Saddle Up Page 9

  He pulled her head onto his chest and stroked her hair. “Sleep now, Aiwattsi. I’ll keep you safe.”

  Chapter 11

  Surprised that she’d ever shut her eyes, Miranda awoke to find herself alone beside a barely smoldering fire. Where was Keith? His rifle was gone and the campsite packed up, all but the canvas bedroll she’d slept on. She sat up, rubbing her bleary eyes with panic blooming in her chest as the events of last night replayed in her mind. She reached up to touch the bear tooth necklace and felt instantly at ease. Was it a psychosomatic response, or did her new talisman really have some kind of supernatural power?

  Laughing at herself, she reached for her boots, but then remembered Keith’s warning to check them first. She shook them upside down and shrieked at the two scorpions that tumbled out. She frantically smashed one with her boot heel but the other managed to scurry away. Her cry must have alerted Keith. He appeared a moment later, a frown etching his brow.

  “I heard a scream. Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” She gave an embarrassed laugh. “Just scorpions.”

  “You didn’t get stung, did you?”

  “No. I’m fine,” she replied. His show of concern warmed her.

  “Good,” he replied, the lines of apprehension slowly easing from his face. “That would be the last thing we need right now.”

  “Yes,” she reassured him. “Where were you? I was afraid you’d left me.”

  “I was looking for the horses and gathering breakfast.”

  “Breakfast?” She glanced down to notice his hands full of something she didn’t recognize. They were elongated, almost pear shape, and reddish in color, somewhat resembling mangos but with spines. “What are they?”

  “You’re kidding right? You’ve never had them?”

  “No. I don’t even know what they are.”

  “Prickly pear fruit. It’s really good,” he insisted.

  She eyed them suspiciously. “If I recall, that’s what you said about the rattlesnake.”

  “C’mon,” he cajoled. “Have an open mind.” His black eyes glittered with mocking humor. “Here’s your chance to be adventurous, Miranda.”

  Accepting the challenge, she snatched one from his hands, only to be pricked by a spine. “Ouch!” She dropped the fruit with a curse to examine her injury. “Damn it! You didn’t tell me they were dangerous.”

  “It’s how they protect themselves,” he replied. “The prickliest ones are always the sweetest. One must proceed with caution, but it’s usually worth it in the end.”

  “Is it really worth all the trouble?” she asked.

  “I guess that remains to be seen, doesn’t it?” His gaze held hers, making her wonder if they were still talking about the fruit.

  “How do you get around the spines?” she asked.

  “Easy. Like this.” He picked up her dropped fruit with his gloved hand and impaled it on the end of his knife. Squatting by the fire, he rolled it in the smoldering ashes. “See? It burns the spines off. Then you just peel and eat it like any other fruit.” He proceeded to do exactly that. Slicing through the skin of the fruit, he peeled it back and offered it to her.

  She hesitated. “You’re sure it’s safe?”

  “Yes. Almost all cacti are edible. Of course, you’re always welcome to the beef jerky instead.”

  She curled her lip. “I hate that stuff. It’s like salty shoe leather.” She sniffed and then committed herself to a tiny nibble. It was both sweet and tart, cucumberish in consistency, with tiny seeds like a kiwi. Not too bad, actually.

  “Well?” He cocked a brow, urging her to take more.

  “It’s all right,” she admitted. Accepting it from his hands, she took a bigger bite. “Did you see any sign of our horses?”

  “Yes. I found the carcass and our horses’ tracks.”

  “How do you know they were ours?” she asked.

  He eyed her levelly. “Wild horses don’t wear shoes, Miranda.”

  “Duh.” She gave an embarrassed laugh. “I guess that was a really stupid question.”

  “They were headed back in the direction of the base camp,” he continued. “If I’d been riding Little Bear, he would have come back to me, but this was only a borrowed horse.”

  “Little Bear? Was he the one you were riding in California?” she asked.

