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“Surprise, surprise. You said I wasn’t qualified to enter, but then you told…” Mary stepped aside, ceding the doorway to her companion.
“Logan,” Sally prompted, “that he couldn’t have a horse because he’s on the Tribal Council, and they lease us a lot of land for which we are enormously grateful. And I told him you’re somebody who’s interested in the challenge and might be able to get a horse, but you’d need to work with somebody who knows horses.” Sally bounced her eyebeams between visiting faces. “Perfect Jack Sprat kind of a deal, don’t you think?”
“I have to be in Fort Hood in thirty days.”
“So, you’d be in Texas. It’s not like you’d be on the moon. Not quite. I’ve got applications from as far away as…” Sally snatched a paper from one of three wire baskets—red, gray and green—on the corner of her desk. She adjusted her glasses and focused on the top of the page. “Here’s one from New York. Now that’s a different world. She says she lives on a reservation. Are there real Indians in New York?”
“All kinds,” Logan said.
“Good. I want all kinds of distribution. Geographical, cultural, economic, the whole barbecued enchilada. Nothing like wild horses to drag in all kinds.” Sally shot Mary a suggestive look. “Maybe they can drag you back from Texas on weekends.”
“That wouldn’t make a lot of sense.” She had to hear herself say the sensible thing. One crazy indulgence—possible indulgence—was one more than her limit. “But right now.. just so we’re clear…”
“Like the woman said,” Logan put in. “About those rules.”
“There are rules, and then there are…considerations.” Sally tossed the New York application aside. “I’m working with Max Becker out of the Bureau of Land Management’s Wyoming office. He’s the wild horse specialist there, and he helped me get the competition approved. We worked together on the application you both filled out. We don’t want anyone crying foul and giving wild horse and burro protection a black eye. Any more budget cuts and the program will go from a shoestring to a single-thread operation.”
“If we don’t qualify, we don’t qualify,” Mary said.
“Separately you don’t qualify. But I don’t have a problem with the entrant getting help from an experienced trainer.” Sally turned her eyeball-to-eyeball considerations from Mary to Logan. “And there’s no reason the trainer can’t be on the Tribal Council.”
“Are you making this stuff up as you go along?” Logan sounded more bemused than troubled.
“When we get into the gray areas I’m making most of the calls. Max is pretty busy. Plus…” Sally gestured toward the baskets. “…qualified applications aren’t exactly flooding in. See, these are my ‘In’ boxes.”
They were labeled “Ifs,” “Ands” and “Buts.”
“Which ones have been rejected?” Mary asked.
“Those.” Sally pointed to a metal trash can. “What does the army call ‘File Thirteen'?”
“They don’t even get a rejection letter?”
“Annie’s handling that end of it. She writes such nice letters, we even get donations back from some of the rejects.”
“I haven’t gotten any letter,” Mary told Logan. “Have you?”
He shook his head. “Must be in the ‘But’ pile.”
“You’re both ‘Ifs.‘ Together you could move from gray to green.” The look in Sally’s eyes went from that of woman on top to woman in love. Mary and Logan turned to see the cause.
Hank Night Horse stood in the doorway ready with a handshake for each. Mary’s came with a cowboy salute—touch of a finger to the brim of the hat—and Logan got a slap on his shoulder. “How’s it goin',
Track Man?”
“Have you figured this woman out yet?” Logan asked jovially. “Which box are you in?”
Hank and Sally exchanged affectionate glances.
“No conflict of interest there,” Logan said to Mary. “No ‘ifs', ‘ands’ or ‘buts’ about it.” Mary stepped to one side.
“Just so we’re clear, I’m not competing. I’ve got my hands full right now.” And to prove it Hank crossed the room, planted himself on the window seat behind his woman and rested his big hands on her slight shoulders. “But this guy’s the best there is, Sally. He’ll have his horse telling jokes while you clear the ring for the next contestant.”
“I don’t do stunts,” Logan said. “A horse is a horse.”
“Of course, of course!” Sally chimed in. Giddiness looked good on her. “And I want you to do what you do so well. I want this competition to generate some wonderful stories. Like the one about the Lakota horseman and the warrior woman. That’s going straight to Horse Lover’s Journal”
“Warrior woman,” Mary echoed with a chuckle. “I guess that’s better than ‘dog soldier.'”
“Why?” Hank asked. “Dog soldiers were the Cheyenne’s best warriors. Just lately they started up again. My sister got married to one, up in Montana. Anybody calls you a dog soldier, you take it as a compliment.”
“I do. I’m good at my job, too, and I prefer ‘dog soldier’ to ‘dogface’ but canine specialist has a better ring to it.”
“You don’t wanna be called a whisperer?” Logan asked. “Everybody’s whispering these days.”
