The You I Never Knew Part 16

Even though the possibility was as remote as the moon, Sam had been seared by it from the moment he'd seen her in the arena parking lot.

"No way," he said quickly. "She lives in Seattle, and she's... involved, I guess. My life is set, Mama. I don't gamble. I tried marriage once, and you know what happened. I'm not about to screw around with an old flame."

Tammi Lee nodded. "n.o.body ever ends up with their childhood sweetheart. Or if they do, they wind up dead, like Romeo and Juliet."

Sam laughed. "I guess you're right, Mama."

"So what happens next?"

"I suppose, next time I see Cody, he's going to know I'm his father."

She ground out her cigarette in a fluted aluminum ashtray on the stove. "You scared, son?"

"h.e.l.l, yeah, I'm scared, Mama."

Chapter 16.

It was insane, thought Mich.e.l.le, mooning over Sam McPhee like a lovestruck schoolgirl. But she couldn't seem to stop herself from thinking of him, picturing his big hands, and how delicately they had handled Cody's st.i.tches. She couldn't keep from remembering the color of his eyes or the look on his face when he was watching her from the hospital-room doorway. She had an almost-grown son, a sick father, a significant other in Seattle. She had no business speculating, even to herself, what it would be like to know Sam again.

"So you never did tell me about the foaling," she said to Cody on the ride home, as much to distract herself as to get him to talk.

"It was way cool. There was a dys-dyst-um, a difficult presentation, and the vet couldn't make it on time, so we all pitched in. Sam, me, and Edward. The mare kept getting up when she wasn't supposed to, so that was kind of bad. I had to get my hand right up inside her to bring the foal around."

"I'm getting this incredible mental picture. So you didn't gross out?"

"Nope. Like I said, it was kind of cool."

Maybe it was the blow to the head. That had to be it, Mich.e.l.le thought, because no son of hers would think sticking his hand up a mare's birth ca.n.a.l was cool. But on the other hand, horses had once filled her life and made it beautiful. She wondered if a horse could do that for Cody.

Dooley had been four years old the summer she'd moved to Montana. A trim quarter horse with a splash of white on his forehead, he had snagged her interest when she'd seen him kicking up his heels in the paddock. Her father, eager to spoil her during the year she'd given him, had offered the gelding to her.

Everyone at Blue Rock Ranch must have thought she was a snooty city girl, with her tight buff-colored riding pants and tall English-style boots, an array of dressage ribbons and trophies spread out on her bedroom bureau.

Dooley had no patience for a dressage rider who wanted him to skip over little ivy-covered jumps and arch his neck and trot prettily around a ring. It took a lot of spills-and a lot of coaching from Sam-for her to figure that out.

They rolled up to the house and she cut the engine, turning to Cody. That haircut! She tried not to smile, looking at it, but it made her ridiculously happy to see the last of that obnoxious dual-colored ponytail hanging down his back.

"How do you feel?" she asked him. "Can I fix you something to eat?"

"I'm thrashed, Mom. I think I'll zone out for a while." She resisted helping him out of the car. When he shrugged off his jacket and flopped down on the sofa, flipping on the TV, she resisted grabbing the afghan and tucking it around him. He used to be hers to tuck and touch and mother as much as she pleased. Now when she did it, she felt as if she was trespa.s.sing.

Okay, so tell him, she urged herself. Tell him about Sam.

But as soon as she opened her mouth to speak, he picked up the phone on the end table and punched in a long string of numbers. "Is Claudia there?" he asked. "Hey, Claudia. It's me. You won't believe what happened..."

Feeling like an intruder, she left the guesthouse with her coat still on, and crossed to the huge barn at the end of the main drive. It resembled the set for a sentimental movie, the sunlight on the snow, the weathered cranberry-colored structure too perfect to be real.

In the barn, she ran into Jake Dollarhide. The sight of him startled her; she never expected that he'd still be around.

"Jake? It's me, Mich.e.l.le Turner. Gavin's daughter."

"Welcome back, Mich.e.l.le. Good to see you." He was only a couple of years older than Mich.e.l.le. His father used to be ranch foreman, an important and lucrative position on a spread the size of Blue Rock. Jake looked a lot like he did seventeen years ago. Thicker, more weather-beaten. He had the big, callused hands of an experienced horseman, the limp of a longtime cowboy, and the reserved manner of a man who felt more at home with animals than with people.

"Is there a gelding called Dooley here?" A long shot, but she had to ask him.

"Oh yeah. The old man's still one of the boss's favorites."

She didn't want Dooley to be an old man. She wanted him to be as young and quick as she remembered.

Jake led her down the middle aisle of the barn. She wondered if he remembered what happened all those years ago and what part he played, but she knew she wouldn't ask him. They stopped at one of the stalls. A long, paint-splashed chestnut head came out over the half door.

