Sisters of Spirit, Pure Romance Set

by Nancy Radke

  “For sure.”

  Jo dropped her pack inside her room, yanked some old clothes out of a drawer, changed, kicked off her sandals and pulled on her boots. She grabbed a jacket as she headed out the door, and then ran down to the barn, where she collected some oats in a pan, Paca’s bridle, and a brush. She ran out to the corral and found the little horse waiting for her.

  “Could you tell I was in the car?” she asked. Paca nuzzled her, jamming her nose up to Jo’s body to get her scent, then pressed her head against Jo and held it there.

  Jo stroked the horse’s neck and behind the ears, then put on the bridle after Paca finished up the oats.

  “Want to go?” Jo asked, but Paca was already headed out the gate, and Jo had to hurry to keep up.

  A quick brushing, then Jo saddled up. Paca left the barnyard at a dead run.

  The Appaloosa tore up the mountain road toward the trails Jo always took, jumping six-inch ditches across the way like they were wide and four feet deep.

  Jo gave Paca her head, enjoying the horses’ delight in being out of the pasture and moving again. She let her run for awhile, then pulled her in.

  “You’re bound to be out of shape, girl. And so am I. If I stay out too long, my legs will feel it in the morning.”

  She stayed on the road until she got to one of her father’s wire gates leading into a mountain pasture. It was late in the afternoon by now, and if she hurried, she could get to her favorite lookout point in time to watch the sun go down. No matter that it was on Adam’s land. That had never stopped her from going, as it was the best spot of all.

  She opened the wire gate, let Paca through, then stopped. She’d come out totally unprepared. Except for her jacket tied on behind the saddle, she had no knife, no matches, no gun. She put her hand in her pocket.

  She hadn’t even remembered to take her cell phone out of her purse. Still, it wasn’t that far to where she wanted to go. She could even walk home, if she had to. What could go wrong on a beautiful day like today?

  She closed the gate, remounted, and rode off down the trail. If she hurried, she could be back while there was still light in the sky.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sitting relaxed in the saddle, Jo gave her Appaloosa a free rein as she cantered toward the corner of her father’s mountain pasture. She breathed deeply of the fragrant Ponderosa pine, enjoying anew the wide-open spaces. She could easily reach the lookout point before sunset.

  The viewpoint could only be reached by going through a second gate onto Adam Trahern’s land, but Jo had never let that stop her. She had ridden these Oregon mountain trails ever since she was old enough to walk and knew every wire gate within a ten-mile radius. Even the fact that the land belonged to her grandfather’s sworn enemy did not make her hesitate.

  The Ponderosas opened up ahead of her into a wide clearing. There the narrow trail cut through a patch of stirrup-high brush, as dense as any hedge. In the thickest part of the brush, Jo spotted her father’s old Hereford bull, face to face with a younger bull that had to belong to Adam.

  They had destroyed a large section of the barbed wire fence and were circling slowly in the wreckage, pausing now and then to snort loudly and paw the ground, throwing scoops of dirt over their massive backs before charging each other.

  Jo pulled Paca down to a fast trot as she rode closer. Sounds do not carry well through timber, so Jo had not heard any noise as she approached.

  Adam’s bull, she thought, looking angrily at the younger and stronger animal. Probably a descendant of Sir Galahad. He had the size and strength of that line, which was well known in the area. He would surely hurt her father’s old bull unless she intervened.

  They faced each other with wild eyes, heaving flanks and lowered heads. The two could critically injure each other if allowed to continue. Her father could not afford to lose his breeding bull. She had to separate them.

  Why had Adam put his animal into the adjoining pasture? He should have known there would be trouble. Had he done this just to provoke Gramps?

  Adam and her grandfather were like two bulls themselves, always circling warily around each other, ready to charge. Jo had attended a college clear across the United States to avoid being caught between the two.

  After a brief glance at her, the bulls resumed their battle. Upset with Adam for creating a situation where there was bound to be a fight, she did not pause to thoroughly check things out. She yelled loudly and waved her arms, then jumped Paca into the patch of dense brush. She was used to handling cattle and knew the bulls would move away from a horse. They plunged sideways, startled at the unexpected intrusion, but went no further.

