by Janet Dailey
"Hi, dad!" Bridget waved.
He glanced up, surprised, wiping his hands on a snowy white kerchief. Bridget could hear her mother wailing when she saw it. "Well, hello, princess," he smiled and looked to the house. "I didn't realize you'd stopped by. Molly was just here looking for you."
"Did she say what she wanted?" She frowned curiously.
"No, I—there she is now." His gaze had made a searching swing, sighting his granddaughter on the other side of the road. "Just coming around the chalet."
Bridget saw Molly astride the bay horse at almost the same instant that Molly saw her and waved. "I'll go see what she wants. See you later, dad."
Molly met her at the mailbox by the road. "I didn't know where you were."
"I went over to have a cup of tea with your grandmother." Bridget made light of her visit. "Dad said you were looking for me."
"Yes, I want you to come riding with me." She leaned forward in the saddle. "Please, mom. I don't feel like riding alone."
"I'd like to, honey, but I have a lot of housework to do," she said, a touch of regret in her smile.
"You haven't gone riding with me for over two weeks," Molly argued. Bridget knew it was true. She hadn't been riding since she learned that Jonas had purchased the adjoining farm. "Please come with me and I'll help with the housework when we get back—I promise."
"Well—" Bridget hesitated and Molly knew she had won.
"You go change into your boots and I'll saddle Flash." She didn't wait for Bridget to agree as she reined the small bay around to ride to the horse shed behind the chalet.
Bridget glanced at the cloudless blue sky and the inviting green of the hills and shrugged. It was too beautiful a day for housework.
It took only a few minutes to change out of her sandals into a pair of boots and to tie the sleeves of a sweater around her neck in case it was cool riding. But the usually difficult-to-catch sorrel mare was tied to the fence, saddled and bridled, swishing her flaxen tail at the flies. Molly giggled at the look of surprise on Bridget's face.
"I had her all ready just in case you decided to come," she explained mischievously.
"Just don't you forget you promised to help with the housework," Bridget laughed and untied the reins from the post and swung aboard the horse. "You lead the way. Flash and I will follow."
"We'll play follow the leader," Molly called over her shoulder and guided the bay through the gate.
At a canter, they wound through the green pasture dotted with wild flowers and splashed through a small stream to enter the sugar bush of maple trees. A solid canopy of leaves was overhead as Molly set a twisting course through the trees, dodging branches that threatened to decapitate the unwary.
At the end of the sugar bush, a crumbling stone wall stood in their way. Bridget started to slow the sorrel, but Molly didn't check her mount, setting the bay at the low wall. Gracefully the Morgan soared over the obstacle with easily a foot to spare. There was a lump of pride in Bridget's throat at the degree of horsemanship displayed by her daughter. She too urged her mount to the wall and jumped it cleanly.
Molly had reined in on the other, side to wait, the bay mare snorting and blowing, still fresh to go many a mile more, but docilely waiting for the command. Bridget saw the breathless exhilaration on Molly's face and guessed that her own expression matched it.
"Are you glad you came?" Molly grinned.
"What do you think, you little minx?" Bridget laughed, reining in the sorrel next to her daughter. "How long have you been jumping Satin?"
"Grandpa and I have been schooling her since early spring. I wanted to surprise you, though," Molly beamed.
"You certainly accomplished that!" It had all happened too quickly for Bridget to feel more than brief alarm.
"Grandpa says she's a natural jumper, but then Satin can do anything." Molly stroked the mare's neck.
"Almost anything, Bridget cautioned.
"Almost," Molly conceded, wrinkling her nose in impish qualification. "I might start showing her next summer. Of course, we'll need a horse trailer."
"A minor, inexpensive item," Bridget teased.
"Can we afford it?" suddenly serious.
"Oh, we might be able to buy a couple of wheels and a crate. We'll see," she mocked.
"Honestly, mom. Grandpa said—"
"You didn't mention this to your grandfather, did you, Molly?" Bridget sighed. She preferred to manage on her own without running to her parents for loans.
