Saddle Up Page 5

  There was a long pause before Mitch answered. “This’ll have to be Trey’s call.”

  “I understand that,” Keith replied. “You’ll call him?”

  “Yeah. It’s crazy as hell,” Mitch replied, “but I’ll call him.”

  “Thanks. I owe you.” Keith disconnected the call.

  “He’s really sending the chopper?” Dave asked.

  Keith smiled for the first time in three days. “He’s sending it.”

  Chapter 7

  “It gets really cold on that chopper. These’ll keep you warm.” Beth handed Miranda a sheepskin-lined jacket and a pair of leather gloves.

  “Thanks. I really appreciate it.” Miranda accepted the jacket, donning it over her hoodie. Her heart raced with excitement as she buckled herself into the helicopter. A succinct safety briefing followed. Trey was terse, almost gruff. She wondered if he’d taken a dislike to her or if it was just his personality. Then again, it had been a pretty shitty day for everyone.

  “You’re gonna need these too.” Trey handed her a set of noise-canceling headphones.

  “Will I be able to hear you with them on?” she asked.

  “Yes, and I can hear you too. There’s a built-in mic.”

  As soon as she put them on, Trey started the engine, and the aircraft jolted almost violently to life. She held her breath in anticipation as the blades began to rotate. Within seconds, the rough, rocking motion transformed into a smooth vibration. Her stomach filled with frantic butterflies as they lifted vertically into the air.

  “How long have you been doing this?” she asked, trying again to break the ice.

  “Flying? Or wild-horse roundups?”

  “Well, both,” she replied.

  “I started helping out with the roundups almost as soon as I could manage a horse by myself. I guess I was about six or seven. I fell in love with flying the first time I went up in one of these, but I had to wait twelve years before I could learn how to fly one.”

  “How did you get your training?”

  “Uncle Sam.”

  “You were a military pilot?” she asked.

  “U.S. Army. Flew the Kiowa Warrior, a light scout helicopter ’bout the size of this one.”

  “Where were you deployed?” she asked.

  “Afghanistan. Three combat tours in terrain a lot like this.” His jaw tightened as he nodded to the mountainous desert below. His body language suppressed further questions. Having almost forgotten her purpose, Miranda uncapped her camera lens and began recording as Trey scouted the mountains for horses. With bated breath, she gazed out at the seemingly limitless expanse of sage-peppered desert stretching out between craggy mountain peaks. “Wow. It’s so vast. And so beautiful in a rough-hewn kinda way.”

  Trey merely grunted.

  “Look”—he pointed below a moment later—“there’s two down there. We’ll try to get them moving, but if they show signs of distress, I’ll have to back off and call a wrangler in.”

  He’d already begun his descent when Mitch called on the radio.

  “Keith needs you,” she heard Mitch say. “He’s got a foal in a bad way. He wants you to fly it in to camp. Can you go and check it out?”

  “You expect me to put a foal in here?”

  “I expect you to use your best judgment. I know you won’t do anything stupid,” Mitch replied.

  “Famous last words,” Trey mumbled. After Mitch gave him the GPS coordinates, Trey turned to Miranda. “Looks like we have a change of plans.”

  Miranda regarded the cramped cockpit incredulously. “You aren’t really going to try to fly a horse in here, are you?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” he replied. “It’s not the craziest thing I’ve ever done.”

  She never got a chance to ask him to elaborate. The helicopter quickly regained altitude and changed direction. In a matter of minutes they spotted the small group of horses and riders. The helicopter landed nearby. The mustangs skittered away, white-eyed and trembling, but they didn’t run very far.

  As soon as the blades quit rotating, Trey hopped out. Miranda followed, ducking her head and hugging her camera. Her chest squeezed at the sight of Keith kneeling by a fragile-looking colt with its eyes half-shut, looking as if it held onto life by a thread.

  “Took your sweet time, didn’t you?” Keith looked up at them, his forehead wrinkling as his gaze darted from Trey to Miranda and back. “Mitch didn’t tell me she was with you.”

