Saddle Up(29)

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 shoulder 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.