Chase The Clouds

New sounds, sounds of cattle lowing plaintively and of horses whickering in friendly fashion, lulled her into a restful state. She had not meant to sleep, but the sun was warm against her back as she curled up on the huge expanse of the bed, and weeks of emotional exhaustion were placed into limbo.

* * *

Danielle moaned, hearing herself cry out. “No!” she screamed. The voice, her voice, reverberated into her restless, sleeping state, and she choked off another cry. In the dream, she saw herself transformed into a horse who was being whipped cruelly by the handler. The horse struggled, trying to escape the biting flick of the whip that Jean had in his hand. Pain seared her heart and she moaned. Jean was yelling, driving her back into a corner. She was trying to escape the whip and the pain.

“Dany?” a new voice called. The husky, warm voice sliced again into the anguish of the nightmare. She whimpered, feeling the caress of a man’s hand against her arm, moving up across her shoulder in a caring fashion. “Dany, wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”

She gasped, blinking open her eyes. Sam Reese sat on the edge of the bed leaning across, his hand resting on her shoulder. Tearstains glistened against her cheeks, and he reached over, touching her skin with his fingers, making an awkward attempt to remove the wetness.

“You’re all right, lady,” he soothed. “You were crying out and I heard you next door. Just take it easy. Everything is going to be fine.”

The rough caress of his fingers against her face sent a new, aching sensation through her tense body. The musky scent of his masculine body invaded her nostrils, and her heart pounded without restraint. She was captured by the tenderness of his expression, his eyes broadcasting genuine concern. Dany shivered, confused by his care and affection. She pushed his hand away, struggling to sit up and get away from his powerful male body.

“I’m all right,” she gulped, rubbing her face. Her hair fell in blue black sheets about her pale features.

Sam nodded, watching her in silence for long moments. He caressed the crown of her head, his hand barely skimming the surface of her hair. “I was right,” he murmured softly, “you have lovely hair, Dany. You ought to wear it down more often. Makes you look like a princess.” A bashful smile pulled one corner of his mouth, and he hesitantly drew his hand away, resting it against his thigh.

It took a few moments to retrieve her senses. The sun was no longer shining and darkness had claimed the day. She was excruciatingly aware of Sam Reese as he sat quietly beside her, making no further attempt to touch her. Finally, she raised her head, meeting his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized in a thick voice.

“What for? We all have bad dreams every once in a while. I’ve put you through a great deal in just a few days time, Dany, and it’s caught up with you.”

She shook her head. “No, it wasn’t you,” she whispered. “Oh, I’ll admit it’s been hectic and surprising, but that wasn’t it.” She gave a broken, helpless shrug. “Just the past coming back to haunt me again. As usual.”

He pursed his lips, nodding sagely. “You know there’s one sure cure for the past.”

“What’s that?”

“Get involved in the present. Let the past go. It’s dead and gone. You did what you had to do and gave it your best shot.” He forced a weak smile. “Take my word for it, I’ve been there, too.”

Dany chewed on her lower lip, glancing at him. His face was so strong, and yet, an innate gentleness burned in the depth of his slate gray eyes. There was inbred harshness in the lines of his thirty-five-year-old face. The lines which gave his face character had obviously been earned. The furrowed, broad forehead had seen worry, and the creases that fanned from the corner of each eye and the lines around his mouth spoke of laughter, laughter that she wished she could share with him. She gasped at the sudden, unexpected thought, and he must have mistaken her reaction.

“Getting divorced isn’t the end of the world,” he said. “I had my turn at it, too. Tried to put a thoroughbred in a plow horse’s harness, and it just didn’t work.”

Dany smiled tentatively at the expression, watching his eyes cloud with unspoken memories. “I like the way you westerners talk, Sam. You seem to put everything into such simple perspective.”

It was his turn to share a smile, and he clasped her hand, giving it a squeeze. “Simple but effective,” he agreed, sliding off the bed and standing. “Why don’t you take a bath and gradually get yourself back together? Dinner won’t be for another hour.”

“But what about Altair?”

Sam looked out the window and walked over to the drapes, drawing them closed. “Tomorrow morning is the earliest you’re doing anything. If you’d like, I’ll have Martha send up a tray and you can eat here.”

“That sounds wonderful, Sam. I hope I didn’t ruin any plans you had for dinner.…”

“No. I always eat alone anyway. Besides, your comfort comes first.”

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness. What time can we go see Altair tomorrow?”

“Whenever you get up. He’s in the stud barn that sits across from the bunkhouse. Chances are, you’ll sleep in tomorrow.”

“I’ve got news for you. Trainers are up around four-thirty with the dawn. If I sleep past six, I’ll be surprised.”

He nodded. “Well, I’ll leave you be for now. Good night, Dany.”

She heard the tenor in his voice, and it made her want to ask him to stay. The loneliness was evident in the look he gave her, and yet, he wasn’t going to force his will upon her. How vastly different from Jean!

After a delicious meal of beef rump roast, potatoes and peas that Martha brought up, Dany took a long, fragrant bath and then slipped back into bed for the night. This time there were no bad dreams. Only an aching remembrance of Sam’s hand on her cheek wiping her tears away.

