Tales of Western Romance (2 page)

With her eyes still closed, she took
inventory and decided that, even though she hurt from head to foot,
nothing was broken.

With a sigh of relief, she opened her eyes.
She frowned at the thick gray mist that rose up from the ground in
front of her, let out a startled gasp when a white stallion
materialized out of the mist. It was the most beautiful creature
she had ever seen. Even in the dull gray light of the overcast
evening, the stallion’s white coat gleamed like liquid silver. A
thin black scar, shaped like a bolt of lightning, adorned its right
flank.

“
Hey, boy, what are you doing
here?”

There hadn’t been any horses in the area
since Macie was a little girl. Most of the barns and corrals had
been torn down, replaced by RV parking and swimming pools.

At the sound of her voice, the stallion
lowered its head and nudged her shoulder.

Taking a deep breath, Macie grabbed hold of
the stallion’s mane and used it to steady herself as she gained her
feet.

“
So, what’s your name? Snowball? No.
Thunder? No.” She ran her fingertips over the scar on the
stallion’s flank. “Lightning,” she murmured. “I’ll bet that’s your
name. And you fell out of the sky, didn’t you? Or maybe I’m
hallucinating and you’re not really here. But I’m going to call you
Lightning, just the same.”

The stallion’s head bobbed up and down, its
dark intelligent eyes meeting hers, almost as if he understood her
words.

“
You don’t know it, horse, but you came
along at just the right time. Thanks to you, I won’t have to walk
up that slippery hill.”

Macie didn’t know where the stallion had come
from, but somehow, she knew that it had been ridden before.
Grasping the stallion’s mane, she swung onto its back, and nudged
its flanks with her boot heels. When she clucked softly, the horse
turned and trotted up the hill.

Macie shivered as the rising mist grew
thicker, darker, until it blanketed the whole area, so thick that
she couldn’t see a thing. Muttering, “I hope you can see where
you’re going,” she clung to the stallion’s mane with both
hands.

The mist grew thicker as they climbed
steadily upward. When they reached the top of the hill, the
stallion came to a halt and the mist disappeared.

Murmuring, “What the heck?” Macie stared at
the scene before her. Where was her house? Her car? The sidewalk?
The neighborhood?

She glanced from right to left. Closed her
eyes. Opened them again. The world as she had known it was
gone.

“
I must have hit my head harder than I
thought,” she muttered. Because everything familiar was
gone.

She blinked, and blinked again, but nothing
changed. Buildings she had never seen before lined both sides of a
dusty street. An odd ringing sound filled the air; it took her a
moment to realize it was the sound of a blacksmith’s hammer. A
number of horses were tethered to hitching posts up and down the
street. Women in long dresses and floppy bonnets strolled along the
wooden boardwalk accompanied by men in denim pants and leather
vests and muddy cowboy boots. Somewhere in the distance, a clock
chimed the hour.

A rumbling like thunder sounded behind her.
Startled, Macie glanced over her shoulder to see a stagecoach
bearing down on her. She jerked hard on the stallion’s mane, urging
it out of the way, sneezed as a cloud of dun-colored dust rose in
the coach’s wake.

The stage pulled up at the far end of the
street. The driver jumped down from the wagon seat. When he opened
the door, a half-dozen men and women climbed out.

Macie stared at them as they gathered their
luggage and disappeared into the hotel.

Patting the stallion’s shoulder, Macie
muttered, “Where the heck are we?”

Chapter 2

“
Where the heck are we?” Macie repeated
when a wagon rumbled past, raising another cloud of dust. “And
where the heck is my house?”

The stallion, of course, had no answer.

Macie clucked to the horse and it moved out
at a brisk walk. She glanced from side to side as she rode down the
street, which looked like a set out of every western movie she had
ever seen. There were three saloons, a dry goods store, a bootery,
a barber shop, and a two-story hotel. The assay office and the post
office shared a false-fronted building. The sheriff’s office was
located in a red brick building with bars on the windows.

Several men and women stopped to stare at her
as she rode past.

