Whitehorse Part 14

The alarm clicked on and music filled the bedroom. Five A.M. Without turning on the lamp on the bedside table, Leah slid out of bed, grabbed her shorts off the floor and tugged them up her long legs. She dug through a drawer and chose a pale-blue crop top with just enough elastic to conform to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and exposing her midriff to just below her navel.

The excitement she felt had little to do with the fact that there were only two more weeks of school, although the idea that she would soon be a junior in high school, therefore coming one year closer to graduation, was enough to make her giddy. No, her antic.i.p.ation stemmed from the fact that she had every intention of introducing herself to Johnny Whitehorse.

Barefoot, hairbrush in hand, she made her way down the back stairs, stopped long enough in the dim kitchen to search out a Dr. Pepper and a Snickers bar from the fridge, then exited the house. The gra.s.s felt cool and damp, the air brisk enough to bring gooseb.u.mps to her arms. That would change however, just as soon as the sun crept up over the mountains.

Lights blazed in the barns. Hands hurried about their ch.o.r.es, graining the eager horses, mucking the stalls, scrubbing buckets they would fill with fresh water. Though daylight was still a half-hour away, there were horses on the track already, full of energy, their lightweight riders carefully going through the ritual of walking the animals out before putting them through their runs. The animals' breath rushed from their flaring nostrils into the cold air like steam from a locomotive's smokestack.

If the grooms thought Leah's appearance in the barn so early unusual, they didn't show it. They nodded respectfully, some being so bold as to smile. She moved down the concrete aisle, flanked by stalls of horses with their heads in the feed buckets. Ah, how she loved the sounds of horses eating in the morning, their contented sighs, the grinding of teeth upon fragrant oats, the occasional blow if they happened to inhale too much dust from the grain. Top that off with sweet-smelling, fresh-cut alfalfa and she felt as if she were in heaven.

She found Johnny in the rehab barn.

On his knees, he carefully wound an elastic bandage around the horse's cannon bone, his long dark fingers gently situating the pressure so as not to hamper the circulation.

Funny how she forgot to breathe. And how the sight of him, bent over, his threadbare shirt pulled tight across his broad back, black hair spilling over his shoulders, made her feel upended and thinking she was really dumb for doing this. After all, what if he turned out to be a creep? Or to have an att.i.tude toward whites like so many Native Americans did.

"Hi," she said.

Johnny looked up. His eyes narrowed, his only show of surprise to find her standing barefoot in the barn before dawn, a Dr. Pepper in one hand, a partially eaten Snickers bar in the other.

"Bowed tendon?" she asked, pointing the candy at the horse's cannon bone.

He looked at her feet. "Nice toes. If you want to keep them you'd better put on some shoes."

Leah wiggled her toes and smiled. "Thanks. I do have nice toes, don't I? Do you like the color on the nails? It's called Flamingo Fruit Pa.s.sion. It's supposed to smell like papaya. Wanna sniff?" Sticking her foot up by Johnny's nose, she wiggled her toes again, swallowing back her need to giggle at her own outrageousness, but there was something so serious in his face and eyes that she felt obligated to relieve it, if for no other reason than to see him smile.

"Well? What does it smell like?"

"Fruit."

"What kind? Papaya? I think it smells more like peaches. My mom said strawberries."

He looked at her toes, waving just below his nose. "Watermelon."

"Umm. Yummy. I can live with watermelon." Dropping to her knees beside him, Leah forced herself to focus on the horse's leg, and not Johnny Whitehorse's dark eyes. They were beginning to scatter her thoughts and make her realize just how silly she was acting. Normally guys were attracted to ditsy, but not this guy. He was probably thinking now that she was a major doofus.

"So what's wrong with the leg?" she asked seriously.

"A bow, I think."

Leah bent over a bucket of foul-looking goop and sniffed. "Oh my gosh. What is that?"

"Bigel oil, lard, honey, and rosin. It's my grandfather's remedy for bows. You plaster the inside of the cannon bone from knee to fetlock and bind it with warm wraps. It takes away the swelling and soreness and strengthens the tendon."

