NUMBLY, SIERRA RODE AFTER MISTY. SHE’D just ruined Randall’s run. She didn’t know when she’d ever felt this miserable.
Randall was trying not to show his fury, because being a good sport was important in cutting. But it should never have happened. She should have stopped it.
In the driveway, out of earshot of anyone, Misty turned Ladybird around and looked soberly at Sierra. “It’s time to face facts. Chico needs a lot of work—basic, kindergarten work, and this isn’t the place for him to get it. If he was further along, I could have schooled him while I worked with other riders. But as he is now, he’d only interfere. These kids pay big bucks to come here. I’ve gotta give ’em their money’s worth.”
Sierra nodded. She couldn’t speak.
“If you want to cut this year,” Misty said in a gentler voice, “you can ride Ladybird and I’ll work with you. There’s not many kids I’d make this offer to, but you’re a good rider with a lot of potential, and you know how to stay out of her way.”
It was an amazing offer. Sierra knew that. What thirteen-year-old girl ever got an opportunity like this? Then why should it make her feel so awful? She looked at her saddle horn and part of the answer came. I don’t really ride Ladybird. She carries me around while she does her thing. She’s just babysitting me! Anyway, she’s not Chico. She opened her mouth, but she couldn’t get any words to come.
“If you want to cut on Chico,” Misty went on, “you need to put in a lot of hours on him at home. See if you can get him to relax around cattle. I should have seen that earlier; I did, actually—but I wanted to help you, and I thought he’d work out of it quicker.”
“Sorry,” Sierra whispered.
“No, it’s not your fault. But I don’t have the time to help him through this, and the only cows I have are the ones I lease from your dad. I’ve got to keep them fresh for my other riders. You can do it—you’ve got the ideal setup for pasture training at home. And it’s no disgrace to take a horse back to kindergarten. He’s a smart boy. He can do this, if you can find the way to teach him.”
“Okay.” Sierra’s voice came out gruff and choky. She twisted her fingers into Chico’s black mane. “I guess. I’ll, I’ll—ride him home now. It’s only four miles.”
“Sierra.” Misty’s voice sounded softer. Sierra looked up. “Think hard about this, okay? Just getting Chico ready to start real training could take a while. A year, maybe.
And if the horse you love can’t do what you want, or can’t do it soon enough—sometimes it makes sense to move on. Ladybird can teach you a lot.”
Sierra nodded—she was probably supposed to—and turned Chico down the long driveway toward home.
CHICO WAS DELIGHTED. FINALLY, SIERRA WAS taking him somewhere again! Down the driveway, down the road. It felt good to move along and see something different.
The fences ended, and Sierra turned him toward the edge of the road and the grassland beyond. There was a tricky-looking ditch. Chico couldn’t see how deep it was, and of course, it might be full of snakes. Sierra couldn’t make him jump it; she seemed kind of feeble up there anyway, not really in charge. But he didn’t want to make trouble. Something seemed off about Sierra. He gave the ditch one last careful look and hopped neatly over it, feet tucked high.
Sierrra pointed him toward—yes! Toward the ranch. Toward the queen. He struck up an energetic lope, and she let him go—and was it raining? No, that was her, dropping warm tears on his shoulders.
Why? He felt wonderful, enjoying his own powerful strides and the steady drumbeat of his hooves, after weeks
of chasing laundry back and forth. This must be good for Sierra, too. It had to be.
Maybe it was. She stopped raining on him. Gradually, she seemed to be gathering her strength. Fine. He slowed to a steady jog that he could keep up for a long time. Finally, she reined him in, with a gigantic sniffle. “Oh, Chico. What am I going to do?”
Ahead, Chico saw a fence, and way ahead he saw cattle. Let’s go! he suggested, grabbing more rein. Chasing cows should cheer her up, right? Well, maybe not. That was when she got upset, wasn’t it? When he bounced at the cows Randall was working. It was all some kind of game. Chico didn’t understand it, but then, the games people thought of never did make a lot of sense to him.
They traveled along the fence line until they came to the gate. Sierra dismounted to open it. She led Chico through, then turned to close it. The reins were draped loosely over her arm, Chico noticed. She wasn’t holding them, she wasn’t on his back, he was practically home again, and the cattle were close enough that he could smell their sweet dusty aroma. He’d been calm, steady, and levelheaded for a long time, but this was just too much.
Chico whirled on his haunches. Sierra lunged for the reins, but Chico easily outran her. He thundered toward the cattle, stepping on one of his reins. Ow! That hurt his
mouth. It happened again, and then the reins were gone and he was among the cows, teeth bared, biting backs and tails.
The cows raced away from him at a wild, groaning gallop, toward a nearby clump of pines. They vanished into it and Chico pulled up, aware of an engine sound in the distance. The four-wheeler; he hadn’t seen that in a while.
