Sixteen and Dying

Fearfully, Anne stared at her bleeding hand.

Morgan reached beneath her, lifted her, and placed her safely away from the hay and its invisible weapon. “Let me see how bad you’re cut.”

“It’s nothing,” Anne said, keeping her hand close to her body. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re bleeding. You may need stitches. Let me wipe it off and examine it.”

Her eyes widened, reminding him of a deer trapped in headlights. “No! Don’t touch it!”

“Why? I want to help. I’ve seen blood before.”

“Stay away! Please, don’t touch me.” She was shaking all over.

“At least let me wrap my handkerchief around it to try to stop the bleeding.” He fumbled in his jeans pocket.

“No!” She darted backward. “My father and I’ll take care of it.”

“But—”

“Please—you don’t understand. I-I can’t explain. Just don’t touch it.” Wild-eyed, panicked, she spun, and clutching her hand to her side, she bolted from the barn.

Dumbfounded, Morgan watched her run back toward her cabin.

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“A
NNE, DOES THE
ranch measure up?” her father eagerly asked.

Anne Wingate stopped unpacking and smiled. “Give me a minute, Dad. We just got here an hour ago.”

Her father leaned against the four-poster bed where Anne had opened her suitcase. “Is your room as large as mine?” she asked. “Why don’t you go unpack?”

“My room’s fine. I’ll unpack, but I want to be sure you’re happy with everything first. No use staying if you don’t like it.”

Anne shook her head, controlling her urge to tell him to stop worrying so much. “The Broken Arrow Ranch seems to be just what the brochures promised,” she said. “Wide open spaces, terrific luxurious cabins, and plenty of horses. Did you see how blue
the sky is out here? The Rocky Mountains in the distance are awesome.”

“Sure it’s great, but I miss New York’s skyscrapers!”

“Oh, Daddy, New York City isn’t the only place in the world. I’m actually tired of concrete and smog, and of never seeing the sky. I’ve wanted to come to a place like this all my life. Remember, now that we’re here, you promised to forget about the city and the university and everything back home. Start having a good time.”

She wasn’t angry. She knew her father only wanted her to be happy. Taking the summer off from classes as a history professor at New York University, closing up their apartment in Brooklyn Heights, and traveling out to Colorado to a dude ranch simply because she asked him hadn’t been easy for him. Especially under the circumstances.

“If you have a good time, I’ll have a good time,” her father assured her. “You know I’ve only seen and ridden horses in Central Park, but I’ll do my best.” He watched her a few minutes longer, then asked, “Do you want anything? Can I help?”

“Dad, I’m sixteen. I think I can manage to unpack a suitcase by myself.”

“I know, but it’s been a long trip. I don’t want you getting tired out.”

Anne paused, observing her father. He was the one who looked tired. They had flown out of La Guardia at seven
A.M
., changed planes in Chicago, and landed in Denver. Now they were on Mountain Standard Time, but it was six o’clock in New York. Then, they’d been greeted by Tom Green, a representative
from the Broken Arrow, and driven another hundred miles out to the ranch. Anne walked over to her father and put her hands on his chest. “Stop worrying about me. I feel just fine,” she said softly.

“I can’t help it. I—”

“You promised me we could have these few weeks to have a good time—just you and me.”

“I know what I promised.” Wearily, he raked his hand through his crop of fuzzy brown hair. “I’m a man of my word. I won’t ask you any more questions.”

Anne dropped her hands, glancing away, unable to tolerate the look of sadness on his face. She didn’t want to be sad. She only wanted to finish unpacking and take a tour of the ranch. “Did you see the corral when we drove in? I want to walk down and get a look at the horses.”

“I thought you were unpacking.”

“There’s plenty of time for that.”

“Mr. Green said that dinner would be at six. You don’t want to miss out on dinner in the mess hall.”

“I’m sure I’ll hear the dinner bell,” Anne said. “Right now, I’m changing into jeans and going down to that corral.”