"Have you called a vet?"

"No need to. The poultice works every time."

"There's talk of magnetic therapy soon. Something about positive and negative ions or something that's supposed to generate heat and better blood circulation to the traumatized area."

Wiping his hands on the knees of his jeans, Johnny shook his head. "Sounds like bad medicine to me. My father won't like it." He stood, grabbed up his pail of goop, and walked away.

His jeans were old and thin and fraying a little along the inseams over his thighs. There was a hoof pick and a comb jutting out of the left rear pocket. His shirt had seen much better days and was just on the verge of being too small. He wore Justin boots. Not the pointed-toe sort, thank goodness. Not rattlesnake hide or ostrich. Just plain brown leather that was scuffed and gouged, the sole nearly worn through and the heels in desperate need of replacing.

Johnny disappeared down another barn aisle, obviously uninterested in her ploys to get to know him. That didn't surprise her, really. The Apaches were known for showing great caution toward strangers, especially whites. They did not trust easily, and friendship was something to be earned.

Johnny sat on a bench in the supply room, elbows on his knees, forehead propped upon the palms of his hands as he stared at the floor between his feet. Leah leaned against the door frame and watched him a long moment before speaking.

He looked up, as he had before, face expressionless. Yet there was something in his eyes that had not been there before.

"I suppose I should introduce myself." Smiling, she crossed the small room that smelled like liniment and pine tar and Leather New, and extended her hand. "I'm Leah Foster."

Ignoring her hand, he stood and, turning his back to her, began collecting an a.s.sortment of vet wraps, rice brushes, and hoof dressings. "I know who you are," he said, dropping a wash mitt into a bucket, along with shampoo and a bottle of baby oil. "You're the boss's daughter. And you shouldn't be out here dressed like that. The men talk among themselves and say things that are less than honorable."

Hot color rushed to her cheeks as she stared at his back, her hand still extended. She could put anyone in his place, should she decide to, and had been known to get in an employee's face if she didn't like his manner or att.i.tude or his treatment of a horse. She could cut Johnny Whitehorse off at the knees with a slice of her tongue for his rudeness and blatant honesty, but she wouldn't because he was right. She had dressed like this to catch his attention. To flirt. To ... tease, which was totally unlike her. She had never been an airheaded bimbo, so why was she acting like one?

Johnny turned and looked down at her with a gentleness in his face that had not been there before. "You're a very pretty young woman, Miss Foster. Your heart is good, and your eyes honest. If your face looked like that of a horn toad you would still be attractive to me."

"Should I take that as a compliment?" She grinned.

"A very big compliment. There are few things as ugly as the face of a horn toad."

Leah laughed and shook her head. "Gosh. Beneath that somber if not outright grim demeanor, Mr. Whitehorse, I suspect there is a sense of humor lurking."

"Don't count on it." He moved around her toward the door.

Stepping in front of him, Leah offered the Dr. Pepper and candy bar. "A peace offering. Wanna bite?"

"Could be dangerous. You might catch Apache fever." As Leah frowned, Johnny took the candy from her hand and bit into it, then replaced it between her fingers as she continued to stare up at him, waiting for an explanation. "Your skin will gradually turn dark and you'll develop a craving for mescal."

"I could think of worse things than my skin turning dark."

"I'm not so sure your father could."

Johnny left the supply room and Leah fell in beside him. "I guess you're wondering why I'm here," Leah said, virtually running to keep up with Johnny's long stride.

"It's your barn. You need no explanations."

"I wanted to see you for several reasons. First, to apologize for Larry's rudeness last week. He knows nothing about horses. I'm sure he didn't realize that honking like he did was very dangerous."

"Then my a.s.sessment of him was right. He's an idiot."

"Secondly, I was very impressed by your handling of the situation. You managed to control the horse beautifully, and you were riding bareback. My gosh, most people would have hit the ground-"

"I'm an Indian, Miss Foster. My father is a trainer. It stands to reason that I'd know how to ride a horse bareback."