But where was Sierra? He wheeled, head high, wheeled again, and at last, a long way back, a long way, he saw a small heap of something. What was that?
He loped toward it and circled warily. A human? It smelled like one. It smelled like Sierra—but he’d never seen a human do this, just collapse on the ground all humped up. She hadn’t fallen off; he knew that. And he was sure he hadn’t knocked her down. She’d never gotten close enough. But she was crying. That sound he did know. He minced closer, reached gently toward her half-hidden face, and licked her salty cheek.
She raised her head. “Oh, Chico. Oh, you bad horse!” She hugged his head; it felt uncomfortable, but Chico decided to let her. Something had just happened that should never happen. He was meant to be steady and reliable, even in the midst of great excitement. Dean and his mother and his whole nature had taught him that. And he’d made Sierra cry.
The engine sound was louder, and there was barking.
Sierra pulled back from Chico and turned her head. “Of course,” she whispered. “Dad.”
The four-wheeler stopped. Dad got off. Sierra stood up to face him.
“You all right?” Dad asked.
“I didn’t fall off,” Sierra said quickly. “He got away while I was closing the gate.”
“I saw,” Dad said. “You want to ride him back?” Now his voice sounded like Dean’s, full of anger and self-control. He opened the toolbox on the four-wheeler and handed Sierra some frayed pieces of baling twine. With shaky fingers, she knotted them to Chico’s bit in place of the broken reins.
“Suppertime, we’ll talk this over,” Dad said. “But I can’t have a horse harassing my cattle, Sierra.” He drove toward the trees, where the cows had disappeared.
Sierra hauled herself into the saddle without a word. The baling-twine reins felt light and floaty. The loose strands tickled Chico’s neck. His mouth hurt from stepping on and breaking his real reins, and now something was even stranger about Sierra. It was like she wasn’t really up there. Nothing was coming from her. She was frozen, shut down.
But they were almost home, and then, there was the queen, in the small pasture with cows and calves grazing
alongside her. Chico whinnied. She raised her head and after a moment whinnied back. Chico danced. She did like him. She actually liked him.
MAYBE SHE WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO DID. ALL evening, while he watched the cows grazing just beyond the corral fence, and the young calves bumbling around, Chico’s attention was drawn to the house, to the sound of unhappy voices. Sierra had been upset when he ran away; he’d known that. But he’d thought she would get over it, the way Dean always did.
Sierra wasn’t over it. He could tell by the way she behaved when she came out after supper to give him hay. First she acted like he wasn’t even there. Then suddenly, she hugged his neck. She didn’t say anything—rare for her—but he picked up that same dazed feeling he’d gotten from her earlier.
The sun went down, the stars came out, the moon rose. One by one, the lights went off in the house. No late-night visit from Sierra? She always used to come down and say good night.
The queen crunched hay. Chico didn’t feel like eating hay. His mouth still hurt from stepping on his reins, and anyway, he was confused. He listened to the wind in the pines and to the coyotes out there somewhere in the dark.
Closer than usual. Their shrieks and wails tore the nighttime quiet to rags.
Then they fell silent. Chico dozed, slouching on one hip. He still listened, though. Any movement among the cattle brought his ears drowsily forward. Once in a while, he turned to look at the house, but there was no movement there. Nothing at—
There! His head shot up, ears pointing toward a new sound. What was it? The queen stopped chewing. The cattle stirred. Out beyond them something moved. A wild-dog smell, a dried-blood smell, drifted on the night air.
The cattle began to bunch together, calves stumbling up from sleep, mothers nudging them, pushing them, crowding them toward the trees.
Near the horse fence, a calf let out a startled blat, and a cow charged into a cluster of gray shapes. A sharp yip—they scattered, then regrouped. The calf staggered toward the horse corral fence. The cow started after it with a low moan, but the shapes were closer. They were on it, pulling it down—
No! No dog-animal had any right to come near territory Chico controlled. He charged. So did the mother cow. The coyotes slipped away. Ignoring Chico, so close on the other side of the fence, the cow lowered her head and gave her calf a worried shove, urging it to move.
The calf tumbled, slithering under the corral fence. On Chico’s side, it struggled to rise. Farther along the fence line, a gray shadow slipped under the bottom rail, another, a third.
Chico froze. Not in fear. He would love nothing more than to charge among them with hooves flying, jaws wide-open. He’d get at least one, he knew that.
And the other coyotes would circle—some were behind him even now—and they’d get the calf while he fought them.
It was small. Young.
His!
The calf started to stagger toward the coyotes, in baby stupidity or lack of control. It was very new to the world, and it was hurt. Chico smelled blood on it.
