Wide Open Spaces

COLT LEFT HIS MOTEL ROOM before daylight. In fact, a three-quarter moon shed a cold light over the sleeping town of Callanton. Since he got underway before the Green Willow opened, he had no choice but to forgo breakfast.

His first stop was the farm at the edge of town where he stabled Spirit. When Colt loaded the gelding into his trailer, he noticed that Spirit still favored his leg. Was that a sign he should let Mrs. Marsh rescue her eaglets alone? he wondered wryly.

Thing was, Colt felt honor bound once he’d given his word. And maybe the outing would do Spirit more good than standing in a corral.

Six or so miles out of Callanton, Colt dropped in behind a school bus he assumed was the one scheduled to pick up Rory Marsh. Colt was sure of it when the bus turned down a graveled stretch of road that led to the Forked Lightning.

The sun had barely peeked over Blue Mountain by the time the big yellow bus swung off on a shoulder and stopped beneath a wrought-iron arch bearing the image of a divided lightning bolt. The ranch brand was an exact replica.

Colt stopped the prescribed distance behind the bus, which sat with red lights flashing. The lights had no sooner come on than a pickup—the one Colt had seen Summer driving yesterday—roared up to the arch from the distant house. A sullen-looking Rory Marsh slid out of the passenger seat. Head down, he trudged toward the bus, kicking up dust with his boots.

Colt opened his pickup door and stepped out on his running board. “Hey, kid,” he called. “Have a good day at school.”

Rory lifted his head, face brightening. “Hi! Wow, you did come to rescue the baby eagles. Mom said you probably had better things to do.” Rory galloped around the front of the bus. The driver honked, and the noise started him, making him drop his lunch box.

Summer saw her son dash in front of the bus rather than ascend the steps. What was he doing? Surely not running away! Yet he might just try that following the set-to they’d had at breakfast.

Heart pounding, she yanked on her emergency brake and fought to open the stubborn door that tended to stick. It popped ajar in time for her to hear a man’s baritone voice cautioning her son to get on the bus. The blood drained from her head and left her feeling dizzy because she thought Frank had finally decided to visit his son. Then she saw Rory wave and meekly retreat. He’d never do that if it was his dad standing outside the fence.

“Go on,” the man was saying. “Board the bus. I’ll see you when you get home.”

Summer realized the voice was deeper than Frank’s. By then, she’d reached the fence. Prior to that, the bus had blocked her view of the road. Identifying a pickup with horse trailer, and a man’s lanky outline, she expelled her breath in a whoosh.

Coltrane Quinn. He’d come, just the way he’d promised.

Summer recognized that he was the source of her son’s changed demeanor. Oddly enough, her own heart hammered significantly faster.

“Colt’s here, Mom,” Rory shouted. “The baby eagles will be okay now, and you don’t hafta worry ’bout Virgil killing himself helping you.”

“That’s good,” Summer admitted, clearing her throat. “I know you wanted to greet Mr. Quinn, Rory, but you shouldn’t keep Mrs. Reilly waiting. She has other children to pick up. Go on now, or you’ll make everyone late for school.”

“’kay,” the boy mumbled, although he continued to peer around the bus door while waving nonstop at Colt.

Rory had barely found a seat on the bus before the driver shut the door and began a wide turn back onto the road.

For some reason it touched Colt to see Rory press his smiling face to the window, his bright eyes following Colt until the bus rumbled out of sight. The warm feeling lasted until he turned and saw Summer Marsh glaring at him. Her arms were crossed, her spine taut. A frown hardened her pretty face.

He noted that she was dressed for work, wearing a wrangler’s wool plaid jacket buttoned atop worn blue jeans. Her scarred, low-heeled boots and leather gloves were far from new. A red scarf added a feminine touch to her outfit, and yet Colt himself wore a similar neckerchief, which he considered a standard ranch necessity. Riding the range, you never knew when a dust storm might blow up out of nowhere.

“What?” he demanded. “You said seven o’clock. According to my watch—” Colt made a show of digging it out from under his jacket sleeve “—it’s only 7:03.”

“Please be careful about the promises you make my son,” she said sharply. “Rory didn’t want to leave the house this morning because you hadn’t arrived yet.” Spinning abruptly, she stalked back to her vehicle.

Angrier over her attitude than was warranted, Colt removed his hat and slapped it against the hood of his pickup. “Just a damn minute! You’ve got no call to take a strip off me. I said I’d lend a hand to recover the eaglets. And I’m here. Excuse me, but exactly what promise have I broken?”

