Sixteen and Dying (9 page)

The saddle was black leather, decorated with sterling silver. Anne fingered the saddle’s rich, hand-carved depressions and ran her palm over the intricate silver design patterns. She’d never seen anything like it, never knew such a utilitarian piece of equipment could be made to look so beautiful.

In her mind’s eye, she saw it across the back of Morgan’s bay stallion. She remembered what Morgan had told her about wanting to show his horse and how expensive proper show gear was to buy. She lifted the price tag and raised her eyebrows. The saddle cost almost two thousand dollars. She chewed her bottom lip. How she’d like to buy it for him!

Her mind returned to the time in the hospital when she’d discovered the OLW envelope on her pillow, and to the sense of absolute awe she’d experienced when she’d seen the check, the enormous amount of money given to her by someone she didn’t even know. Hadn’t the letter said, “…  
the true miracle is in giving, not receiving”?

While Anne knew she couldn’t keep the origin of such a gift as the saddle from Morgan, she certainly had money enough to buy it for him. Moreover, she
wanted
to buy it for him, wanted him to feel what she’d felt when JWC had unexpectedly blessed her life. Heart pounding, Anne made up her mind and found a clerk.

After she’d acquired the saddle, a matching bridle, and a handwoven saddle blanket, she made arrangements for her purchases to be delivered to the Broken Arrow the following day. Pleased with herself, she followed the crowds to the outdoor rodeo arena, where she found Marti already perched in the stands for the show.

“I thought you’d gotten lost,” Marti said.

“Just sidetracked. Did you have a good time?”

“The best time. I like Skip so much. He’s sweet and kind and treats me like I’m special.”

“You are special,” Anne said.

Marti dropped her gaze. “It makes me realize how badly Peter has treated me, and I’ve taken it like a fool.”

Once the rodeo began, Anne lost herself completely in the atmosphere. The barrel race had several age categories, three won by cowgirls. Skip placed second in the men’s group, and Marti cheered more loudly than anyone in the stands for him.

The sun was setting and the arena was lit by overhead stadium lights when it came time for the bronco-riding events. Anne felt jittery. The object was for the rider to stay on the horse for as long as possible. A buzzer would sound at the end of a specific time period, and any rider who was still mounted became a finalist. “What’s the prize?” Anne asked.

“A hundred dollars,” Marti told her.

Anne didn’t think it sounded like enough money for such a brain-rattling, teeth-jarring event, but she kept quiet. The first rider out of the chute was tossed
off like a rag doll. Anne winced as he thudded onto the ground. Yet, he got up, dusted himself off, and hurried out of the ring while other riders captured the bucking horse and led it back to the holding pen.

By the time she heard Morgan’s name called, her jaw hurt from clenching her teeth. She watched as he swung from the side of the special chute onto the back of a horse called Loco. “A horse named Crazy,” Marti remarked. “He must be some mean one.”

Anne saw Morgan wrap a gloved hand around a rope tied to the horse and raise the other hand into the air above his head in the classic one-handed posture of bronco riders. A bell rang, the gate opened, and Loco exploded into the arena.

The horse gyrated and twisted itself into impossible contortions. He hit the ground stiff-legged, his head pulled low, his eyes white with wild fury. Morgan twisted with him, gripping the horse’s heaving sides with his knees. To Anne, it seemed an eternity until the buzzer sounded. The audience erupted into cheers.

Morgan released his hold on the rope and kicked himself off the animal’s back. As he dropped, his boot caught in the rope. Suddenly, he was hanging sideways from the horse, unable to get off. Morgan dangled helplessly from the furious animal as it continued its mad twisting and bucking, its deadly hooves lifting off the ground, inches from Morgan’s head.

A cry raced through the crowd as the spectators grasped his deadly predicament. Anne froze, watching in horror. All at once, the arena filled with
clowns and men on quarter horses chasing after the bronco. One clown waved a blanket, causing the horse to stop abruptly. Quickly, two mounted cowboys came alongside Loco, sandwiched the wild horse between them and snatched his headgear, forcing him to stand still.

Clowns helped loosen Morgan’s trapped foot and lower him to the ground. Others baring a stretcher ran into the arena and lifted him on it. Through her daze, Anne heard Marti yell, “They’re taking him to the hospital tent!”

A
NNE RACED OUT
and turned down a path, made narrow by parked horse trailers. At the far end, she saw a large tent with a red cross painted on its side, and rushed toward it. Outside, a woman wearing an armband bearing the same red cross stopped her. “Can I help you?” she asked.

Flustered, Anne groped for words. “They brought in a rider from the arena … he’d been thrown, dragged. I need to see how he is. He’s a friend.”

The nurse offered a reassuring smile. “Calm down. The doctor’s taping him up now. He’s got a couple of cracked ribs, some bruises and contusions, but he’s going to be fine.”

Anne felt her knees buckle with relief. “He won’t have to go to the hospital?”

“I think he refused to go.”

“Do you suppose I could go in and see him?”

“You’ll have to wait in line—his family’s in with him now. They looked plenty scared—and hopping mad!”

“Are you positive he’s all right?”

The nurse reached out, took her hand, and said, “Don’t take it so hard, honey. These cowboys are a pretty tough bunch. I’ve seen men stomped on by bulls weighing a ton, and they still get up to ride another day.”

The tent flap opened, and a man in a lab coat stepped outside. “The boy doing okay?” the nurse asked.

“Miraculously, yes. The X rays showed no breaks other than his ribs, but that ride wrenched several muscles. He’s going to be sore for a while.”

“See, I told you not to worry,” the nurse said to Anne.

Anne still wanted to see Morgan. “Go on, honey. Go see for yourself,” the nurse said.