"Yes, when I was talking about showing Satin," Molly admitted. "He said he might be able to find a used one that we could fix up."
"You mean that your grandfather would fix up." Bridget nudged the sorrel into a walk, trying to estimate how much a used horse van might cost and how much she could risk spending out of her savings.
"We really should buy it this summer so it could be all ready to go next year," Molly offered hesitantly.
"We'll have to see how much they cost first. I haven't any idea."
"Shall I have grandpa start looking for one?" Molly eyed her mother hopefully.
"I'll talk to him about it," Bridget promised.
"When?"
"We're going to have dinner with them tonight. Is that soon enough?" Her laughing hazel eyes gleamed brightly at the widened look of delight rounding Molly's eyes.
"It sure is," Molly breathed.
As they trotted their horses through a small stand of trees, sunlight streamed through the branches to dapple the ground. Last year's autumn leaves made a pleasant rustling sound beneath the horse's hooves. Overhead a jay called raucously, flitting from limb to limb to follow them.
"He sure didn't waste any time," Molly muttered.
"What?" Bridget glanced blankly at her daughter.
"Putting up new signs to post his property." Molly gestured to a new white signboard nailed to a tree near the fence line. No Hunting and No Trespassing, the sign read. "As if anyone would hurt his precious property," she added sarcastically.
Bridget paled, realizing that they were riding through Jonas's land. Boundary lines had never been observed in the past. They had always ridden this way since she was a young girl. The only difference this time had been that they had jumped the stone wall instead of using the gate.
Mr. Hanson had posted No Trespassing signs, but he hadn't meant them for his neighbor. Bridget doubted if Jonas did, but the circumstances weren't the same.
"Crackers! There he is!" Molly exclaimed in a low hiss. "Come on, mom. Let's go before he catches up to us."
Bridget barely had time to lift her gaze to the hill rising on their right and identify Jonas sitting tall on a rangy bay horse before Molly was digging her heels into her horse. The eager mare bounded forward.
"Molly!" Bridget tried to call her back, for an instant checking the attempt of her own mount to follow.
She was more anxious than her daughter to avoid meeting Jonas, but it was foolish to run, foolish and juvenile. Yet Molly was juvenile and Bridget could hardly let her go running headlong over the rolling terrain alone.
With the relaxing of the pressure holding it back, her sorrel Flash needed no second urging to race after its stable companion. The thunder of hooves pounding the grassy sod drowned out all other sounds.
There was no time to look back to see if Jonas was following, at this pace, Bridget had to focus her attention on what lay ahead. It was certain he had seen them, and she could guess his amusement at their flight.
A hundred yards from their starting point, a white board fence, the wood chipped and graying, blocked their access to the public graveled road. As they neared it, Bridget turned her horse toward the gate only a few yards farther up from the point of approach, slowing the sorrel. But Molly didn't alter her course, only checking her mount to set it for the jump.
"No!" Bridget shouted. "Molly, no!"
It was too late. The horse and rider were already arching over the fence. They landed cleanly on the other side, only to have a road ditch yawn before
them. Bridget heard the motor of an approaching vehicle and yelled a panicked warning.
She didn't think Molly had heard her. Either way it didn't matter because the mare's impetus would carry them into the road, the Morgan gallantly collecting itself to leap the ditch.
The horse landed on the graveled shoulder at the same instant that the pickup truck topped the small knoll. Bridget saw Molly sawing frantically on the reins to stop the horse and the driver swerving to the opposite ditch to avoid hitting them.
The Morgan attempted a sharp turn, lost its footing in the loose gravel and fell. Bridget heard her daughter's cry of fear as she was thrown from the saddle and someone screaming Molly's name over and over, unaware the scream came from her own throat.
Driven by the desperate need to reach her daughter, Bridget abandoned caution, jumping the sorrel over the fence gate where an earth-covered culvert eliminated the open-drainage ditch. Molly lay motionless along the side of the ditch as Bridget rode up, dismounting almost before the sorrel had stopped.