  “Yes. He served me well for many years, so I finally retired him. He now has the job of pleasuring the mares on my grandfather’s ranch.”

  She laughed. “I can think of a worse life. Don’t you miss him?”

  “Every day. But he has a new life now, as do I.” He began burning the spines off another cactus fruit. “The lion will be back,” he said. “They usually take several days to devour a kill. I’d recommend we don’t hang around here any longer than we have to.”

  “What should we do?” she asked.

  “We can either wait a couple of hours to see if Dave and Donny show up or set out by foot.”

  “I’d rather not stay anywhere near that lion,” she said. “And I have perfectly good legs last I checked.”

  He looked up with a slow, suggestive smile. “I noticed.”

  A flare of heat invaded her face. She hadn’t forgotten what almost came to pass last night, but it was much harder to acknowledge what happened in the dark of night when it was now full light of day. “So what now?” she asked.

  “We eat, and then we walk.”

  * * *

  Two hours later, Miranda plopped down on a boulder with a groan. “These boots weren’t made for walking. How much farther do you think we have?”

  “Probably five miles or so, which equates to about two more hours.”

  “I’m sorry, Keith, but I don’t think I can do it. It’s these damned boots.” She grimaced. The insides had rubbed her feet raw. “They were brand new.”

  “Let me see.” Keith dropped the heavy pack he was carrying and squatted down beside her.

  She hissed in pain as he tugged off her boot. Sure enough, they’d worn the hide right off the back of her heel. “I guess I’m a tenderfoot after all.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think you’re going any farther. You’ll have to wait for me here.”

  “You’re going to leave me?” she asked with a surge of panic.

  “Do you want me to call in the helicopter instead?”

  “For blistered heels?” She considered it, and then discarded the option for fear that Keith would think her a total wimp. “It does seem like overkill, I suppose.”

  “Considering the cost of fuel, it does. I won’t be long,” he reassured her. “Traveling alone, I’ll make better time. I should be able to get there and back again with a horse in about two hours.”

  “Two hours?” She sank her teeth into her lip. “I guess I’ll survive.”

  “Yes.” He flashed his startling white teeth. “You’ll survive. But I’ll leave my rifle with you just in case of trouble.”

  She scowled at the rifle. “You know how I feel about guns.”

  “Don’t argue, Aiwattsi. It’s only for your protection. I’ll show you how to use it.”

  “Why do you keep calling me that?” she asked. “What does Aiwattsi mean?”

  He shook his head with a secretive smile. “That’s for you to figure out.” He unsheathed his rifle. “Let me show you how to use this.” He flipped the safety, cocked, and shouldered it. “Hold the stock firm to your shoulder like this, or the recoil will knock you on your ass, or worse, hit you in the face. You try it.”

  Miranda’s palms were sweaty as she took the rifle from his hands. She hated guns, but he was right. She needed some protection if she was going to be out here alone with rattlesnakes and mountain lions and God knows what else. She shouldered and aimed it, but held back from firing a shot.

  “Go ahead and shoot it,” he urged. “You need to know how it feels.”

  She licked her lips and exhaled, instinctively shutting her eyes as she squeezed the trigger. The stock jammed into her should
er as the sound of the gunshot exploded in her ears.

  “Good.” Keith gave a nod. “But keep your eyes open next time.”

  “I hope there won’t be a next time.”

  He pulled a canteen from his pack. “I’ll take this one, but there’s more water in here and some salty shoe leather if you get hungry enough.” Another grin stretched his mouth. His gaze then met hers, and his smile faded. “I promise I won’t be long.”

  Leaving his pack behind, Keith took off at a jog. His look and words were meant to reassure, but Miranda still couldn’t suppress a dull feeling of abandonment as she watched him slowly fade into the horizon.

  * * *

  Hoping to kill time, Miranda scouted the vicinity for the opportunity to take a few stills, but the barren, sage-dotted landscape in the noonday sun provided little inspiration. Seeking relief from the sun, Miranda pulled a blanket from the pack and then climbed on top of a boulder to hang it over the branches of a Joshua tree. Having created a shelter, she stretched out against the tree, her cap pulled down over her eyes, only to be startled a few minutes later by a soft nicker.