  Trey made a scoffing sound. “You’re damned lucky I came at all. I can’t believe you talked him into this.”

  “It’s the only chance this one has,” Keith said.

  Trey scowled. “It’s a waste of time and fuel. This one is past his last chance already.”

  “C’mon, Trey,” Keith urged. “What’s it gonna hurt to try?”

  “Just tellin’ it the way I see it, Keith,” Trey said. “I appreciate your good intentions, but how do you even propose to do this?”

  “Someone’ll have to hold him on their lap. This little guy’s not gonna fight.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s still gonna put us damned close to the weight limit of that chopper when we add in another person to hold it.”

  “Are you refusing?” Keith asked.

  “Don’t be so heartless,” Miranda blurted. “You have to try.”

  “I don’t have to do anything,” Trey bit back.

  Miranda lifted her chin, ready to do battle. “I’ll hold him,” she volunteered. “I don’t weigh much.”

  Trey shook his head. “You’re not strong enough. If he panics, I need someone who’s able to hold him tight. I don’t need that horse kicking the controls and crashing us.”

  “Oh.” She bit her lip. “I see your point.”

  “I’ll go,” Donny volunteered.

  Trey eyed the mares. “What are we going to do about those others? They look like they’re in pretty bad shape too.”

  “Dave and I’ll handle the mares,” Keith replied. “We’re only a couple of miles out from camp. If we take it really slow, they’ve got a shot.”

  “But it doesn’t make sense for us both to go when we still have more strays to gather and only a couple more hours of daylight left,” Dave said. “We can’t afford to lose any more time. I can handle the two of them if you can go after the rest.”

  “There’s only one problem with that plan,” Keith said.

  “What’s that?” Dave asked.

  Keith eyed Miranda with barely concealed hostility. “Her.”

  Miranda bristled. “What about her?”

  “She could always ride back with me,” Dave said.

  “Which leaves Keith alone,” Trey said. “He can’t gather the rest of the horses by himself.”

  Miranda swallowed hard. “If I stay, I can help gather them.”

  “What the hell would you know about gathering horses?” Keith snapped.

  Would he ever give her a chance? It seemed he took pleasure in not just finding but seeking out her every fault. Although he’d made it abundantly clear that he resented her presence, the situation had changed. She wasn’t about to give him a choice this time. She needed to record the rescues, or even the deaths, of these horses. Leaving now would defeat her purpose in coming.

  Miranda swallowed hard at the prospect of being stuck alone with him. But it was too important to get cold feet. “I know how to ride, and I’ve moved cows plenty of times before. My grandparents have a cattle ranch. I used to spend summers there as a kid. Maybe it’s been a few years, but I haven’t forgotten how.”

  “Rounding up mustangs is nothing like driving cattle. Cows move slowly. Horses run flat out. You have to lead them. To do that, you have to be able to ride hard and think fast.”

  “But you’ve already said these horses are weak and old, ones that have to move slower,” she argued. “I came out here to film this horse gather, and whether you all like it or not, I’m going to follow this through.”

  Dave’s gaze darted from Keith to Miranda.
“I’ll meet up with Donny back at camp and then the two of us will ride back out here with fresh horses. We could catch up with you in a few hours.”

  “That sounds like a plan,” Trey said. He looked to Keith and Miranda with a twitch of his mouth. “If the two of you aren’t back in two days, we’ll send out a posse to look for your bodies. Time’s a wastin’. Let’s see if we can get that foal on board.”

  Miranda uncapped her camera and filmed the three men hobbling the colt’s front legs together. As he’d said, the horse was too weak to struggle. Keith then produced a canvas tarp from his saddle pack, using it as a sling to carry the young horse to the chopper. A few minutes later, the helicopter lifted off with Donny holding the colt securely in his lap.

  She prayed the foal would survive the ordeal. “Do you think he’ll make it?” she asked, capping her lens after the helicopter disappeared from view.

  Keith shook his head. “Maybe not, but we had to try.”

  “I’m glad you did,” she said softly.

