Wild Horses (Sadie's Montana #1)(81)

Finally he said, “Why are you so sure that horse can be yours?”

“I can tame her. I can.”

Sadie said this so emphatically, her voice became deeper, rich with an unnamed emotion.

Richard Caldwell said nothing. He could still remember her standing in that stall. He could still hear that broken Pennsylvania Dutch as she talked softly to that poor wreck of a horse. And then she lost that pet, likely because of the wild horses.

“Sadie, I want you to have that horse. But I think you’re going about getting her the wrong way.”

“No! I’m not. I know what I’m doing. She is already taking feed out of my hand.”

“No, what I mean is, do you really think those horses are wild?”

She slowly shook her head.

“If they’re not wild, then you’d be taking someone else’s horse.”

“No, no. I wouldn’t. No one knows whose horses they are or has any idea where they came from.”

Sadie was ripping a tissue into dozens of tiny pieces, her hands never ceasing their nervous movement.

“Now, Sadie,” Richard Caldwell began.

“What?”

“You remember the story I showed you from the news? It wasn’t too terribly long ago. Here at the ranch we all think that these horses are the stolen ones from… Ah, where was it? Hill County? Someplace south of here. As long as we let those horses run, it’s okay, but if you’d tame that palomino and someone discovered her, how could you prove you weren’t the horse thief?”

“Do I look like a horse thief?” Sadie said tersely.

Richard Caldwell’s booming laugh filled the office. He shook his head.

“Well, then,” Sadie said.

“We need to get to the bottom of this. If you tame that horse, then we’ll have to try and locate the person who had those horses stolen. It can be done.”

“You mean, I can go ahead and try?”

“Only if you tell your parents.”

Sadie was already shaking her head back and forth.

“I can’t.”

“You have to.”

Sadie remained silent, her thoughts racing.

“Did I ever tell you the story about the first dog I ever had?”

Sadie shook her head. A faraway look fell across Richard Caldwell’s weather-worn face as he told Sadie about the time he found the dirty, near-dead dog. He hid nothing—sharing how his father shot the dog before he could get away, and how he snuck out in the middle of the night to bury the thin body. He told about the sorrow, anger, guilt, and even forgiveness that eventually followed.

“And I never had another dog until I left home. My father hated dogs, so…”

“Now you have seven or eight.”

Richard Caldwell smiled, his eyes moist. He marveled at the onslaught of emotion she evoked in him. He could smell the wet grass, feel the smooth wooden handle of that shovel, and he knew exactly what this young woman was going through.

“So I need to wait to have a horse until I leave home, or what are you…?”

“No, no. I just want you to level with your parents.”

“If I level with them, as you say, there will be nothing to worry about. It will be over. My father does not like horses. He doesn’t understand that bond, that true… I don’t know.” Sadie hung her head miserably.

“I need to warn you, Sadie. You know if you tamed that mare and actually did take her home, the first problem is being caught and accused of being a horse thief. The second is that if the black stallion is as aggressive as you say, and if you have another horse with this palomino, he’ll kill him or wreck your whole barn trying.”

Sadie looked up.

Of course. She had not thought of that.

Defeat confronted her, raised its impossibly heavy head, and her spirit wavered within her. Like an accordion folding, the last notes dying away in a high, thin wail, she felt the piercing sadness of losing yet another horse.

Ach, Paris, I would have loved you so much.

Richard Caldwell watched the display of emotion on Sadie’s beautiful face, the drooping of her big blue eyes, the loosening of her perfect mouth.

She sighed, ran her fingers along the crease of the leather chair. Then she stood up abruptly, unexpectedly. Her chin lifted, her eyes darkened, and she spoke quietly.

“All right then, Mr. Caldwell. I will take your advice. I know you’re right. I’ve been blind, my own will leading Reuben and me into danger. I’ll go home and speak to my father, and if it’s over, it’s over. Thank you.”

Slowly she turned, her skirts swinging gracefully. She opened the door and was gone as quietly as a midsummer’s breeze.

Richard Caldwell cleared his throat. He stared unseeingly at the opposite wall. Overwhelming pity knocked on his heart. He picked up a gold pen and scribbled on a notepad. He crossed his hands behind his head, put his boots on his desk, and stared at the ceiling.

That was one courageous young woman.

How could she? Just like that, she gave up. It was the way these odd Amish people raised their children. Once the parents said no, the no was accepted. Perhaps not immediately, but … it was something.

Suddenly he lowered his feet, swiveled the great, black, leather chair, and clicked on the computer, straightening his back as light danced across the screen.