The battered pickup had stopped several yards down the road. The driver, gaunt and aging, came huffing up the small incline, his fear showing in the graying color beneath his suntan.
"I'm sorry, she just came out of nowhere. I couldn't stop," he explained in a thin voice as Bridget knelt beside her daughter. "Is she badly hurt?"
"I don't know." Her voice throbbed with fear. She reached for the unconscious girl. "Molly?"
"Don't move her!" a familiar voice barked a second before a pair of rough hands pushed Bridget out of the way.
Bridget was too shaken by the sight of Molly's whiteface to protest as Jonas assumed control. Dazed, she didn't question his right. Her hands were clasped tightly together in a silent prayer that Molly was not seriously hurt.
"Is there something I can do?" The elderly man hovered above them, watching anxiously as Jonas ran exploring hands over Molly's inert form. "Shall I call an ambulance? There's a house just up the road and—"
"It's my house," Jonas informed him curtly, not letting his gaze stray from Molly. "And I don't think we'll need an ambulance."
"She can be moved, then," Bridget breathed, her lashes fluttering downward in relief that Jonas believed there was no risk of a crippling injury.
"I wish there was something I could do," the older man mumbled to himself.
Gray green eyes made a sharp, assessing sweep of the older man, noting the man's shock and advanced age. The hard line of his mouth curved briefly into an understanding smile.
"We'd be grateful if you'd drive us to the house," Jonas told him, but there was nothing understanding in the look he darted at Bridget. "Catch the horses and get them off the road."
"Leave Molly?" she gasped in angered astonishment.
"We don't need another accident," he snapped and returned his attention to Molly, closing the discussion.
Although Bridget recognized the wisdom and logic behind his order, his lack of compassion was a flame to her temper. She wanted to disobey even as she rose shakily to her feet to comply, her knees weak and her stomach churning.
The rangy bay Jonas had been riding stood ground hitched, behind them. Bridget grabbed at the reins and walked across the road to where her sorrel was grazing along the graveled shoulder.
The recalcitrant horse, for once, allowed Bridget to walk right up to her as if knowing this was not the time to play a game of tag. Molly's bay mare was standing by the board fence, a knee scraped and bloody but showing no other marks from the fall.
Leading the three horses, Bridget started back to Molly. She stopped short at the sight of her daughter gently and carefully cradled in Jonas's arms and Jonas climbing into the pickup.
"I'll meet you at the house," he ordered, indifferent to her frown of shocked anger. "Put the horses in the pen behind the barn."
How dare he take Molly and leave her! Bridget flared as the pickup door closed and the truck began rattling up the road. She should be the one with Molly and he should be bringing the horses. But it was too late to argue the point.
Bridget quickly mounted her sorrel mare and tugged the other horses into a trot. His house was only a quarter of a mile up the road. At that moment, she hated Jonas as, passionately as she had once loved him.
The pickup truck traveled slowly and she was able to stay close, taking a short cut across the open lawn to the rear of the house and the barns. As she dismounted to open the gate of the pen, she glimpsed Jonas carrying Molly into the house. Her daughter was still limp and unconscious in his arms. Quickly Bridget chased the horses into the pen, closed the gate, and ran toward the house.
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Chapter Five
BRIDGET STORMED INTO THE HOUSE, slammed the screen door and followed the sound of Jonas's voice to the room where he had gone.
"I saw the whole thing, Mr. Johnson. It was a damned fool stunt to jump that fence to the road. You weren't in any way to blame for what happened," he was saying to assure the elderly driver. "In fact, it's a miracle you were able to avoid hitting her."
When Bridget entered the living room, Molly was lying inertly on the couch. Jonas sat on the edge near her and the gaunt, elderly man stood beside them, his features still strained.
"I tell you when I saw her and that horse on the road, it liked to scare ten years off my life, and I ain't got ten years to spare," the man shook his head. "You sure she's going to be all right?"
"Nothing seems to be broken. She'll be scraped and bruised, but she'll be coming to shortly." Jonas glanced up as Bridget hurried to the couch. "Mrs. O'Shea and I thank you for stopping and giving us a ride."