Summer’s shoulders bowed. This time she faced him wearing a guilty expression. “N-nothing, of course. I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’ve become very defensive on Rory’s behalf since his father…since Frank…” She gave a sigh so loud Colt could hear it yards away.

He gripped his own truck door tight to keep from going to console her. “I understand from what you said last night that Rory’s going through a rough patch. His world’s been turned upside down. The last thing I want to do is make the situation worse. Let’s go after the eaglets. That way, I’ll be gone from here long before Rory returns from school.”

“Good,” she managed to say in a voice that was higher than normal. She slid behind the wheel and released her parking brake, leading the way to the house. Summer couldn’t help wishing, for her son’s sake, that Frank could change and be a little more like Coltrane Quinn. She gasped at such a thought and braked too hard outside the barn. Dust enveloped her as she climbed from the cab.

An old man hobbled up. He watched while Colt backed his pickup and trailer between the house and barn. The elderly man’s presence buffered the tension that had sprung up between Summer and Colt.

“Virgil, this is Coltrane Quinn. Quinn, Virgil Olsen. He’s held this place together with baling wire since before I was born.” She hugged the man’s bent frame, honest feeling reflected in her eyes. “It’s your lucky day, Virg. Mr. Quinn has volunteered to give me a hand catching the eaglets. How’s their mother doing?” she asked as the two men exchanged a handshake.

“Feistier than when you brought her home, Summer. The old girl nipped me good when I put food in her cage. She’ll be better if you can bring in the little ones. She’s crying out and beating her good wing against the cage. Without her babies, I’m afraid she’ll die just trying to escape. I’d rather you two go after ’em than me,” he remarked, gazing at Colt from faded brown eyes. “I’d never’ve let Summer tackle the job alone. Doesn’t mean I looked forward to hauling these old bones up those cliffs.”

Colt rubbed his chin. “I’ve done a bit of rock climbing. I travel with all my gear, so I have rudimentary ropes, pitons and carabiners in my truck. What I think we’ll need is some type of basket with a tie-down lid to put the eaglets in. Depending on how many and how large the birds are, we may need more than one container,” he mused aloud.

“Jiminy, I’d have never thought of a lid.” The old man took off his battered hat and raked his fingers through sparse gray hair. “I spread some hay in an open box, thinking we’d transport the birds that way.”

“I think we’ll need a cover of some kind to make it work.”

“Don’t have one.” The old man shook his head. “Can’t think what we—”

“Virgil, what about Audrey’s knitting basket?” Summer broke into the men’s conversation. She nudged him and winked. “I realize if the birds poop in it I’ll owe her a new one.”

“Why, that’s just the thing. You go ask her, Summer-girl. She’d never refuse you. If I unload that woman’s knitting, she’s liable to smack me upside the head with a frying pan.”

Summer chuckled. “You old fibber. Audrey loves you to pieces. But I’ll go do it. I want to fill a thermos with coffee and toss a couple of apples in a saddlebag. I figure this trip will take a lot of energy.”

“Do you mind bringing an extra apple?” Colt put in.

“For the horses, you mean?”

“Well, that’d be nice, too. No, I’m being purely selfish. The café hadn’t opened yet when I left town.” He rubbed his stomach, which chose that moment to growl.

“Why didn’t you say something earlier? Heavens, you’re probably starved. Come inside. I’ll ask Audrey to whip you up some eggs and toast.”

“No. Don’t go to any trouble. An apple will do me. We should get underway. This is going on day two for those birds. Once the sun rises, they’ll be increasingly exposed to predators.”

“Exactly.” Summer turned to Virgil. “Will you saddle Starlight for me, please? She’s surefooted enough for the gorge.”

As Summer loped toward the house, Colt backed Spirit out of his trailer.

“Your horse favors his foreleg, son,” Virgil said.

“He landed sideways on a rock the other day. I’m lucky all he did was strain a muscle.” Colt bent over his horse and ran a hand down the leg, checking for swelling.

“My wife makes a herb ointment to help with my arthritis. The stuff works wonders on animals. Why don’t you leave the gelding for me to treat? You can ride one of Summer’s horses.”

“I’d appreciate it. I thought a workout might help him, but I don’t want to push him if he’s not a hundred percent.”

“Then it’s settled. You assemble your climbing gear and I’ll swap your mount for one of ours. It’ll only take me a few minutes to saddle two horses.”

“Use my saddle. It has extra ties for attaching mountaineering gear.”

“Sure. Here, cut the wrap off Spirit’s leg. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” Virgil produced a rusty pocket knife that had seen better days. Colt finally found one blade that literally chewed through the medicated wrap he’d put on his horse yesterday.