  She opened her eyes to discover one of the stray foals they’d sought. Lying perfectly still, she was filled with a thrilling sense of wonder when the horse approached. Seemingly fascinated, it sniffed her and then moved down her body until the whiskers of its muzzle tickled her hand.

  Miranda suppressed a giggle at the sensation of moist, hot air fanning her skin. She opened her palm, whispering, “Hello, little horse.”

  It snorted and jumped back, wide-eyed. After a moment it recovered its courage and returned, but this time her hat seemed to have caught its interest. It sniffed, then experimentally lipped the visor. She noticed a second foal, a strawberry roan, standing a short distant away, watching them as the braver one continued smelling and chewing on her hat. After a time, he became bored and moved on to nose her pack, likely attracted to the smell of the fruit inside it. He proceeded to nudge it until he knocked it onto the ground, spilling the contents. Once more, he shied. A louder snort ensued, but then he returned to poke at the spineless prickly pears, eventually taking a bite.

  Moving very slowly, she uncapped the camera around her neck and began to film them. The horse froze, watching her with front legs braced and ears flicking back and forth in uncertainty. But after a while, it seemed to lose both fear and interest as it wandered a few feet away and began cropping a patch of brome grass.

  Watching her more warily, the second foal eventually joined the first. She sat there filming their every movement, filled with an incredible sense of awe.

  Suddenly the horses startled. They gazed into the distance, ears pricked, looking as if they were about to bolt. Reflexively, Miranda reached out for the rifle as she squinted into the distance, but she could see nothing. Taking up her camera, she zoomed in the direction where the horses were focused. At first she made out only a dust cloud, but then shapes emerged: three men on horseback—her much anticipated rescue posse. Exhaling in relief, she released the rifle, hoping and praying the two young horses would stay put. Thankfully, they didn’t stray far.

  The riders soon approached. Keith eyed her with a look of surprise. “You found them?”

  “They found me.” She laughed. “What happens now? How do we get them back?”

  “They’ll follow us as long as we’re on horseback,” Dave answered.

  “But there are only three horses,” she remarked. “Where’s Sadie?”

  “She made it back to camp late last night, but she’s hurt pretty bad,” Donny said.

  “Was it the lion?” Miranda asked.

  “Nope, just rope burns and a leg sprain. She’ll recover, but she can’t carry any weight for a while.”

  Donny gathered up the spilled pack while Keith rode up beside the rock where Miranda was still perched. He stretched out his hand. “C’mon. You can ride with me.”

  Throwing her leg over the horse, she mounted behind his saddle, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. All her senses immediately fired at the close contact. On the surface they might seem completely incompatible, but under it all, their chemistry was off the charts. She wondered what would have happened had the lion not attacked. How far would it have gone? She shut her eyes and breathed him in, hoping to etch it all on her brain. Once they returned with the foals, her adventure would be over, and even more regretfully, her time with Keith.

  * * *

  Arriving back at camp, Miranda immediately accosted Mitch. “How is the foal? The one we put on the helicopter. Is he going to make it?”

  “That one’s back with his mama now.” Mitch indicated a pen containing several mares and babies. “It’s still a bit touch and go,” he said, “but I think he’s gonna pull through.”

  “Thank God.” Miranda’s heart squeezed at the sight of the pinto foal nursing his mother. She didn’t even know how it had happened, but the fate of the foal suddenly meant a great deal to her. For the first time in her life she felt part of something important. Something that mattered. The last twenty-four hours had changed her, intrinsically and irrevocably, and Keith had been an integral part of that. She watched him wistfully as they completed the process of loading the last of the horses into the stock trailers.

  “What happens to them now?” she asked as the steel door slammed shut for the final time.

