The You I've Never Known(26)

I’ll try calling her parents now.”

I can’t believe I didn’t think about doing that myself.

I ask information for “Grantham,”

but the operator can’t find a listing.

I can’t remember the name

of the ranch. Something with a G.

The Lazy G? Crooked G? No,

not right. Then it strikes me that Hillary’s probably carrying a cell phone, with relevant numbers programmed in.

I take hold of the horse, whose breathing has slowed to warm

puffs of steam exhaled into

the rapidly cooling air. Just as we turn away from the road, an old pickup belches by, and I know without looking who

it belongs to. Garrett doesn’t even slow down to see what’s

going on. In fact, he picks up speed, hoping, I’m sure, to kick up some dust. The mare reacts with a nervous skitter, and

I’m glad Garrett’s timing isn’t worse. “Easy, lady,” I tell her.

“He’s a jerk, but you’re okay.”

I lead her out into the field, close to the girl she left lying there. “Hey, Gabe. See if Hillary has a phone on her, would you?”

When he asks why and I explain, he says, Would you please do it?

I’m uncomfortable reaching into her pockets. I’ll hold on to the horse.





He’s Comfortable


With that, at least, so we trade places and as I kneel beside my not-quite-friend he walks the mare to keep her calm.

Hillary’s wearing a Windbreaker,

and I try those pockets first, come up empty. I’m scared to move her too much, but the front pockets

on her jeans yield nothing, so I reach under her and find what I’m looking for. She moans a little as I extract it, and I have no clue if that’s bad or good. Maybe she’s coming to?

“Hillary? It’s Ariel. Don’t move, okay?” There’s no sign she hears

me, but perhaps the sound of a familiar voice will comfort her somehow.

When I go into her contacts, the first one to pop up is “Daddy.”

“Answer. Answer,” I pray, but it goes to voice mail. “Um, Mr. Grantham?

This is Ariel Pearson. I’m one of Hillary’s teammates. There’s been an accident. Looks like Hillary

was tossed from her horse and . . .”

I offer the spotty details, and as I disconnect I can hear the not-so-subtle approach of the ambulance.

Noting the horse’s reaction, I offer to take charge of her while Gabe

goes to wave down the EMTs.

As I move her farther away from

the scene, I look for another contact and find a Peg Grantham under favorites.

She answers on the fourth ring, but freaks at the unfamiliar voice. What are you doing with Hillary’s phone?

Her accusatory shriek pisses me off.

“Okay, listen. Hillary’s horse threw her.

My friend and I found her, and called 9-1-1. The ambulance just got here, so she’ll be on her way to the hospital soon. I’ve got the mare and can bring her to you, or you can come get her. Just tell me what I should do. By the way, I’m not into stealing horses or phones.”

Well, that’s certainly good to hear.

Do you know where the ranch is located?

The foreman can meet you at the gate.





Okay, That Was Weird


I guess maybe expecting

an apology was too much,

but, “I know where you are,

and I’m happy to deliver

the horse, but don’t you

want to know how Hillary is?”

Well, of course. You just upset me and I forgot to ask. Is she okay? Any bones broken?

“I’m really not sure, but I

can tell you she’s unconscious.”

And now I really have to ask, “Are you Hillary’s mother?”

I realize I know nothing about her family except the rumors

passed around about her dad: He’s a real estate developer

who owns a sizable chunk

of the state, and has powerful friends in California politics.

Who knows how much is true?

No, I happen to be Hillary’s aunt.

Her father’s out of town and left me in charge, but I’ll let him know what happened. Oh, and I guess I ought to thank you for your help.





I’m Glad


Dear, sweet Peg Grantham

isn’t Hillary’s actual mom.

Such a caring individual!

Now I feel sorry for Hillary.

Busy dad. Ice-blooded aunt, who’s apparently her caretaker.

No wonder Hillary is so cool.

Gabe, on the other hand,

impresses me with

not only his warmth, but

also his bank of knowledge: treatment for shock;

equine handling; giving

a girl a decent boost.

I watch as they strap

Hillary to a backboard,

under Gabe’s watchful eye.

She’s moving a little, and

they warn her to stop.

Does that mean she’s come

around? Yes. She’s asking

about her horse. Niagara?

Where’s Niagara? Is she okay?

At the sound of Hillary’s voice, the mare’s ears start twitching.