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Authors: Jenny Oldfield
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with shock, his eyes dark.
Though he would deny it, would rant and rave and go crazy with anger rather than admit it, she could see his heart was broken. Slowly, painfully, she began to tell him the whole story.
7
It was forty-eight hours since Crazy Horse and Cadillac had been stolen.
The family had talked through the crisis all through Tuesday evening, helping Matt to come to terms with the loss of his two horses, looking at his future as calmly as they could.
“I want you to graduate as a vet,” Sandy Scott had told him. “Whatever you think now, however badly you feel, I still want you to finish college.”
He’d said it was waste of time, his heart wasn’t in it, he wanted to work at Half Moon Ranch to take some of the load off her.
“If Dad was around to help, like he should be, I wouldn’t feel this way,” Matt had insisted.
Kirstie’s own heart had been squeezed when he said that.
If Dad hadn’t left us…if he hadn’t found a new woman, a new life…
“But he isn’t,” Sandy had said emptily, finally.
“Then it’s up to me. I’ve gotta do it!” Matt had brought the argument full circle.
They’d reached a compromise. Matt had said he had one and a half days before his next exam. Sandy had agreed he could stay at home until then, help in the search for Cadillac and Crazy Horse, then drive back to Denver to finish the tests.
“After that, we’ll talk again,” she insisted. “Short-term, you can stick around. I understand you need to do everything you can to find the horses. And Kirstie, me, Charlie, and Hadley, we’ll all do our bit to help get them back. But long-term, we’re not deciding anything right now. OK?”
Grudgingly, Matt had agreed.
“Thirty-six hours!” Kirstie sighed now as she went to her bedroom window and looked out across the meadow. “Forty-eight since it happened. Thirty-six to mend Matt’s broken heart.”
The moon shone bright in a clear sky. The whole valley was lit by a weird silver light that picked out the shapes of the cabins on the hillside, the stands of aspen trees, the jagged horizons.
In Red Fox Meadow, the horses stood still and alert. They were listening.
Kirstie opened her window and leaned out. She saw the horses lift their heads and turn their faces in the direction of Five Mile Creek.
An indistinct figure appeared on the bank of the river. It plodded slowly, unevenly, toward the ranch, emerging from shadowy trees, weaving unsteadily and sometimes losing its footing to plunge knee-deep into the icy water. Then the horse would stagger, regain his balance, climb up the bank, and walk slowly on.
Flinging on a jacket and boots, flying downstairs, Kirstie ran out of the house. The door banged against the wall, her feet clattered on the wooden deck, then she was plunging into the dark, racing for the footbridge, gasping for breath as she sprinted to meet the weary traveler.
“Crazy Horse!” She wrapped her arms around his neck. He lowered his big, ugly-beautiful head.
The pale, tan horse was quivering from head to foot. His coat was caked with mud, his blond mane matted and tangled. And there was a burn mark on his neck where a rope had tightened and rubbed—a long, open sore that had cut through the skin, bled, and congealed.
“Oh, gosh, where have you been?” Kirstie gasped. “What did they do to you?”
He shook his head free, walked on doggedly toward the house.
Matt appeared in the doorway, his lean figure silhouetted in a square of yellow lamplight. For a moment, he stood stock-still. Then he sprang toward Kirstie and Crazy Horse. Across the yard, a light came on in the bunkhouse. The door opened, and first Hadley, then Charlie came out to see what was going on.
It was Matt that Crazy Horse needed to see. He staggered with Kirstie as far as the corral, where his owner stood, stopping again in disbelief, looking from one to the other and eventually walking slowly toward the horse.
Matt reached out to touch Crazy Horse’s
Though he would deny it, would rant and rave and go crazy with anger rather than admit it, she could see his heart was broken. Slowly, painfully, she began to tell him the whole story.
7
It was forty-eight hours since Crazy Horse and Cadillac had been stolen.
The family had talked through the crisis all through Tuesday evening, helping Matt to come to terms with the loss of his two horses, looking at his future as calmly as they could.
“I want you to graduate as a vet,” Sandy Scott had told him. “Whatever you think now, however badly you feel, I still want you to finish college.”
He’d said it was waste of time, his heart wasn’t in it, he wanted to work at Half Moon Ranch to take some of the load off her.
“If Dad was around to help, like he should be, I wouldn’t feel this way,” Matt had insisted.
Kirstie’s own heart had been squeezed when he said that.
If Dad hadn’t left us…if he hadn’t found a new woman, a new life…
“But he isn’t,” Sandy had said emptily, finally.
“Then it’s up to me. I’ve gotta do it!” Matt had brought the argument full circle.
They’d reached a compromise. Matt had said he had one and a half days before his next exam. Sandy had agreed he could stay at home until then, help in the search for Cadillac and Crazy Horse, then drive back to Denver to finish the tests.
“After that, we’ll talk again,” she insisted. “Short-term, you can stick around. I understand you need to do everything you can to find the horses. And Kirstie, me, Charlie, and Hadley, we’ll all do our bit to help get them back. But long-term, we’re not deciding anything right now. OK?”
Grudgingly, Matt had agreed.
“Thirty-six hours!” Kirstie sighed now as she went to her bedroom window and looked out across the meadow. “Forty-eight since it happened. Thirty-six to mend Matt’s broken heart.”
The moon shone bright in a clear sky. The whole valley was lit by a weird silver light that picked out the shapes of the cabins on the hillside, the stands of aspen trees, the jagged horizons.
In Red Fox Meadow, the horses stood still and alert. They were listening.
Kirstie opened her window and leaned out. She saw the horses lift their heads and turn their faces in the direction of Five Mile Creek.
An indistinct figure appeared on the bank of the river. It plodded slowly, unevenly, toward the ranch, emerging from shadowy trees, weaving unsteadily and sometimes losing its footing to plunge knee-deep into the icy water. Then the horse would stagger, regain his balance, climb up the bank, and walk slowly on.
Flinging on a jacket and boots, flying downstairs, Kirstie ran out of the house. The door banged against the wall, her feet clattered on the wooden deck, then she was plunging into the dark, racing for the footbridge, gasping for breath as she sprinted to meet the weary traveler.
“Crazy Horse!” She wrapped her arms around his neck. He lowered his big, ugly-beautiful head.
The pale, tan horse was quivering from head to foot. His coat was caked with mud, his blond mane matted and tangled. And there was a burn mark on his neck where a rope had tightened and rubbed—a long, open sore that had cut through the skin, bled, and congealed.
“Oh, gosh, where have you been?” Kirstie gasped. “What did they do to you?”
He shook his head free, walked on doggedly toward the house.
Matt appeared in the doorway, his lean figure silhouetted in a square of yellow lamplight. For a moment, he stood stock-still. Then he sprang toward Kirstie and Crazy Horse. Across the yard, a light came on in the bunkhouse. The door opened, and first Hadley, then Charlie came out to see what was going on.
It was Matt that Crazy Horse needed to see. He staggered with Kirstie as far as the corral, where his owner stood, stopping again in disbelief, looking from one to the other and eventually walking slowly toward the horse.
Matt reached out to touch Crazy Horse’s
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