  As her mare bounded through the brush in short little leaps, Jo yelled again. This time, with a toss of their heads, the two combatants raced off into the woods, each going a different direction.

  There. That did it. If only it were possible to overcome all her problems that easily, Jo thought, satisfied.

  Then Paca slammed to a stop, stiff-legged, throwing Jo up against the saddle horn. She caught herself by reflex and eased back into the seat, alarmed at Paca’s unusual behavior.

  The Appaloosa stood ridged, trembling violently.

  What was wrong?

  “Come on.” She urged Paca ahead by rocking her own body forward and squeezing with her legs, but the mare refused to move.

  A silver flash caught Jo’s eye and she glanced down, right into a mass of tangled barbed wire—all that remained of the fence after the bulls’ fight. Camouflaged by the stirrup-high brush, the treacherous strands rippled threateningly around Paca’s legs, the shimmering coils as deadly as any poisonous snake.

  Fighting down the urge to panic, she looked to the other side. Death stared back at her as several swaying loops surrounded her horse’s legs.

  Jo held her breath as she assessed her chances. Barbed wire could kill, holding a horse and rider prisoner while the terrified animal destroyed them both. Paca hadn’t been ridden since Jo’s brief return two years ago during Christmas vacation and had acted like a young colt earlier today. If the mare fought the wire, she could kill or seriously injure them both. No one would find them until morning, since Jo normally rode until dark or later.

  Her parents had come to accept her long-range jaunts. They wouldn’t be worried until midnight. Already the April sun was casting long purple shadows across the valleys of the Blue Mountains.

  Jo had already covered many miles in her meanderings this afternoon, elated to be back and riding the mountain roads and trails of Oregon. No one knew where she was. Jo could only pray that her well-trained Appaloosa would stay calm.

  Paca shifted uneasily, and Jo looked hopefully up the fence line towards Adam’s ranch. Before her grandfather’s feud with him, Adam had always extracted her from her childhood scrapes. He seemed to know where to find her...and was usually the first to arrive when she landed in trouble.

  She would not get out of danger sitting in the saddle, waiting for help. She had to free herself. If Paca panicked as she dismounted, both of them could be torn to shreds, but Jo saw no alternative.

  “Whoa. Easy girl.” Jo took a deep breath for courage, bent forward, and pulled both feet from the stirrups.

  The mare turned her head to look back, nostrils flared.

  “Whoa, Paca,” Jo murmured...and slid gingerly off into the looping wire. Several barbs scratched painfully up the length of her calf and another left a bright trail across her bare arm. One long loop encircled her and pulled her T-shirt up to her chin. She should have put on her jacket first, but it was too late now.

  Paca shuffled nervously sideways, the horse almost sitting down in fear...and the loop tightened around Jo.

  “Steady, girl. Easy,” Jo said, trying to keep her desperate whisper sounding as calm as possible. She couldn’t let her fear transmit to the horse, but her mouth felt so dry, she could barely speak. “Don’t move. Please.”

  Jo lifted the loop off her body, feeling the barbs dig into the skin on he
r back and side. She caught her breath as the trembling mare shifted back toward her. “Whoa, girl. Whoa. Easy now. Stand still.”

  Forcing herself to move slowly, Jo reached down and grasped one of the three strands pulled tautly against the Appaloosa’s legs. None were wrapped clear around, cutting off circulation, but the strands held the animal trapped. Jo wiggled a small section of the wire back and forth, trying to break it.

  Back and forth, back and forth—Jo felt the heat build up under her fingers, but the wire resisted, being too new, too strong...and there was too much of it. Only a pair of wire cutters would release Paca.

  The nearest ranch—the only close one—was Adam’s. It was the last place Jo wanted to go for help, since she had vowed never to speak to Adam. But Paca’s life counted more than her pride.

  Almost in tears, Jo stroked the neck of the intelligent animal. If she had been more careful, she might have avoided the danger.

