AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter 1
Tom Borde almost ran from the ranch house living room, clenching his fists as tightly as his mouth. If he stayed, he’d say something unforgivable.
“Tom! Thomas Pierre Borde, don’t you walk away from me! I’m talking to you! Tom—” Dad’s voice stopped with the bang of the ancient back-door screen. His anger-fueled steps ate the hundred yards to the barn. He had to get away from his father’s stubborn insistence on business as usual and incessant badgering. He should have stayed in New York City for so many reasons. Number one on that list was his dad treating him like he was still a sixteen-year-old boy, instead of forty-two with a professional career behind him.
He stopped at the paddock fence. Horses trotted to him, looking for a treat. All of them needed exercise, but he hadn’t ridden the new one yet, a palomino named Strawberry. A neighbor couldn’t afford her care and begged Dad to take her. Of course, Dad couldn’t say no; that’s why they had a corral full of horses they didn’t need. And a ridiculously high monthly vet bill, even though they administered all the routine medications themselves.
He grabbed Strawberry’s saddle and bridle from the barn and took them to the paddock fence. At least Dad got Strawberry’s tack along with the horse. She tried to avoid him, but with his long strides and a treat, he caught her and got her tacked up. Grabbing a pair of saddlebags pre-stocked with a first aid kit and a water bottle, he filled the water bottle and fastened the bags and a holstered rifle to the saddle. He mounted and turned Strawberry up the long dirt road heading up into the Sapphire Mountains on the east side of the Bitterroot Valley.
He’d ride up the crest trail and let his father cool his heels for a while. And maybe Tom’s temper would cool too. Generally, it took a lot to get him upset, but Dad pushed all his buttons. Plus, the man just couldn’t see that times were changing and Tom had changed, too. He wasn’t a teenager, and he didn’t live on ranching; he had money to invest in the business, but only if they were modernizing. If they remained stuck in the past, they’d get run over and lose the business and the land. Marcus didn’t need another “gentleman’s ranch,” barely used by a multimillionaire twice a year, and America still needed good cattle ranchers. The problem was agreeing on what “good” meant.
The morning was brighter than his mood. Sunny but cool; September in Montana was his favorite time of year. Strawberry was a nervy, jumpy ride, doing her best to prevent him from enjoying the fall colors. “Well, horse, you’re in for a surprise.” He patted her neck and controlled her gently but firmly, letting her know he was in command.
Once she was warmed up a bit, Tom moved her into a canter up the increasingly steep road. If she didn’t want to settle down, well, fine, she’d work—hard. Her former owner probably hadn’t ridden enough and spoiled her. Since Tom was six-four and strong from hefting hay bales, she was carrying more weight than she was probably used to, and he wouldn’t put up with bad behavior. Near the top end of the road, he slowed to let her rest and get a better look at the huge timber-frame mansion that finally sold after many years on the market. He’d heard rumors about the work being done on the place, and seen lots of construction trucks going up and down the road, but hadn’t had the time to check it out.
Strawberry sidled and turned, keeping his attention mostly on her, but the glimpses he caught were certainly different. The new owner must be seriously worried about something to surround the majestic three-story stone and wood house with a high, ugly chain-link fence, including razor wire at the top, a big solid metal gate across the driveway, and no trespassing signs warning about surveillance in use every fifty feet. Tom hadn’t worried that much in the middle of NYC, let alone Marcus, but to each his own. Or her own, since he’d been told the owner was a woman. With that kind of security, maybe she was a mob boss or drug cartel leader. Or a famous actress. Whatever she did, neither his dad nor their neighbors had met her yet; she kept to herself.
He clucked at Strawberry, urging her into a trot, then slowed to a walk once they reached the lightly used, rather rough feeder trail. Dense groves of aspen and birch crowded the trail, their branches making Strawberry jump. They passed the Bitterroot National Forest sign, and the trees thinned, turning to ponderosa pine. She still wasn’t very happy about the trail, shying at rocks and brush. Probably an arena queen, used for show only. To be fair, the trail needed some clearing; he’d bring a pair of loppers on his next ride.
He’d probably be smarter to take her back and trade her out for a trained trail horse. But he was a good rider and well used to training horses; the experience and work would be good for her and take his mind off his problems. After they turned onto the Sapphire crest trail and the terrain opened into rock and sagebrush with the occasional ponderosa pine, she settled a bit. He’d ride to the high point, and then they’d turn around.
They reached the point without any real problems, Strawberry jumping at the occasional wind-tossed bush but easily controlled. At the top, Tom twisted, reached into his saddle bag, grabbed his water bottle, and drank, taking in the green and gold expanse of the Bitterroot Valley and the stunning, rugged mountains beyond. In the midst of the quiet beauty, his mood settled and his determination hardened. He’d find another way to explain his plans for the ranch and bring Dad into the modern world.