  Their eyes met for a millisecond. His softened infinitesimally, only to harden again. “You can take Donny’s horse.” He led Miranda to a strawberry roan he introduced as Sadie. “She’s smart and steady and even came from these parts. She’ll take good care of you if you just stay out of her way.”

  “Thanks,” Miranda replied, taking Sadie’s bridle.

  He grunted his reply then mounted his horse and turned his attention back to the mustangs. “Dave will lead while we push from behind,” he said. “Once they’re following him, we’ll slowly drop back.”

  “Will they keep following him if we leave?” she asked.

  “It’s a horse’s nature to follow, and this pair is in dire need of a leader,” Keith explained. “Dave is claiming that position. They’ll trust him as long as they don’t perceive him as a threat.”

  “You really do understand them, don’t you?”

  “You thought I was all bullshit?” Mumbling a curse, he turned his horse and rode off ahead of her. Just as she’d suspected, he was going to ignore her as much as possible. They might not like each other, but she still couldn’t help admiring Keith’s tenacity in fighting for the foal.

  After a quarter mile or so, Keith and Miranda parted ways with Dave, and then turned back toward the mountains in the direction where Trey had reported several strays. They rode for an hour in stone-cold silence, before picking up a trail of hoofprints and horse dung that led to an old mining camp.

  Keith pulled up. “The sun’ll be setting soon. We’ll make camp here. It’ll be warmer than it is up on the mountain. There’s also an old well where we can water the horses, and trees to picket them.” Keith turned his back, making no effort to help her, not that she’d expected any. He obviously didn’t intend to make this any easier on her. She’d volunteered to help him, damn it! Why was he still giving her the cold shoulder?

  Miranda groaned as she attempted to dismount. Her ass was beyond numb, and her knees so cramped she didn’t know if she’d be able to stand once she dismounted—if she could get off. Taking a deep breath, she threw her leg over the back of the saddle and slid down the horse. As she’d feared, her knees nearly gave way the moment her feet hit the ground. She had to grab onto the saddle horn for support.

  “You’ll feel far worse tomorrow,” he tossed carelessly over his shoulder.

  She still couldn’t comprehend his continued hostility. She questioned her decision to stay behind with him. Dave’s promise that he and Donny would rejoin them was little comfort.

  “Why are you being so mean to me?” she asked, fighting the burning behind her eyes.

  “It was your decision to do this,” he replied coldly. “I told you how it would be. I get paid to round up horses. Kowtowing to you isn’t in my contract, Miz Sutton.”

  “That’s not what I expected. I feel like you’re trying to make it more unpleasant than it has to be.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  His gaze met hers. “Then you think too much.”

  What did he mean? It was pointless to ask. She knew he wouldn’t explain. “What are you doing?” she asked. He had a coil of rope he was stringing between two trees, clothesline style.

  “Making a picket line for the horses.” He knotted the rope and gave a tug before releasing it.

  “Oh.” She loosened her horse’s cinch and led it over to him. He nodded curtly as she slipped off Sadie’s bridle and tied the horse. “What can I do to help you?” she asked, determined to prove she wasn’t as clueless as he seemed to think.

  He eyed her, gaze narrowed. “You can pump water.” He pointed out a rusty-looking hand pump near a collapsed building that must have once served as the well house. “The horses are going to need about ten gallons each. Hopefully that old well will produce enough for all of us.”

  “All right. I can do that.” She approached the rusted pump with a dubious look. It took both hands, all her strength, and a grunt just to raise the handle. “You don’t happen to have some WD-40, do you?” she quipped, trying again to break the tension.

  Keith scowled back. “The only lube we have is elbow grease. I suggest you use it.”

  Miranda threw herself into the effort, bearing all her weight down on the handle, but failed to raise it again. She silently cursed that she’d have to ask him for help. “I’m sorry, Keith. I’m not sure I have the strength even to prime the pump.”

  Keith came to the well, muttering a stream of incomprehensible words. “Fine. I’ll pump the water. You go gather firewood. Just watch out for snakes and scorpions.”