“Got that, cowboy?” Sally slid Hank a playful smile. “You whisper, I purr.”
“I know.”
“Sweet,” Logan teased. “Rumor has it he can sing pretty good, too.” “I know,” Sally said.
Mary looked at Logan and cocked an eyebrow. “You get the feeling we’re in the way here?”
“I’ll get out of the way when I get what I came for,” he said. “You sign up for the horse, you got yourself a trainer.”
She glanced at Sally, who beamed back at her. Beaming you up, old chum. They’d spent precious little time together since Mary had enlisted, but the years fell away instantly because Sally was…Sally.
No more sidestepping. No looking down. There was only the man at her side and the chance at hand. She looked him in the eye. “What’s this gonna cost me?”
“A fair share of the prize.”
“How much of a share?”
“Depends on what you contribute time- and effort-wise. You gonna pony up, Sergeant?”
With the help of some army training, Mary had learned to welcome a good challenge, especially when it came from a worthy challenger. “Half,” she said. “Half is fair, and we split the expenses down the middle, win or lose.”
“We can’t lose. This is one of those win-win deals like you read about. Who’s gonna write the story?”
“Which…?” Sally was so deep into their game she was practically falling out of her chair. The look of a sidelines fan suddenly hit with the ball earned her a laugh. Sally being Sally, she took it in stride. “Oh, we’re gonna have all kinds of stories. That’s the whole point. We need to get the word out about these horses.” She glanced toward the door and smiled. “I think I’ll put Annie in charge of that little detail.”
“What little de—Mary!” Sally’s younger sister surged into the room and greeted Mary with a hug. “Are you home for good? Stateside, at least? My God, you look wonderful.”
“So do you.” Smaller. Happier. How long had it been—five or six years? Oh, the nicknames she and Sally had hung on little Annie when they were kids. Chubby Cheeks. Mary glanced at the tall, dark and handsome cowboy trailing “Cheekers” and gave herself points for not blurting that one out. “This must be your new husband. Congratulations. I’m Mary Tutan.”
Zach Beaudry offered a tentative hand. “Tutan? As in…”
“As in Damn Tootin’s daughter.”
“And my best friend forever,” Sally said emphatically. “Dan Tutan has nothing to say about that.”
“Oh, he has plenty to say. He’s a difficult man, my father. Nobody knows that better than I do.” Mary offered a shrug and sigh. “Nobody except my mother. And my brother.” She gave an apologetic smile. “And our friends.”
“We had a very small wedding,” Ann said quickly. “At a lodge in the Black Hills. Very few guests. Mostly family.” Ann had to reach up to put her arm around Mary’s shoulders. “Of course, if you’d been here.”
“I don’t blame you for not inviting him. If I were having a wedding, I wouldn’t invite him either. He’s.” Mary glanced at Logan. “.difficult.”
“You know how he feels about the horses and the sanctuary,” Sally said. “That’s the problem.”
“With my father it’s not about feelings. It’s about having things his way. That’s what he lives for. His way puts food on the table, so that’s a good thing. As long as you like to eat what he likes to eat.”
There was an awkward silence. Mary let it play out, a buffer between revealing more than she meant to—not quite as much as she wanted to—and taking a deep breath of fresh Drexler air.
She turned to Logan. The challenge was more important to her now than it had been an hour ago. “How does half sound?”
“What are you willing to do for your half?”
“Learn. If you’re as good as they say, I’m willing to be your apprentice.” She smiled. “I know how to take orders.”
“I don’t give orders. You watch and listen, maybe you’ll learn from me, maybe not.” He glanced at Sally, whose grin was all atta boy. He folded his arms and turned back to Mary. “So, what else?”
“Whatever needs doing.”
He gestured toward Sally’s wire baskets. “Staple us together and give us a horse.”
Chapter Two
“Mother, what are you doing?” Mary hurried to Audrey Tutan’s side and reached for the handle on the old ice cream freezer her mother had just carried upstairs. “This comes under the heading of heavy lifting, which is against the doctor’s orders.” It was the metal canister and hand crank inside the bucket that made the old turquoise contraption so heavy, and the steep stairway made the heavy lifting potentially fatal. Mary eased the load from her mother’s hand, pulled the string dangling from the bare lightbulb and shut the door against the darkness.
“I thought we were taking some time off from orders,” Mother said after catching a couple of breaths. “Besides, that isn’t so heavy, and your father has a sudden urge for homemade ice cream.”
“If we aren’t taking orders that includes everybody’s orders.” Mary lifted a warning finger. “Except your doctor’s. I took notes, so don’t even think about pushing your limit, which is a package of marshmallows. Did he tell you to make ice cream?”
“No, no, he just mentioned it. He remembers how you used to go crazy over homemade ice cream after you discovered Grandma’s old ice cream freezer down in the basement. Haven’t used it since you left home.”