He turned Strawberry back toward the ranch, keeping her to a slow walk down the rough, rocky, single-track trail. She seemed steadier; the miles up the crest worked the nervous energy out of her. Not bothering to stop, he twisted in the saddle, opening the saddle bag to return the water bottle.
He went airborne, Strawberry bucking and spinning beneath him. He clamped his legs tight, but saddle leather slid under his jeans. He sailed through the air and hit the ground hard. “Oof!” He rolled up, grabbing for the reins but missing.
Strawberry ran down the trail, blowing, neighing, and bucking like the drama queen she was. He blew out an exasperated breath. Stupid horse and stupid him to trust a new horse.
He stood, brushed himself off, and followed the horse down the trail, water bottle in hand. A long hike in city-style cowboy boots, but at least he had water. He’d enjoy the lovely day, since he didn’t have to worry about controlling Strawberry. Ridiculous, spoiled horse. He strolled, taking in the sights and appreciating the quiet for one mile, then two. On a steeper slope, his foot slid, and he scrambled to stay upright, but his heel jammed into a hole. Suddenly, he was on the ground on his smarting backside again. “Ow!”
He got to one knee and put his foot down. “Ah!” He must have twisted his ankle when he stepped in the hole. Great. Nobody knew where he was, his horse probably hadn’t been on the ranch long enough to know her way home, he had half a bottle of water and—he pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket—a broken cell phone. Double great.
And his first aid kit and rifle were on the saddle too. He sighed and shook his head at his own stupidity. Ten feet off the trail, a group of boulders were stacked twenty feet high, a single pine growing near them. He could hobble to the rocks, and when it got hot later, use them for shade. Until then, he’d put his leg up. Rest, ice, compression, elevation—two out of four was the best he could do. He crab-walked his way over to the rocks, using both hands and his right leg. At least he’d been wearing gloves, and he was in good shape, so it wasn’t impossible. He turned on his butt, put his leg up on the rock, and lay down, putting his gloves under his head. There wasn’t much else he could do right now, so he might as well take advantage of the warming day and take a nap. He pulled his hat over his face so he wouldn’t get burned and closed his eyes.
Tom started awake and sat up, his hat flying off his face and landing in his lap, and his legs thwacking on the ground. Ow. Oh, yeah, he’d twisted his ankle. The sun was higher in the sky, the air temperature warmer, but that didn’t wake him. Hooves plodding on rock did. Strawberry coming back didn’t seem very likely. But sure enough, Strawberry trod toward him, but not by herself.
Nope, she was being led. A fairly short person, judging by Strawberry’s height. He waited until they got closer and then waved his arms. “Hey, over here!”
The person raised a hand in acknowledgment and kept moving up the trail. With the big pack, floppy hat, and baggy clothes, he couldn’t tell if his rescuer was male or female. As they led Strawberry closer, uncertainty and unease made the back of his neck crawl. He might have been better off waiting for Dad to call out Search and Rescue. The person leading his horse was heavily armed.
A semi-automatic pistol was strapped to the right thigh, bear spray on the other, over desert camouflage pants. A backpack dwarfed the person’s frame, with several knives fastened to the hip strap and a couple more on each arm. Another canister of bear spray hung from a shoulder strap. They wore a loose, long-sleeve T-shirt in a dull brown and a floppy military-style hat. Dark hair might be under the hat, but it was either very short or pulled back tight. He could only see a slightly pointed chin below the hat. No sign of a beard, so possible a woman or a younger boy.
They stopped a good twenty-five feet away. “This your horse?” The voice was even, without any emotion, and not pitched high or low enough to indicate gender.
He smoothed his frown. “Yes, that’s Strawberry. She threw me, and then I twisted my ankle. Can you help me get back up on her?”
The person stood silent for a moment. “Maybe. Can you get up on the rock? You’re too big to lift.” Again, the tone was flat and matter-of-fact.
Well, whoever they were, they were willing to help, and that was good enough. “Probably. Hold on.” Tom spun on his backside, putting his back to the rock, then used his good leg to press up. He shoved his body on top of the four-foot-high rock, then pushed on his good leg again, so he stood on the rock. “If you can bring her over, I can probably get on her from here.”
With a tongue-click, his rescuer led the horse to him. While he’d been clambering up the rock, the person had taken off their pack and pulled his rifle from Strawberry’s holster. The tension at the back of his neck tightened. All those weapons, and they wanted his, too. He didn’t like the picture, but they were helping, so he couldn’t complain. His rescuer led Strawberry up to the rock, with her right side toward him; but the horse was too skittish to try new and different techniques. “Excuse me, but do you know anything about horses?”
“No.”
“This one’s nervy and not very well-trained. Can you turn her around so her left side faces me please? The left side is where you normally mount.”
The hat tilted to one side, followed by a single nod. “Okay.” They turned Strawberry around.