  “Wonderful,” she grumbled back. “The only thing I hate worse than scorpions is snakes.”

  “And I’d rather deal with either of them than a whiner.”

  “I’m not whining,” she protested. “I just don’t like things that slither and creep, okay?”

  His gaze met hers, his expression dark and cold as he raised the pump handle. “And I don’t like people who lie and deceive, so I guess we’ll both just have to deal with it.”

  “I didn’t lie!” She stamped her foot in protest. “Damn it! How many times do I have to say it? Maybe you didn’t like the spin Bibi put on it, but everything in that film was factual. The words were from your own mouth, and the rest was taken straight from public records.”

  “And just how would you know that?” he asked, driving the handle back down.

  “Because I fact-checked everything.”

  Determined to prove her worth to Bibi, she’d spent days digging before finally solving the mystery of Keith Russo, a.k.a “Two Wolves.” Bibi was so pleased, she’d rewarded her with a job.

  “Fact is not always the same as truth,” he countered, his breath coming shorter as he vigorously forced the handle up and down. “Facts can be twisted and distorted into falsehoods. But truth can’t be spun or twisted.” The pump gave a violent hiccup. “Truth is immutable.” A sudden surge of rusty water sputtered and splashed into the bucket. “You didn’t present the truth,” he contended fiercely.

  “Oh really?” She snorted. “If anything, deceit is your specialty. You presented yourself as a clinician, when you’re really just a poser. A talented one, I’ll give you that, but you don’t really teach anything. It was all just a big show, wasn’t it? You trained your horse to do tricks and then worked your seductive magic on your audience. That’s fine if you’re just an entertainer, but you touted yourself as more than that.”

  She’d been as enthralled as the rest of them after watching him work with Picasso at his clinic and felt inexplicably let down once she’d realized what he was really after—sex and money.

  “How about you?” he threw back. “That film you made depicted me as a phony, but it was nothing but a series of half-truths. My people have a proverb, Miz Sutton. ‘Do not wrong your neighbor, for it is not he that you wrong, but yourself.’”

  “But I didn’t wrong anyone,” she insisted. “Maybe Bibi embellished the film f
or the sake of entertainment, but how can you fault her when you’d already sensationalized yourself?” She faced him, hands on hips. “Do you deny that you were born in New York? That you changed your name purely to promote your career?”

  “Lots of people use a stage name,” he retorted. “There’s nothing dishonest in that. I never tricked or deceived anyone. Two Wolves is the Shoshone name my grandfather gave me. It’s mine by right of heritage.”

  “Heritage?” She regarded him, perplexed. “I-I don’t understand. Isn’t your family from Long Island? I looked it all up, your birth date, even the hospital name. Your family—”

  He glared back at her. “They aren’t my real family. I was born in New York, but my father was full-blooded Shoshone. I am Shoshone through his blood and by tribal adoption.”

  “What you’re saying isn’t making any sense.”

  “Of course not,” he said. “How could it when you have only half of the story? If you’d ever asked me, I would have told you the rest. But you never asked, did you?”

  “That wasn’t up to me,” she replied defensively. “It was Bibi’s project, not mine. I just did the job she told me to do.”

  Still, guilt gnawed at her insides. She’d always considered herself a good judge of character, but it seemed she’d been wrong about him. Maybe he wasn’t all he’d presented himself to be, but he also wasn’t quite the phony the film accused him of being. “Did Bibi know the truth?” she asked.

  “She knew.”

  Her jaw went slack. “I don’t understand. Why would she have purposely—”

  He turned back to the pump. “I’ll water the horses. You gather wood.”

  * * *

  Still brooding, Keith kept Miranda in his peripheral vision while he tended the horses. There was no question in his mind that Bibi had set out to ruin him, but Miranda wasn’t completely innocent. Maybe under different circumstances he would have enjoyed being alone with her, but he couldn’t forget the part she’d played.

  She returned with an armful of dead wood she’d gathered from around the two Joshua trees and dumped it on the ground. “How much more?”