It had to be a dream, Macie mused, but if it
was, it was the most realistic one she’d ever had. She could feel
the breeze on her face, taste the dust. Beyond the last building,
there was nothing but open prairie as far as the eye could see.
Macie tugged on the stallion’s mane in an effort to turn the horse
around, but the stallion kept going.

“
Whoa, boy,” she said, tugging on
Lightning’s mane again. “I don’t want to go out there.”

But the stallion didn’t stop.

Macie was considering sliding off the horse
and walking back to town when Lightning broke into a gallop. With a
startled cry, Macie leaned low over the stallion’s neck, her hands
clutching his mane, praying all the while that the horse wouldn’t
step in a prairie dog hole and break its leg. Or her neck.

The stallion was incredibly fast. Grass,
trees, and hills flew by in a blur as the horse raced across the
ground until the town was far behind and there was nothing ahead
but tall yellow grass and scattered stands of timber.

Just when she was beginning to think the
animal would never stop, it slowed to a trot, then a walk, and came
to a halt at the head of a shallow draw.

“
About time,” she muttered. After
taking a couple of deep breaths, she slid off the stallion’s
back.

And found herself staring into a pair of dark
brown eyes that belonged to a tall, dark man with a gun in his
hand, a knife in his belt, and a dark red stain spreading over the
lower half of his shirt front.

Before she could think, before she could
speak, the weapon fell from the man’s hand and he pitched forward
to land face-down at her feet.

Pressing a hand to her rapidly-beating heart,
Macie stared at him. Good Lord, was he dead?

She stood there, staring at him, wondering
what to do, even though there was nothing she could do. They were
miles from town, and even if they weren’t, there was no way she
could lift him onto the back of the horse. Besides, he lay so
still, she was sure he was dead.

Macie was still debating her next move when
the stallion pressed his nose into her back and gave her a push.
She stumbled forward, landing on her knees beside the man. Reaching
out to steady herself, she accidentally hit his arm.

And he groaned.

Not dead then, she thought. But she still
couldn’t lift him.

Kneeling there, she noticed a pair of
saddlebags, a bedroll, and a canteen lying in the dirt behind him.
And beyond his gear, the body of a black horse.

Heaving a sigh, Macie gained her feet. Maybe
he had something in his bags she could use for bandages.

Rummaging inside, she found a box of
ammunition, a sack of what looked like beef jerky, and two clean
shirts, one chambray, one white. Feeling like Florence Nightingale,
Macie rolled the man onto his back.

Taking her lower lip between her teeth, she
unbuttoned his blood-stained shirt, gagged when she saw the bloody
furrow plowed along his left side, just above his belt. Had he been
shot? She had never seen a gunshot wound before, but that’s what it
was, she was sure of it. She wiped away the blood, then saw that
the bullet hadn’t penetrated his flesh, just gouged a deep gash
along his side.

Using water from the canteen, she cleaned the
wound as best she could. After drawing the knife from the sheath on
his belt, she cut the white shirt into strips. She made a thick pad
from one of the strips, which she placed over the wound, and then
she wrapped several other strips around his middle to hold the pad
in place. Blowing a wayward strand of hair out of her face, she
shoved the leftover strips into his saddlebag, then sat back on her
heels and heaved a sigh. She had done all she could. The rest was
up to him.

Macie glanced around, wondering how far they
were from town. When she looked back at the man, he was awake and
watching her.

“
Water.” His voice was deep, raspy with
pain.

Macie retrieved the canteen, uncapped it, and
held it for him.

He drank long and deep, then looked at her
through narrowed eyes. “Who the hell are you?”

“
I’m the one who just bandaged you up.
Who the hell are you?”

His lips twisted in a wry grin. “Ace Bowdry.
Excuse me if I don’t get up, Miss…?”

“
Jenkins.” She cocked her head to the
side, studying him. Long dark hair hung past his shoulders. Dark
eyes, high cheekbones, and skin that was more red than brown.
“You’re an Indian, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “That a problem for you?”

Macie shrugged. “If it was, I wouldn’t have
patched you up. Is it a problem for you?”