"Exactly. Which is why I'm here. I'd like you to give me lessons."

Johnny dropped the bucket next to an empty wash stall. His hands on his hips, he finally looked down at her. "I've seen you ride. You don't need any lessons from me."

"But I don't normally ride bareback. And when have you ever seen me ride?"

"You ride with your mother a lot. Out there." He nodded toward the distant pastures. "You're a decent rider. You have good hands, and a good seat. The horse is happy with you. Besides, what with school and helping my father, I really don't have time. Sorry."

He walked away, toward a rider and horse that had just entered the barn. Steam rose off the heated animal and lather dripped off its belly and ran down its legs. The jockey removed his protective gla.s.ses that were spotted with dirt and tossed them to Johnny.

"Fine," Leah said to herself. "Be that way."

She headed for the back barn, where the pleasure horses were stabled.

Genesis nickered as Leah slid open the stall door and looped a lead rope around the stallion's neck. As always, he lowered his head, nuzzled it against her and waited for her to stroke him.

"Big baby," she murmured, sliding her hand down his silken muzzle. His eyes grew drowsy and he released a sigh of contentment that made Leah smile. "You'll be a good boy for me this morning, won't you, Pooh? You'll keep your mind on me and not the babes? I've already made a big enough fool of myself this morning. We don't need to add insult to injury."

After securing the big bay between cross ties, Leah curried his dark coat until it shone, brushed out his black mane and tail, then wrapped his lower legs with polos-the ones she kept for special occasions-then located her bridle in the tack room.

No saddle today.

She mounted by way of a step stool.

The sky was just beginning to gray as Genesis pranced out of the barn, neck arched and ears erect, Leah playing with the reins just enough to remind the hot-blooded Arabian that this was not to be his usual dawn frolic around the turnout paddock. They headed for the breaking pen, a hundred-foot-diameter round pen not far from the stables.

Leah had not lied about her bareback capabilities. She was good, but not great. As long as the stallion behaved she could handle the situation. Her father would explode, of course. He preferred her to look the part of the senator's daughter-all refined and ladylike, a role model for young women who aspired to represent the very best of Uncle Sam, apple pie, and money.

The horse easily gave to the bit as she set him into a collected canter around the arena, glancing occasionally toward the stables where she had last seen Johnny Whitehorse. The horse warmed between her legs, and its easy rocking motion fingered a slow, oozing sensation through her, one that she had come to recognize and appreciate over the last couple of years. She wasn't ignorant of what it was, and meant. She and Larry weren't exactly angels, not that they had gone all the way. No way was she giving her virginity to such a moron, but they had, on occasion, enjoyed some fairly heavy petting.

Johnny leaned against the wall and watched her.

Leah brought the horse down to a slow, collected trot, a more difficult gait to sit with no saddle.

So Johnny wasn't as disinterested in her as he'd pretended.

She sank her heels hard into the stallion's side. He jumped forward, front feet leaving the ground as he pushed powerfully off his rear end. The reins slid through her loose fingers and she slipped sideways, hitting the ground and rolling face down in the sand. Eyes closed, she waited.

Footsteps running. The gate thrown open.

Leah smiled.

Johnny sank to his knees beside her, took her gently in his hands and turned her carefully. "Leah?" he said softly, but urgently. "Speak to me, Leah."

Her eyelids fluttered and opened.

His face was no longer expressionless. His eyes looked turbulent. Cradling her cheek with one hand he eased his thumb along her lower lip and asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yes." She nodded.

He raised one eyebrow and sat back on his heels. "Then the next time you bail off a horse to try and impress me you should try harder to land on your head. A little blood would go a long way to inspiring my pity."

"What are you insinuating? That I purposefully fell off that horse-"

"Exactly." Standing, Johnny turned on his heels and walked toward the horse that was nervously watching from the far side of the round pen.

"You're crazy," she shouted, sitting up and dusting sand from her arms and legs. "Why would I bother doing such a stupid thing?"

