Ever Faithful. Carolyne Aarsen
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“Every girl has to start somewhere.”
“It just took me longer to quit, that’s all.” Amy pushed open the door, and they paused a moment on the verandah spinning out the farewell in the manner of old friends and family.
“God works things out in His own way.” Elizabeth slanted Amy an apologetic look. “Paul could never settle here, while Tim seems more than happy to.” She sighed. “It’s hard to admit that your oldest son needs to do the most growing up.”
Amy shook her head, remembering Paul’s various escapades. She could see them with a more critical eye, now that she had Tim to compare Paul to. “Paul has always been restless. As long as I can remember he had to drive the fastest, work the hardest, break what he could bend, and push what could be moved.”
“He needs to find peace, and he won’t the way he’s living,” Elizabeth said. “It’s just a continuation of him haring around the countryside, looking for challenges and excitement. Only now he does it wearing a suit and using a cell phone.”
Amy laughed at the image. It wasn’t too hard to transpose the image of Paul Henderson—one arm out of the window of his pickup as he maneuvered his way through potholes and over rocks with a pretty girl clinging to him—with the image of a more civilized man, cell phone to his ear driving a car shaped like a bullet.
The roar of a vehicle winding down the valley broke the silence.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s Paul now.” Elizabeth stepped forward to squint at the plume of dust roiling behind a red sports car driven far too fast for the rough country roads of the Cariboo.
Amy frowned as the car came closer. “I thought you said he drove a Land Rover?”
“That’s our Paul. Always buying and selling, changing vehicles as often as he changes girlfriends, looking for the perfect match.” Elizabeth smiled, but Amy sensed a note of censure in her voice.
“If his new girlfriend and that car’s a match, she’ll be pretty classy,” Amy commented, her eye on the sleek sports car.
The car made one more turn, flew into the yard, gravel churning as it came to a sudden stop.
The door flew open. At that same moment Rick cried out. From the lee of the barn, a startled Sandover exploded into the yard.
The gelding whirled, bugled a challenge and bucked. Rick held on, his face grim. Sandover arched his back, cleared the ground, and Rick flew through the air, landing on the ground with a sickening thud.
Amy felt her blood turn to ice in her veins as the horse reared above Rick, mane flying. Rick rolled out of the way of his flashing hooves. Sandover came crashing down, just missing Rick. The horse shook his head and reared again.
Amy willed her leaden feet to move, her arms to function. She dropped the bag she held, jumped off the verandah and ran.
Hands caught her from behind, voices called out warnings. Without looking to see who it was, she shook free, stumbling to where Rick lay. He peeked over his arm, flashed another grin at Amy and got up.
Amy felt relief sluice through her. A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Sandover reared again, his eyes wild, foam flecking his bridle.
“Move, Rick,” she yelled, throwing her hat at the horse. Sandover shied away, spinning, then stopped to face her.
Amy kept herself between Rick and the horse, praying, watching. “Get going, Rick,” she snapped, her eyes on Sandover.
Rick scrambled out of the way.
“Amy, you get away from that horse,” she heard a familiar deep voice yell.
She couldn’t. The horse was unpredictable, and she had to get him back into the corral.
Sandover threw his head, and Amy caught the reins as they whipped past her.
He reared and she let him go up, letting the reins slip through her hand. Then, using the brief moment of instability, when he was at his highest point, she moved over, pulling on his reins to turn his head. Again he went up. Again she pulled him in a circle, working him closer and closer as Sandover churned up the ground. Slowly the circle tightened. Then as quickly as it began, Sandover stopped, flanks heaving, head lowered.
Amy waited, ensuring his submission, slowly pulling his head around. Only then did she relax her hold on the reins.
Sweat ran in rivulets down her temples, between her shoulder blades. Anger and edgy fear coursed through her. The horse could easily have killed or badly injured either her or Rick. Pulling in a deep breath, she felt a tremor in her gut. Each time she had worked with this horse he brought her right to the limit before he gave in. But she couldn’t indulge in histrionics right now. She had to get the horse into the corral and the tack off.
A dull throb made itself known in her left shoulder. She couldn’t remember being struck by the horse. She clenched her teeth against the pain, pulling Sandover’s head around to lead him to the corral. She ignored her trembling knees and the ache that grew worse with each movement as she tied Sandover to the top rail.
“Good job, Amy.” A deep voice spoke from the other side of the fence, and Amy looked over her shoulder into eyes as blue as midsummer lake water.
Paul Henderson.
He stared back at her, his incredibly blue eyes crinkled up at the corners. A thin-lipped mouth turned up in a tight smile. He wore his hair longer than the last visit, dark streaks threading through the blond. His face had lengthened; his jawline seemed stronger.
“Hey, Paul,” she replied, turning her eyes back to her hands as they unbuckled, loosened and tugged. Her fingers didn’t want to cooperate.
Reaction, she reminded herself.
“You scared me, Amy.” The words were spoken quietly, but Amy sensed a note of concern behind them that couldn’t help but warm her. “Do you need any help?” he asked.
Amy glanced at him, looking past his familiar face to the unfamiliar clothes. A teal green silk shirt that looked as if it cost more than the saddle was tucked into gray pants that fell in well-tailored lines to leather loafers. She smiled ruefully. “Thanks, but I can manage.”
She reached up to pull the saddle off. Pain wrenched through her arm, and she almost dropped it.
“Amy, are you okay?” Ignoring his expensive clothes, Paul sprang over the fence.
Amy stared fiercely at the saddle, concentrating on breathing through waves of pain that slowly eased.
“You’re hurt,” Paul said, his hands pulling hers away from the saddle.
Amy shook her head. But another hot stab shot through her arm. “I’m okay,” she managed to say through clenched teeth.
“No, you’re not.” Paul reached out to touch her, and she pulled away.
“Yes, I am.” She didn’t want him touching her. She just wanted to go home.
Elizabeth wandered over, accompanied by a tall, slim girl. She wore a loose silk jacket in earth tones that hung artfully over a narrow skirt.
Amy caught a swift impression of soft brown eyes, delicate features and a flawless complexion. Gorgeous, of course. Paul never came home with the plain ones. Amy was suddenly extremely self-conscious of her dusty face and old clothes.
“Amy, I’d like to introduce you to Stacy.” Elizabeth leaned over the fence, the beautiful woman standing beside her. “Stacy, this is Amy.”
“Hello, Stacy.” It would hurt to shake her hand so Amy only nodded. Flustered at what must seem a show of ill manners she turned to Rick. “You’ll have to walk back with Sandover.” She looked back at Elizabeth, Stacy and Paul. “I should get going. I’ll see you all tonight.” She kept her smile on her face as she mounted Misty and rode her out of the yard. Once out of sight, she allowed herself a grimace of pain. Stubborn woman,