He groaned softly when he sat up.
“Sometimes.”

“
What happened?” she asked, gesturing
at his wounded side.

“
I got into a disagreement with a fella
about the way he played cards.”

“
You got shot over a card
game?”

“
Yep. Fella was dealin’ off the bottom.
When I called him on it, he called me a name I won’t repeat in your
presence, and then he pulled a gun on me.”

“
Oh!”

Bowdry nodded. “He nicked me. I killed him,
and then I hightailed it out of town.”

“
What happened to your
horse?”

“
He took a stray bullet meant for me.
He was a game little stud. I didn’t know he’d been hit until he
dropped out from under me.” Bowdry glanced over his shoulder and
there was a note of admiration in his voice when he said, “I’m
surprised he lasted as long as he did. So,” he said, his tone
brisk, “what the hell are you doing way out here, alone? And why
are you dressed like that?”

Macie glanced down. What was wrong with the
way she was dressed? True, her jeans had faded from red to a
washed-out pink, her boots were a little run down at the heels, and
her Grumpy sweatshirt was a trifle large…she blew out a sigh. So,
she wasn’t at her best.

Shrugging, she said, “I wasn’t expecting to
meet anyone.”

“
Who’s the white-haired guy on the
front of your shirt?”

“
It’s Grumpy. You know, from “Snow
White and the Seven Dwarfs.”

Bowdry frowned at her. “Grumpy?”

“
Haven’t you ever heard of Snow White?”
she asked, then realized that, even if he had, the Disney version
hadn’t been written yet. “Do you live around here?” she asked,
changing the subject.

“
No, I was just passin’
through.”

“
Is there a town closer than the one I
just left?” She glanced up at the sky, which had grown considerably
darker in the last few minutes. Thick gray clouds scudded overhead,
blanketing the sun and bringing the promise of rain.

“
There’s a ghost town a few miles from
here.” He swore softly as he gained his feet. Shrugging out of his
blood-stained shirt, he tossed it aside, then stood there, one hand
pressed against his side. “I’d be obliged if you’d give me a ride,”
he said, then whistled softly when he noticed the stallion for the
first time. “Is that
Relampago
?”

“
Who?”

Bowdry shook his head. “It’s gotta be.
Where’d you get him?”

“
I didn’t ‘get him’. He just showed up
at my house yesterday. Is he yours?”

“
Nah. That stallion doesn’t belong to
anyone.”

“
Maybe it isn’t…what you’d say his name
is?”

“
Relampago
. It means lightning.”
Bowdry moved toward the stud, one hand out-stretched. “Hey, boy. My
great grand-daddy told me about you.”

“
What about him?”

“
He’s a ghost horse, you know,
magic.”

“
A magic horse?” Macie said with a
laugh. “Yeah, right.”

“
It’s true. Legend says he appears to
those in need, that he’s as swift as lightning, as sure-footed as a
mountain goat, and as reliable as the sun.” Bowdry patted the
stallion on the neck. “My people believe if you treat him right,
he’ll always carry you away from danger.”

Macie frowned. Had
Relampago
brought
her here to save Bowdry’s life? But that was silly. If saving
Bowdry had been the horse’s mission, wouldn’t
Relampago
have
just come here? There was no reason for the stallion to come after
her. She hadn’t been in any danger—except from herself.

“
You all right?” Bowdry asked. “You
look a little pale.”

“
What? Oh, I’m fine.”

Grunting softly, Bowdry pulled the chambray
shirt out of his saddlebags. Macie moved forward to help him, but
he waved her away. Next, he removed the bridle from his horse and
slipped it over
Relampago’s
head, then draped his saddlebags
over the stallion’s withers.

“
Well,” Bowdry said, breathing hard
from the exertion. “Whaddya say we get going? We’re gonna get
mighty wet if we stay here.”

Macie thought he looked a little pale himself
when he swung onto the stallion’s back, then reached down to offer
her a hand up.

Once she was settled behind Bowdry, he
clucked to
Relampago
and the stallion moved out at a brisk
walk. A short time later, the horse broke into an easy lope.