His comment was a pointed reminder that she hadn't expressed her gratitude. Bridget hesitated beside the couch, irritated by his subtle criticism.
"Yes, thank you, Mr.—Johnson," she offered tightly.
"It's okay." He waved aside her thanks. "If you're sure everything's all right and you won't be needing me anymore, I'd better be getting home. The missus will be wondering where I am."
"You take it easy, Mr. Johnson," Jonas said in goodbye.
"Don't worry, I will," the man said, leaving the room.
"It's damned lucky he didn't have a heart attack," Jonas muttered beneath his breath, straightening from the couch as the back door to the house opened and closed.
Bridget moved away from the couch, walking swiftly to the black telephone she noticed on a table near an armchair. "I'll call the hospital to notify the emergency room that we're bringing Molly in."
"There's no need," Jonas retorted.
"No need!" Bridget pivoted angrily to confront him. "You seem determined to overlook the fact that Molly is my daughter! First you order me not to touch her, then you push me out of the way so I can't even see how she is. Then you cart her off and tell me to bring the horses."
"Be sensible, Bridget," he said with tight-lipped patience. "You were in no state to determine rationally how severe her injuries were. The horses had to be got off the road and Johnson was in no condition to chase them. And as for taking your daughter and leaving you, I don't think you're strong enough to carry an eighty-pound child, nor was Johnson. That left me. Regarding the hospital, I'm merely advising you that I don't believe it's necessary."
"I don't have to listen to your advice!" she flared. His reasonable explanation for his actions only increased her agitation. She was too concerned about Molly to care about logic. "None of this would have happened if it hadn't been for you! It's all you fault! Molly was running from you! She would never have jumped that fence if it hadn't been for you! You're to blame—you and—"
The flat of his hand struck her cheek in a stinging slap. Bridget's arm swung to retaliate in kind, hot tears burning her eyes, but his fingers caught, her wrist, stopping her attempt.
"You were becoming hysterical" Jonas informed her coldly. "It was either slap you or kiss you, and my mood is a little too violent for the latter."
Abruptly he released her arm and turned away. Some
of her anger had dissipated at his chilling rebuke, but not all of it.
"Where are you going?" she demanded.
Jonas halted, his rugged features drawn forbiddingly grim, a frosty glint in his eyes. "To get a cold compress for that bump on her head, some antiseptic to clean the cuts and abrasions and some ammonia to bring her around."
"Don't bother!" she snapped. "You aren't going to lay a hand on her. I'm taking Molly to the hospital whether you think it's necessary or not!"
"For God's sake, Bridget!" Jonas exclaimed in a savagely low voice. "I know you think I'm untrustworthy as hell as a man, but you could at least credit me with some degree of competency in my work!"
Her chin lifted, wary and confused. "Your work?"
"Don't pretend ignorance," he jeered with contempt. "You know damned well I'm a doctor."
Stunned, she opened her mouth, her voice temporarily deserting her. "I—I didn't—know," she finally stammered out.
"Come on," Jonas laughed his disbelief, harsh and biting. "Everyone knows it. Bob, Evelyn, everyone."
"I didn't, Jonas, I swear," Bridget murmured. At the skepticism still freezing his gaze, she hastened an explanation. "I've never talked about you or asked about you. No one volunteered it. I imagine for the same reason you didn't know about Brian."
He breathed in deeply, an eyebrow lifting in a frown as if he was testing the comparison. He seemed about to comment when Molly moaned softly and he turned away. This time Bridget didn't accuse him of trying to usurp her position when he sat on the edge of the couch beside Molly.
"Mom?" she called in a questioning groan, her eyes opening slowly.
"I'm right here, honey," Bridget assured her, kneeling next to the arm of the couch.
"How do you feel, Molly? Jonas inquired calmly, a professional mask stealing over the features that a moment ago had been hardened in anger.
"I don't know," she frowned. "I hurt."
She started to lift a hand to the bump on her forehead, but Jonas checked the attempt. "You banged your head," he told her. "That was a foolish thing you did."