Stop! He closed his teeth gently on its neck. The calf stumbled to its knees, and Chico pushed it all the way down. With one deliberate, careful step, he straddled the calf, snaking his head at the circling shadows. You think so, dogs? Try it!
Beyond the fence, the mother cow bellowed. The queen snorted in disgust. She did not appreciate any of this. Chico should be clearing those coyotes out, not just standing there. She trotted by, delivering him a sharp nip in passing, and charged into the cattle pack. They melted away
from her, reformed behind, and the mother cow roared. Down by the creek, the rest of the herd answered, and in the house a light came on. In a moment, someone was on the porch. Then running footsteps, bobbing flashlight; Dad, carrying a long stick. He stopped at the fence, pointed the stick toward the sky—
BLAM! The sound was sharp, heavy, unbelievably loud. The queen raced around the perimeter of the corral, snorting. Everything in Chico wanted to do the same. But he held himself still over the calf.
The coyotes vanished. He heard their racing paws for a second. Then all sound was drowned by the mother cow’s bawl.
The horse corral was suddenly flooded with light. Dad came back to the fence. Mom and the girls ran from the house.
“What happened?”
“What was it?”
“Strange,” Dad said. “I’ve never known coyotes to bother a horse before. They were all around—Chico, here.” He sounded like he could hardly bring himself to say Chico’s name.
Sierra scrambled over the rails and came running. “Chico, it’s me! Are you okay—oh!” She stopped short. “Dad,” she called after a moment. “Come here.”
Dad opened the gate and came in. It was the first time Chico had ever seen him in the corral.
“Look under Chico,” Sierra said. Dad bent, pointing his flashlight. “It’s bleeding,” Sierra said. “It’s hurt.”
“Okay, that’s it!” Dad sounded so furious, Chico wanted to move away. But there were too many people around him. Mom was coming now, too. Where could he put his feet so he didn’t hurt the calf, or any of them?
“End of discussion!” Dad said. “I want this animal off this ranch!”
Mom took the flashlight from him. She put a hand on Chico’s neck and bent, shining light on the calf.
“Darling?” she said after a moment. “Take a closer look. Those are coyote bites.”
Dad bent and stared where she was pointing. Then he half turned, looking off into the darkness; turned back and looked at Chico and the calf. He opened his mouth. He closed it again.
“Well,” he said finally. “Well. He was protecting it, wasn’t he?”
Mom nodded.
“I fired a shot from twenty feet away, and this horse didn’t move. I’ll—I’m—I don’t know what to say.”
“How about, ‘Thank you’?” Mom said.
“Yeah, that one I figured out.” Dad held out his hand
toward Chico, palm up. Chico sniffed it. A hard hand, made raspy from work. Awkwardly, gently, the hand stroked Chico’s nose.
“Misjudged you, buddy,” Dad said. “Admittedly, you’ve given me plenty of cause, but not this time … thanks.”
Gently, Mom slid the calf out from between Chico’s legs. “This baby needs stitches,” she said.
When the calf was out from under him, Chico shook himself, like he would after a nice roll in the dirt. A moment later, Sierra had her arms around his neck.
“Chico, you’re amazing!”
Chico nibbled gently at her bathrobe tie. She was happy again. Probably some kind of pattern here …
WHILE MOM STITCHED THE CALF UP, AND ADDIE fed both horses an entire bag of carrots, Sierra stood leaning against Chico’s shoulder. His warmth came through her pajamas. He ate carrots happily, but a large part of his attention seemed to be out beyond the fences. On the cows? Maybe the coyotes?
“Back to bed,” Mom said finally, shooing them all toward the house.
Sierra went to her room, but sleep was impossible. She wrapped her quilt around herself and stared out her bedroom window. She could see Chico in the horse corral,
moonlight gleaming butter-yellow on his back. He stood close to the mare, but he looked out toward the calf pasture.
He’s a cow horse all right, she thought.
This afternoon, at Misty’s, he’d scattered cattle like a gleeful Labrador puppy. That was bad. But tonight, he’d stood over a tiny calf to protect it. That showed judgment. It showed courage. It showed amazing self-control. At supper, Mom had talked about finding him another home, but a horse like Chico shouldn’t be a backyard pet or be ridden in slow safe circles in a show ring. He had cow sense, and horse sense, and something almost approaching human sense.
“I’m keeping you,” she whispered into the darkness. If Chico couldn’t do cutting, she’d do something else with him. He was hers.
But when she turned from the window, the Misty Lassiter pictures looked down on her in the dark; shadowy horses facing cattle, Misty riding in all of them.
Sierra went to her bureau and switched on the small light. She looked at herself in the mirror. Gradually her face took on the Lassiter Look—calm, flinty, confident, determined.
Cowboy up, Ranch Girl! He can learn how to cut cattle, if you can find the way to teach him.