  “Good girl, Paca. I’ll go get help. I’ll be as quick as I can.” Of course the Appaloosa didn’t understand, but the sound of Jo’s voice seemed to steady her. Jo dropped the reins.

  The tangled wreckage extended out several yards in each direction—most of it on Adam’s land—and Jo had to fight her way through the dense brush, the wire looped through it as if to protect a military installation. Each step required care, as the springy wire recoiled on her when she least expected it. It was as unpredictable as trying to deal with Adam himself, and as sharp-edged as her grandfather’s tongue.

  As she picked her way through the last of the fencing, Jo pictured Adam’s strong features, the proud lift of his head. The older of the two Trahern brothers, Adam had inherited his rugged features from Kimana, his Shoshone ancestress—broad forehead, straight nose, prominent cheekbones and blue-black hair. From her and her Irish husband, Charlie Web, had come a love of music, an unpredictable sense of humor and an unbending pride.

  Therein lay the problem. Adam was proud, her grandfather set in his ways. Neither would make the first move towards reconciliation. Like the two bulls, they constantly pushed at each other.

  Pausing, Jo stared up the mountainside where the bulls had disappeared and prayed they wouldn’t return to where Paca stood. She visualized the nearby terrain, seeking an alternate route through the brushy area that would take her to the Trahern ranch and still avoid the bulls. To meet a bull on foot was a different matter than chasing one with a horse, and getting treed by one would not help Paca.

  She could see no definite trail, only meandering cow paths, but knew that by following the fence line to the top of the ridge where the foliage thinned out, then turning away from the sunset, she should be able to find Adam’s home.

  The Blues were deceptive mountains, gently rolling and not very high when compared with the other mountains of Oregon—like the Wallowas—but they were dangerous because of their similarity. The pattern of heavy growth in the valleys, coupled with bare or lightly covered ridges, repeated itself in regular sequence, forming few landmarks. People became lost easily, as many a hunter had discovered, and Jo treated the low mountains with the respect they deserved.

  She would follow the fence-line “trail” and hope the bulls had abandoned it.

  Jo glanced backward at Paca, praying that the mare’s innate intelligence would keep her from injuring herself. Paca stood still as a statue, her white coat marked by the Appaloosa’s spots. As soon as Jo got out of sight, she started to run.

  Old Levi’s and cowboy boots did not constitute ideal track clothes, but the brush-covered mountain slope was not an ideal track. Roots and stones tripped her, while the low scrubby thorn bushes grasped her clothes with jagged claws. Sweat ran into her eyes and soaked her lime green T-shirt as she struggled up the rocky slope. Blood pounded in her head blocking out sound. Every muscle strained to hurry upward while inertia held her back.

  Slow. So slow!

  Tears of frustration and helplessness formed as Jo thought of Paca patiently waiting...but for how long? If she lost this mare—like she had her black one years ago—out of her own stupidity....

  Refusing to think negatively, Jo pushed on. She had to get some wire cutters, that was all there was to it. Even if it meant facing Adam.

  Given the long twilight hours, she felt certain she would have enough light to find the way to Adam’s ranch. If Gramps ever found out she had gone there, he would explode, but she had no other recourse.

  She didn’t want to get tangled up with Adam or anything belonging to him...especially now, while she tried to help out Karen. Gramps always said the Traherns were an irresponsible lot, with Adam the worst of the bunch.

  Adam. A source of mixed emotions, the object of her early teen-age dreams. He angered her, yet attracted her. Her adversary with Gramps, he was also her dragon-slayer when she landed in trouble.

  She hadn’t seen him for years. She wondered what he was like, now.

  Suddenly the huge bulk of Adam’s young bull loomed in front of her, blocking her path as it leisurely scratched its back on one of the thorn bushes. Desperate to keep going, Jo yelled and hurled a rock at its flank.

  The animal spun around to look at her, and Jo dodged behind a tree, ready to climb it if necessary. Bulls killed more people than any wild animal, but she would still rather face one than Adam.

  “Heah! Heah! Get out of there!”

  The animal snorted, shaking its head, its ears twitching away some flies. She yelled louder and the bull responded this time, turning to crash through the brush for several yards before stopping again.