  “We’re taking them all to join the others at the Palomino Valley processing center,” Mitch replied. “That’s where they’ll get vet care and freeze branding for identification. After that, the younger ones will be shipped out to adoption centers.”

  Miranda gaped. “That baby’s going to be taken from his mother after all this?”

  “Not right away,” Mitch replied. “But he will be as soon as he’s weaned.”

  “Why?”

  “Because younger horses are easier to adopt out,” Mitch explained.

  “What about the older ones? What happens to them?” She suddenly recalled the horror stories she’d read about the hundreds of thousands that were slaughtered for dog food decades earlier.

  “They don’t kill ’em, if that’s what you fear,” Mitch reassured her. “It’s illegal—in this country anyway. Most’ll be shipped out to long-term federal holding facilities. You’re welcome to follow us to Palomino Valley. It’s only three hours south of here, just outside Reno, which won’t even be out of your way.”

  Keith suddenly glanced her way. “I’ll drive you back to Bruno’s,” he volunteered. “You can just follow us from there.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?” Miranda asked.

  He shrugged. “Not at all.”

  “Great.” Mitch tipped his hat. “I guess we’ll see you both in a few hours.”

  After Mitch pulled out with his last load of horses, Miranda followed Keith to his truck.

  “So what happens after this job is done?” she asked. “Are you all heading back to Wyoming?”

  “No. Mitch is doing a nuisance gather in Tuscarora.”

  “What’s a nuisance gather?”

  “It’s usually removing horses that push over fences and invade private property. Sometimes they present a hazard in residential areas as well, wandering onto highways and such. Mitch and his boys can handle it without me. I’m going to be busy hauling a load of horses to the Warm Springs Correctional Facility in Carson City.”

  “Correctional facility? Why are you taking horses to a prison?”

  “It’s a special program,” he explained. “There are several prisons around the country that let the inmates work with the horses, gentling them for easier adoption, but the prisons can take only a handful of horses at a time. In the meantime, the BLM keeps culling the herds, even though they’ve run out of places to put them.”

  “What do you mean ‘run out of places’?”

  “At last report, they have about fifty thousand mustangs they’re managing, and there’s at least three more gathers scheduled over the next month in Nevada alone.”


  “Did you say fifty thousand?” she repeated incredulously. “That isn’t management. It’s insanity!”

  Keith shook his head ruefully. “That’s government bureaucracy at work.”

  “What’s going to happen to them all?” she asked.

  “Who knows? The BLM is so desperate, they’ve even begun turning to private ranchers for help.”

  “That’s got to be less expensive than keeping them at holding facilities, and better for the horses too,” she said.

  “It still doesn’t fix the problem,” Keith said. “The entire mustang program is a total fuck up—a waste of time, money, and resources.”

  Keith opened her door, and she climbed into the cab. They drove in a strained silence, with Miranda casting him only occasional sidelong glances. His cynicism about the horse gathering surprised and disappointed her. Until now, she’d even begun to see him as the romantic lead in her own Wild West adventure, but his bitterness had tarnished some of the hero gleam.

  “Something on your mind?” he prompted once they reached the end of the road where her car was parked.

  “Yes. There is. I don’t understand you, Keith. If you don’t believe in this, why are you doing it?”

  He cut off the engine and turned to face her. “Do you comprehend the term ‘necessary evil’?” he asked.

  “I suppose so.”

  “That’s what this is. Most of those horses back there would have died if we hadn’t gathered them.”

  “So you’ve saved them,” she said. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

  “Yes, we saved them,” he replied. “But that doesn’t mean they’ll have a good life.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because the ones that were gathered will be separated and never live as families again. Wild horses don’t live in large herds, but in small family bands—usually one stallion with a few mares and their offspring. They have very strong bonds. These horses are much like us. They are not dumb animals. They feel emotions. They get pissed off just like we do. They fear. They show affection. They even mourn. It’s a cruel practice to tear them apart.”

  “So you really do care,” she said softly.