“They make electric…” Mary unloaded the 1960s dinosaur on the same vintage kitchen table and brushed her hands together. “You don’t mean you’ve been rummaging around in the basement.”
“Didn’t have to. I knew right where it was. Beside, it’s nice and cool down there. On the way back up the temperature seemed to rise five degrees for each step. I thought I’d make strawberry.”
Mary eyed the old clunker. She hardly remembered Grandma, who had died when she was eight and was fondly remembered, especially for all the unwritten recipes she’d handed down to her daughter. Clearly Mother clung to some hope for her own daughter. Into your hands I commend the mighty ice cream freezer. She took the top off the metal canister and checked for debris. There was only the paddle she’d cleaned of ice cream more than once with her eager young tongue.
She’d use soap and water this time.
“They make smaller ones, too,” Mary said absently as her mother took a large kettle from the cabinet above the stove. “Did he really say all that? Let’s have homemade ice cream for Mary? “
“I know how he thinks.”
Mary kept her doubts on that score to herself. Audrey Tutan had become a recluse since her children had left home. She’d always been a mind reader as far as Mary was concerned, but she’d been as protective of the cache in her daughter’s head as she was of her own. The only tales she ever told were meant to promote peace in the Tutan household. What she could see inside her husband’s head was anybody’s guess. Steadfast and quiet, Mary’s mother had always stood by her man. Just this once, could she step away and be with Mary?
Don’t bring him into our conversation, Mother. Let me have your ear. Let me give you mine.
“How’s Sally?” Audrey asked as she opened the refrigerator door.
“Sally Drexler has met her match. I’ve never seen her this happy.”
“I’ve met him. He seems like a nice man, but does he.” Audrey turned, milk jug in hand. “Well, realistically, how’s her health?”
“Realistically, multiple sclerosis is incurable, Mother.” Don’t hang your head, Mother. It’s just you and me. Mary checked the contents of the sugar canister before setting it within Audrey’s reach. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. You were just asking.”
Audrey wasn’t ready for the sugar, but she laid her hand over the canister lid anyway. Mary touched the hand that once fed her, felt Mother’s gratitude through cool, tissue-paper skin. The feel of fragility shook her to the core. Word from afar that her mother was in the hospital hadn’t surprised her. She knew her duty. She took the leave, took the journey, took her place at her mother’s side, and then, finally, it hit her. Her mother was mortal.
“She had her cane close at hand,” Mary went on, “but she’s full of Sally spunk. All excited about the competition they’re running to get more people interested in wild horses. You enter up, you get to pick a horse and train it for whatever you want and show it at the end of the contest. Big cash prize for the winners. Winner. Whatever.”
Mary opened a cupboard and took out measuring cups. She pulled a ring full of spoons from a reliable drawer. Mother’s helper was a familiar role. Knowing the drill made for a comfortable segue from what they both knew to what one of them wanted to say and needed the other to hear. They could take turns. There was so much, and it was confusing and even if there were no answers it seemed as though the questions should be voiced.
What’s going on with our bodies, Mother? You don’t know? If you don’t know, who does?
Disorder, that’s what. One wonky part throws the whole system off, right? One misstep causes temporary tailspin. Take a deep breath and wait for the spinning to stop. Take the time to get everything in line. What Mary liked best about the army was order. Clarity. Why couldn’t she bring the clarity home with her?
Home? What was that?
Start with something simple, Mary.
She leaned her hip against the edge of the counter. “I want to try it.”
“Training a horse?” Audrey turned the burner on under the milk. “How long does that take?”
“You get ninety days.”
“You mean.” Breathless pause. “.you’re not going back?”
Was that hope or fear? It was hard to tell with Mother. Either way, Mary knew the feeling, and it was damn prickly. She lifted one shoulder. “I’d have a training partner.”
“What are you talking about, girl?” Both women turned in the direction of the voice. “That dog food farm down the road?”
Speaking of prickly. Dan Tutan either stormed into a room or appeared out of nowhere. Either way, he enjoyed taking people off guard. He would have made a hell of a c.o., Mary thought. George Armstrong Tutan.
“I was talking to Mother.”
“And I was joking with you, Daughter.” Father’s smile never touched his eyes. “I know the Drexler girls are your friends. I don’t much like what they’re doing over there, but since they’re my girl’s friends, they can raise all the dog food they want. I’ll even borrow ‘em my sausage grinder when it comes time to butcher.” He raised an instructive finger. “That was another joke.”
“Of course.” Who would have guessed?
He moved in close enough to get a peek into the kettle. Audrey stepped to one side, stirring, stirring, stirring. Mary held her ground.
“You’re not making vanilla, are you?”
“Strawberry,” Audrey said.