  Jo walked backward and sideways, edging past him, then continued on. She wished Adam could be so easily handled.

  Five more minutes and she gained the ridge. The brush was scattered thinly here, leaving large open stretches. Nearby lay the lookout point she’d been so determined to reach. As long as she stayed on the ridges, she knew where she was.

  Pausing only a moment to catch her breath, Jo turned her back to the setting sun and began to run down the long gradual slope towards Adam’s home. Her shaky legs refused to function properly going downhill, and she stumbled and fell, skinning herself on the porous lava rocks. Picking herself up, she ran again, trying to take more care with her footing.

  Suddenly, Adam’s home came into sight, brightly lit, with the dark shape of the barn nearby, and a man moving about in the corral.

  Was it Adam? She couldn’t tell for certain because of the dim light and the large brown Stetson the man wore. He stood some distance from the barn. Maybe she could sneak in and get some wire cutters without his knowing it. She would mail them back...or something.

  Anything to keep from speaking to him.

  How could she break seven years of silence? She had rarely encountered Adam before leaving for college, but the few times their paths had crossed she had looked the other way and kept her lips firmly sealed. At first, anger over the bet he’d made, kept her quiet. Then time and distance widened the gap.

  She no longer resembled the person she’d been when she first vowed never to speak to him, but in the interim her wall of silence had become an insurmountable barrier. She felt she could not speak. The barrier was too high.

  If she had to, what on earth would she say? “I know I haven’t spoken to you for seven years, but it’s an emergency.” She wouldn’t blame Adam for laughing in her face.

  Four years older than she, he would be...twenty-seven, almost twenty-eight now. Had he changed for the better—or had the bitterness between him and her grandfather etched its way deep into his mind?

  The last time she’d seen him, she had been in town with her grandfather. Adam had said “Hello, neighbor,” a bit sarcastically, and her grandfather had turned and walked the other way. Jo had turned and gone with him, feeling caught between the two of them, with no way out.

  The figure in the corral was busy, working on one of the gates, his back to her. Praying he wouldn’t turn around, Jo ran closer, slipping through the wooden rails of one of the corrals, scurr
ying silently across the dusty enclosure, and climbing up and over the other side.

  A few more steps put the bulk of the barn between them and Jo grew confident she could get the wire cutters undetected. The door to the tool shed hung open and she slipped inside, pausing to accustom her vision to the dark room. Walking around slowly, she found the area where the hand tools were stored. Someone had painted white silhouettes behind each tool, so it took but a few moments to locate what she wanted.

  Elated, Jo took the cutters and dashed towards the door... only to collide with the solid body of the man just entering.

  “What the...?” His voice rose in angry protest.

  “Oh!” The impact threw her back and she sat down, hard, on the concrete floor, feeling the fine particles of grit that covered it. She felt embarrassed at first, then guilty—then frightened. Backlighted against the door, his face in shadow, the tall man looming over her seemed too large to be Adam.

  The man raised his fists. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Adam’s voice...Jo remembered it well, although it was deeper now. Her fear left.

  “Who...?” Adam bent closer, the better to see her in the dark tool shed. “You! I might’ve known. No one else would dare sneak around here.”

  Filled with guilt, Joanna’s mind raced erratically, unable to form a coherent sentence. She felt lower than low, caught acting like a thief. It would have been so much better if she had just walked up to Adam and asked for the cutters.

  He scowled at her as she sat upright, his face twisting with bitterness. “I take it you hoped to come and go without being seen.”

  He sounded angry enough to wallop her, yet Jo felt no fear. Adam was the one who had always rescued her when she got into trouble as a child. Surely he would help again— although, after seven years, he might not even loan her the wire cutters.

  “Well, when did you get back home? Or are you still not talking to me?” he demanded, spitting out the words as if they had a bad taste.

  “Late this morning.” Her throat constricted, making her voice come out weak, ineffectual. She gasped for control. “I spent a week in Seattle.” The words sounded awkward, sitting there alone, so she explained further. “I’d gone to a wedding.”