Once she had changed, Anne left the small cabin she would be sharing with her father and hurried outside. She breathed the fresh, sweet-smelling air. She thought it was both wonderful and intoxicating.

Quickly, she got her bearings. She jogged past the cluster of cabins where the guests stayed, past the main lodge where guests and ranch hands shared meals, to a barn and a large corral where several horses milled about. Their hooves kicked up dust,
making her cough. Anne boosted herself up onto the railing and peered over the top at the animals. She’d always loved horses, always wanted one of her own, but keeping a horse in the city was impractical. Over the years, she’d read books and collected pictures and horse figurines. She’d gone riding around Central Park, but that was never satisfying enough.

Anne held out her hand toward one of the horses. “Hey, fella,” she called softly. The bay’s ears pricked forward as she cooed to him. “Come on over. I won’t hurt you.” Anne wished she’d brought along a lump of sugar to tempt the animal closer.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

The harsh male voice startled Anne, and she almost lost her balance on the fence. She half jumped, half fell the few feet to the ground and whirled to face an angry-sounding young man with broad square shoulders, black hair, and cold blue eyes. “Don’t you know these premises are off-limits to you tourists?” He pushed his Stetson hat back on his head and gave her a withering look.

“I was just looking,” Anne stammered, completely intimidated. The angry voice belonged to a handsome face. His denim shirt was soaked with perspiration, and his jeans looked dusty and well worn. He wore brown boots, caked with dirt and mud.

“These are range ponies,” he added sharply. “They’ve been out on the range for months and have just been brought in. They’re mostly wild. You could get hurt.”

She didn’t like being yelled at by someone who looked close to her own age. “I was being careful,”
she insisted. “I wasn’t going to crawl over the fence, you know.”

His blue eyes swept over her arrogantly.

“My dad and I got here about an hour ago from New York.” Anne wasn’t sure why she explaining anything to him, he was acting so unfriendly.

“Well, New York, the Broken Arrow is still a working ranch. The tourists’ horses—the tame ones—are over in the other direction, on the far side of the cabins. You’ll be safer petting one of them.”

He made it sound like she was foolish—looking for a puppy to play with. Anne lifted her chin. “Well, Colorado, I’ll use my compass next time so I can navigate to the other side of this place.”

She saw his mouth twitch at the corners. He crossed his arms and held her gaze. “The name’s not Colorado,” he said. “It’s Morgan.”

“Like the breed of horse?” she asked.

He looked surprised that she could name a particular breed of horse. “That’s right.”

“Name fits you,” Anne snapped. “Like the back end of the same.” She spun and trooped off toward the cabins before her insult had time to register.

She hadn’t gone far when he caught up with her. “We’re responsible for visitors’ safety,” Morgan said, stepping in front of her, blocking her retreat. “An accident could cost us plenty in insurance.”

She noticed that his tone didn’t sound quite so condescending and that she’d become a “visitor” instead of a “tourist.” “I didn’t mean to go into a restricted area. I just got here. I guess I’ll hear the guidelines tonight, so I won’t get into the wrong place at the wrong time again.”

Morgan stared at her until she began to grow uncomfortable, then asked, “What’s your name?”

Anne wanted to ignore him, step around him, and return to her cabin. She didn’t have much experience with boys, and he seemed unpleasant. “Why? Are you going to report me?” she asked.

His curious expression gave way as he sarcastically added, “Forget it, New York. I really don’t care who you are. Just be careful. This isn’t some spa—it’s a real ranch, where people work. I wouldn’t want you to chip a fingernail or something.”

Anne watched him turn and march back toward the corral. She wanted to slug him. He was arrogant and rude, and she hadn’t come more than a thousand miles to be insulted by some cocky cowboy. This was supposed to be her special summer with her father. A summer with no thought of what lay ahead for her.

She had selected the Broken Arrow after poring over dozens of brochures about dude ranches. The place seemed perfect. Why should she let a rude ranch hand ruin it for her? Anne turned her face skyward and took several deep breaths to calm her seething anger. The smell of hay and dust made her throat feel dry and parched, but was strangely exhilarating.