Smiling gratefully, Anne entered the tent carefully. Morgan was shirtless, sitting up on an examining table, a thick swath of adhesive bandage wound around his torso. Standing directly in front of him were his aunt and uncle.

She heard his uncle’s angry voice, “…   can’t believe the chance you took!”

“I’ve ridden in plenty of rodeos. I just had some back luck today.”

“Bad luck! You almost got killed!”

“I
like
to ride,” Morgan replied stubbornly.

“No one cares if you ride in rodeo events,” Aunt Maggie interjected. “But what’s wrong with the barrel races? Or the calf roping?”

Morgan snorted. “They’re not my style.”

“Almost getting yourself killed is more your style?” Uncle Don shook his finger in Morgan’s face. “You know what your problem is? You’ve got a death wish, boy! You won’t be happy until you
die
out there.”

“Stop it,” Aunt Maggie commanded, grabbing her husband’s arm. “Carrying on here and now isn’t helping anything.” She stepped closer to Morgan and took his face between her hands. “Oh, Morgan, you scared us to death.”

Morgan looked into her eyes. “Sorry, Aunt Maggie,” he mumbled.

“You’re all the family I have left, Morgan. I don’t want to lose you. Please, please stop this crazy, reckless way of living. Why do you do it?”

Anne saw Morgan reach up and wipe a tear from his aunt’s cheek. “You, of all people, understand
why
, Aunt Maggie. You know more than anyone what might lie ahead for either one—or both—of us. You and me … we’re different from the others.”

“That may be true, but I’m living with it without risking my life. Somehow, you’ve got to make your peace about it.”

“I can’t.”

Anne felt like an eavesdropper. What in the world were they talking about? What was “different” about Morgan and his aunt? They looked normal.
So do you
, she reminded herself. Could anyone tell by simply
looking
at another person what lay in the darkness of his or her life?

Uncle Don cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to be so hard on you,” he said gruffly. “Maggie and I
are really glad they could patch you up.” He put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “We’ll load your horse up in the trailer and take him back to the ranch for you.”

“Thanks.”

“Come with us,” Aunt Maggie said.

“I’ll catch a ride with Skip. I’m fine. Stop worrying about me.”

His aunt and uncle both hugged him, turned, and walked toward the tent’s exit. Passing Anne, they gave her a brief nod of recognition. She felt out of place. Morgan saw her. “Why are you here?” he asked, registering surprise.

“I saw you get thrown. I was concerned.” She came toward him.

He edged off the table, wincing with the movement. “No need to be. Besides, I look pretty awful—and I know how the sight of blood gets to you.”

“Only my own,” she said humorlessly.

He picked up his torn shirt and attempted to put it on.

“Let me help,” Anne offered, taking it from him and easing it along his arms. She stepped in front of him and began to button it. His face was inches from hers, and he was looking down at hers. Her breath caught, and her heart began to hammer crazily. “All finished,” she said, slightly breathless.

He caught both her hands with one of his and settled them at the base of his throat. She felt the warmth of his pulse. “Are you?” he asked.

Torn with a desire she could barely suppress, Anne gently tugged her hands loose and stepped backward. “We should be going.”

Morgan eyed her patiently, then reached for his hat. “I should have accepted a ride home with Uncle Don,” he admitted. “I really am pretty sore.”

Anne felt the air still humming between them. “Maybe Skip’s ready to go on back by now.”

“Let’s go find out.”

They rode to the ranch in Skip’s old pickup truck with Marti fussing over Morgan, half scolding him in Spanish, half rejoicing that he hadn’t been killed. Anne rode in silence, cramped for space, trying not to lean against Morgan’s taped ribs. In the darkness, her hands trembled. She was unable to forget how much she’d wanted to put her arms around him.

At the men’s quarters, Skip helped Morgan from the truck. “I’ll drive the girls around,” Skip said.

“Drive Marti,” Morgan told him, taking hold of Anne’s hand. “Let Anne stay with me for a while.”

“I shouldn’t,” Anne said, knowing she should climb up into the truck and get out of there quickly.

“I’ll need some help,” Morgan countered.

The row of housing looked empty and deserted, and Anne realized that everyone was probably still in Platte City. She gulped and, against her better judgment, agreed to help him to his room.

Morgan’s room was small, sparsely furnished, but tidy. It contained a table and two chairs, a bureau, a single bed, a TV, and a stereo system. A small refrigerator, a microwave, and a sink for washing dishes lined one wall. She wondered why he chose to live alone with the hired hands rather than in the comfort of the main lodge with his aunt and uncle. She knew without question that they would have allowed him such a privilege.

“I like living here,” he explained, as if reading her mind.

Anne’s hands fluttered nervously. “You’ve done a nice job with the room.”

“Probably not anything like what you’re used to.”

Puzzled, she didn’t know how to answer. “Maybe I should get you settled before Skip comes back for me.”

“He’ll be a while.”

“He does seem to like Marti, doesn’t he? I think they make a cute couple. Don’t you?” Anne felt as if she were babbling.

Morgan eased onto his bed, propping the pillow against the headboard, and snapped on the bedside lamp. “Turn off the overhead, will you? It’s hurting my eyes.” She flipped off the main light switch with shaking fingers. “Come here,” he said.

She came, and he urged her to sit on the side of the bed. She felt like a moth drawn to a flame. “Don’t your ribs hurt?” she asked.

“Like crazy.” He reached up and ran his fingers through her long, dark hair.

She quivered. He turned off the lamp, and suddenly moonlight streamed through the window over his bed. Squares of white light stretched across the spread and dripped onto the floor. By now, Anne’s heart was thudding so fast that she was certain her body couldn’t contain it. Her bones felt like warm liquid.

He pulled her closer and kissed her forehead, her temple, her closed eyelids. “Stay with me, Anne,” she heard Morgan whisper. “Please stay the night.”