Three

She awoke exactly at four-thirty. Dawn was barely breaking its hold on the night as Dany tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen. To her surprise, the coffee had already been made. She poured herself a cup, putting cream and sugar in it, and then walked quietly out the back door. A thin blanket of fog hovered a few feet off the ground throughout the valley. The ranch sat on the southern end of the valley, surrounded on all sides by a thick forest of pines. The restless snort of horses waiting for their feeding hour was a welcome sound. Pulling her coat around her more tightly, Dany grasped the handle of the mug and meandered in the direction of the paddocks and the stable.

Her hair swung with the natural rhythm of her body, the shorter tendrils framing her face from the dampness of the early morning humidity created by the ground fog. She turned the corner of the bunkhouse, catching sight of Sam leaning up against the fence. Dany stopped, her breath catching in her breast as she drank in his unmoving form. The brim of the hat was drawn down across his eyes, the denim jacket molded against the broad expanse of his shoulders and back. One leg was cocked lazily on the last rung of the fence, and he held a steaming mug of coffee in both hands as he seemed to be watching something in the distance. Her gaze traveled the meadow that disappeared out into the white blanket.

There, not much more than a mile away, she could barely make out an outline of a horse standing alertly. She watched as Sam put his fingers to his mouth. A shrill whistle broke the morning stillness. She heard the answering call; the unmistakable bugling scream of a stallion. Sam set the coffee mug on the post and climbed into the paddock, walking toward the horse who appeared magically out of the fog.

Dany shivered as she watched the man and the stallion come together. Sam walked unconcernedly as the giant red stallion strained forward like a huge unstoppable freight train that had no brakes. She stifled a cry of warning, watching the sorrel suddenly veer off to the right and playfully scramble in a circle about the man. It had to be Altair! She released her held breath, awed by the sight of the magnificent thoroughbred. Altair reared, pawing his front legs through the air, and then came down only a few feet from Sam, snorting vehemently. It was as if the two males were squaring off at one another, each king of his own special domain. Danielle stood transfixed by the beauty and rugged handsomeness of the spectacle. Sam spoke in a quiet, firm tone to the stallion, holding out his hand. Altair’s small ears twitched, and he turned his intelligent eyes upon the man, snorting again. Pawing restlessly, the stallion flicked his thick flaxen tail, and bent his head to take the treat.

She walked toward them as Altair nibbled the offering from Sam’s hand. By the time she got to the fence, they had both seen her. Sam put his arm across the stallion’s neck and led him over to the fence.

“Good morning. I see you caught us at our favorite game.”

“For a moment I thought he was going to run you over,” she admitted.

“He’s been known to do that to people he didn’t like. Come here, Altair. I want to introduce your new rider and trainer.” He pulled the horse by the mane, and the stallion docilely complied.

Dany flinched inwardly at the word “rider.” She did not share Sam’s belief that she could be one. Her eyes widened in appreciation, noting the thoroughbred’s impeccable conformation. Altair nuzzled her arm, his nostrils flaring as he caught her scent. She watched him carefully; she never really trusted any stallion. They were male animals ruled by an instinctive sexual drive and not capable of thinking, only reacting.

Sam stood back, admiring both of them, his hands on his hips. “He certainly seems to take to you. Of course, he’d be stupid not to.”

Dany smiled distantly, keenly assessing the stallion’s personality, watching his ears and the look in his large brown eyes. “He’s far from stupid, Sam. And I can see he allows very few people to tell him what to do.”

Sam laughed, joining her at the fence. “No one tells Altair a thing. They have to ask.” And then he frowned, picking up his coffee mug and taking a sip from it. “Which is where I’ve run into a lot of trouble with his riders lately. They treat him like an unthinking animal with only four legs and the power of a runaway truck. They don’t realize he’s thinking in his own terms and his forte is correctly judging complicated jumps. He’s a dynamic hunter who will challenge everything except a water obstacle.”

Dany ran her fingers down the stallion’s sleek, silky neck, enjoying the play of muscles beneath his skin. She noted with a sinking feeling that long thin scars marred his beautiful copper coat. “My God, who did this to him?” she whispered, running her fingers along one scar that ran the length of his left shoulder. Her heart turned over in compassion as she noted several more scars around his mouth and across the top of his nose.

Sam came around, affectionately scratching Altair’s ears. “Remember me telling you that the wrangler who captured him tried to break his spirit?” he asked huskily.

Dany looked up, aware of the simmering anger hidden in his voice and reflected in his eyes. “This is outright cruelty!” she protested, her voice strangled with emotion. Gently, she reached up, caressing Altair’s scarred muzzle. The stallion moved away from her hand, the white of his eye showing as he took another step backward. She shook her head. “I don’t blame him for jerking away,” she said tightly. “What did they do, use wire to try and keep his head and nose down?”

“Yes. It didn’t work, but it made him head shy with everyone except me.” Sam gave her a smile of encouragement. “And I think he’ll eventually let you touch his mouth without going crazy. I can see he’s already responding to you in a way he’s never done before with anyone else.”

“Typical male.”

“Yes, and thank God you’re the one to help him over some of his worst faults,” Sam said fervently. “Altair may not appreciate your beauty, but I do.” He grinned and playfully put his arm across the stallion’s neck and leaned against him.

“How do you get the bit into his mouth if he’s head shy?”