"Because you're rich and spoiled and accustomed to getting your way."

"I am not not spoiled." spoiled."

Johnny took the reins and led the horse to her as Leah got up, slapping dirt off her rear. He extended the reins. "One thing you must learn about the Apache, Miss Foster. We tolerate nothing but honesty from any man or woman. As my mother always said, 'Say what you mean, and mean what you say.'"

Leah rolled her eyes as Johnny started back toward the gate. "Fine," she yelled. "I fell off the horse on purpose. I thought you might be more receptive to giving me lessons if you thought I was a klutz. Look, I just want to get to know you. What's wrong with that?"

He stopped and slowly turned back. "Why are you so interested in getting to know me? I'm only an Indian."

"You're a guy first, aren't you?"

"No." He shook his head. "I'm Indian first. And you aren't. That's reason number one why you shouldn't bother getting to know me. Reason number two is your father. He doesn't like Indians, remember?"

"That's just stupid." She laughed. "He hired your father, didn't he?"

"If my father was from the moon and had eight eyes and seventeen arms, your father would have hired him because he's the finest trainer in this state. That doesn't mean he has to like him."

Shaking her head and crossing her arms, Leah said, "That's just not true."

"No?" Johnny walked toward her. "When is the last time your father asked my father into his house? Never. When has he ever asked about my father's health? Never. When has he given my father the credit he deserves for training his horses? Never. Instead, he takes these horses and gives them to Jack Jones to run because he doesn't want it known that an Indian trains his horses. And while my father drowns his disgrace in mescal, Jack pockets thousands of dollars in bonuses and commissions that should be my father's."

Taking the reins from her, Johnny tossed them over the stallion's withers. "Get on your horse, Miss Foster, and I'll give you one lesson only." He turned her toward the horse and gave her a leg up. With his dark hand lying upon her thigh, he lifted his black eyes up to hers. "You must become one with your animal. Your body is his body, from here-" He slid his hand to the top of her leg, where her crotch nestled into the animal's flesh, then down, slowly, along her leg, to just below her knee. "-to here. You hold his heart between your knees. Be gentle but firm and there's nothing he won't do for you. His heart and spirit are yours, Sons-ee-ah-ray." Sons-ee-ah-ray."

"Sons-ee...?"

"Sons-ee-ah-ray. Morning Star." He pointed to the solitary star that continued to shine in the dwindling gray of the bluing sky. "You shine like fire in the mist, Miss Foster."

Leah smiled, aware that Johnny's hand remained on her leg, like shadow upon sunlight. Even more aware that she liked it in a way that she had never liked Larry Norman's touch.

Johnny's father exited the barn, his step slowing as he saw Leah and Johnny. "Ish-kay-nay!" "Ish-kay-nay!" he shouted angrily, striding toward the round pen, fists clenched and jaw bulging. he shouted angrily, striding toward the round pen, fists clenched and jaw bulging.

"He looks p.i.s.sed," Leah whispered. "What does ish-kay-nay ish-kay-nay mean?" mean?"

"Boy." Removing his hand from her leg, Johnny backed away, lowering his head. "In my father's eyes I haven't yet achieved an act worthy of an Apache name."

Jefferson Whitehorse shouted again at Johnny, his language as foreign to Leah as j.a.panese. But his anger was undeniable. He did not look at Leah directly, but turned his profile to her, and with hands on his hips, waited until Johnny left the arena. They exchanged words before Johnny turned his back on his father and walked toward the barn. Only then did Jefferson Whitehorse look at her-briefly, the whites of his eyes red as fire.

That night after dinner, Leah sat on the porch with her mother. The whir of insects filled the air and the first bite of chill settled around her shoulders, making her glad that she had put on jeans and a long-sleeved tee shirt before curling up in the chaise. This was her favorite time to spend with her mother. Jane Foster was usually more relaxed after her evening meal and several strong drinks she called her dessert. When she was totally sober she was far too concerned with living up to her husband's expectations.