."
"Yes, I'm sure she does." Too special, maybe, Mariah thought. She shared a significant glance with Shane. "You’re the one with the best relationship with her at the moment. I'm going to need your help. How long before we can expect you home?"
"Two hours at most."
"Call or text me when you're on your way. Meanwhile, Roger, you and I are going to hang out with Caitlyn, calm her down, get her to focus on something else. No more discussions about camp for the time being."
"You're the expert," said Roger. "I sure as shit don't know what to do." He didn't look happy as he headed for the SUV.
Shane kissed Mariah goodbye. "I hope you know what you're doing," he said.
"I was a teen-aged girl once. It certainly gives me an edge over the two of you."
Mariah took the time to comb his hair with her fingers, relishing the feel of the sun on the top of his head. Usually, in public, she kept her hands to herself. Usually he had his hat on. "Let's plan on an interlude today, after we're done with the Cahills."
"Interlude?"
She winked. "X-rated. Need I say more?"
He drew her close. "Hell, no. You're speaking my language. But how long will it take to fix this thing between Caitlyn and her dad?"
"Whatever this mysterious condition of hers is, I'll get to the bottom of it. I may invite them into the house. It's private and would be more conducive to getting her to talk. Would that be okay with you?"
"I don't give a damn either way, Miz Scarlett. Long as I have an interlude coming, Rhett Butler will agree to anything."
* * * * *
After Shane left, Mariah approached her SUV. Roger had stationed himself outside while Caitlyn was inside, sitting in the backseat, hunched over her phone while appearing no worse for wear. Her resiliency was a good sign, but it made her decision to take off all the more confusing
Mariah motioned for Roger to get in. She slid into the driver's seat and used her peripheral vision to scope out Caitlyn. The storm clouds of emotions had cleared. She was texting, half smiling, her good hand poised over the keyboard, typing lightning fast with all five fingers. Mariah could see the
thumb and forefinger of the other hand, hooked around the phone like a two-pronged claw. The rest of her fingers were missing, showing nothing but a knob of flesh that led into a stick-like wrist. The rest of the arm was covered by her sleeve but it was clear the damage was extensive.
Her two fingers had retained full dexterity, though. It was probably why they'd saved the hand rather than amputate and have her use a prosthetic. Her functionality was good, better than what could be achieved artificially.
Roger fastened his seatbelt. "Caitlyn, show Mariah your arm, will you?"
Caitlyn dropped the phone in her lap and rolled up the sleeve of her sweatshirt. She thrust her damaged hand and bared arm in front of Mariah, revealing a normal bicep and elbow but a withered forearm with ripples of red scars amid old white ones, deformed by missing muscle, as narrow as her wrist. "Can we get something to eat? I'm starved."
Roger snorted. "If you had stayed in the hotel, you could have had free breakfast. Me, too."
Mariah started the engine and steered the SUV eastward, heading for Grizzly Springs. "How about a trip to the ice cream parlor? There's a great one called the Sweet Shoppe off of Main Street."
Caitlyn withdrew her arm and went back to her phone, scowling. "We went there yesterday. Dad tried to bribe me to go to camp with ice cream. Like I was a baby."
He side-whispered to Mariah. "Ice cream is out. I don't want to reward bad behavior."
"Da-ad! I'm sitting right here! You're embarrassing me!"
Roger muttered under his breath while Mariah drummed the steering wheel. "How about Mexican food? It makes for a quick lunch. Then we can meet Shane at the stables and he'll give you a tour. He's owns more horses like Jukebox. If you want to ride..."
"You can't bribe me, either. I like Mexican food, and then it will be time for me to go home."
Fortunately, Roger got the hint.
"Mexican food it is."
Caitlyn looked smugly out the window. Mariah switched on the radio to ameliorate the tension and fill the silence between them.
* * * * *
By the time Shane drove his empty rig into the KSY Stables parking lot, Mariah had formed a plan in her mind. Problem was, she had three people she had to convince to go along with it: Shane, Caitlyn and Roger, in that order.