Dooley. Her best guy. She didn't ever remember loving a horse the way she had loved Dooley, and now he stood there in front of her, chewing indolently on a mouthful of alfalfa, the steam puffing gently from his damp nostrils.

Dooley.

They said horses, like elephants, never forgot. She believed that. She believed it with all her heart, because the minute she said his name aloud and hugged herself up against his long, hard skull, he whickered and blew gently into the quiet of the barn.

And Mich.e.l.le, for no reason she cared to name, burst into tears. She supposed it was because this moment was the culmination of everything that had been building up inside her. In a world that had gone crazy while her back was turned, Dooley lived his life and chewed his alfalfa and stood patiently in this stall. Now he was old, and he was glad to see her.

Jake stepped back, probably embarra.s.sed by her display. Eventually she looked up, wiped her face on her sleeve. "Sorry, Jake. This is my favorite horse in the world, and it's overwhelming to see him again."

He stared at her intently. He used to do that when they were young. It always gave her the creeps, because there was a quiet hunger in his look. "You ought to take the old man for a ride," he said, making her feel foolish for her suspicions.

Mich.e.l.le knew she should protest, object, think of a bunch of reasons she shouldn't be out riding Dooley for an hour when there was so much else going on, but when she opened her mouth, the only word that came out was "Yes."

In the tack room they took down reins, a curb chain, a Twickenham bit, and a Flores saddle she remembered from years ago. Her father might be one of the Hollywood upstarts Montana loved to hate, but he was a serious upstart. Blue Rock Ranch gave every attention to the animals. The success of a rodeo stock contractor depended on the quality of his livestock. Each piece of tack and saddle was perfectly scrubbed down and oiled. She thought someone must vacuum the blankets; they were that clean.

Dooley stood patiently-she fancied willingly-in the crossties while they saddled him.

"He's fat," she said, grinning as she pulled up on the girth.

"Doesn't get much exercise. This'll be good for him."

"Is he okay, then? No lameness?"

"He's just slow. Lazy. But he'll do what you ask him to do."

She walked him out into the yard where the snow was deep and feathery light. The suns.h.i.+ne and sharp cold nailed her, and Dooley arched his neck in exactly the way she remembered. He knew the route to the vast, covered arena. Her leg cues were superfluous. She started him off slowly, an easy walk around the arena. As he loosened up, he naturally rolled into an easy canter, a smooth-as-wind gait that matched her own heartbeat.

Out of respect for his age, she didn't ask him to extend into a gallop. She just listened to the thud of his nimble hooves against the soft earth, the rhythmic huff of the horse's breath, and the steady creak of leather.

Like windblown leaves, bits and pieces of the past tumbled through her mind. The first time she ever rode Dooley, she'd put an English-style saddle on him and tried to coax him over jumps. He'd balked mulishly, and in the battle of wills that followed, neither horse nor rider won. Then one day Sam came along. She had been bashful and defensive when he came to the fence, wedged a foot up on the rail, and said, "You ought to try barrel racing that horse. That's what he's been drilled on."

She told him she knew how to ride, thank you very much, but he just laughed and waited her out. When she was about to quit in frustration, he gave the horse a break, then set a Western saddle on him and put him through his paces around the barrels.

From that moment on, she was hooked. To h.e.l.l with prissy ribbons and plastic bouquets bordering fake fences. She gloried in the speed and agility of barrel racing-never in compet.i.tion, just for the joy of it. Dooley must have been born with the pattern imprinted on his memory, because he did it perfectly, with all the heart she could wish for. A lightning gallop out of the alley, clockwise around the first barrel, counterclockwise around the second, and then finis.h.i.+ng with a gallop so swift she felt as if part of her got left behind each time.

And always, flowing with the bits of memory, Sam was there, his loose and long frame a friendly presence at the edge of the arena.

She had thought, that summer, when Dooley and Sam filled her days and nights, that she had found a perfect happiness.

She had thought it would last forever.

Dooley wasn't stupid, he felt her mood slump, and he took advantage, slowing his pace to a rocking-horse gait. It soothed her; she wondered if he sensed that. He sweated so much that steam rose from every inch of him, so she slowed him to a walk, letting him cool out.

"You both look great," said Gavin. He was no longer the vulnerable invalid she saw in the kitchen early that morning. Looking deceptively hardy and vigorous, he wore a sheepskin jacket and wide-brimmed hat, the tips of his ears and nose red with the cold.

How long had he been there? She'd been so absorbed in riding that she couldn't say.

"I hope you don't mind." She dismounted and led Dooley in a long oval a couple of times around the ring.

"h.e.l.l, no, I don't mind. It's good to see him getting some exercise."

"I think he remembers me."

"Wouldn't surprise me. That's one of the smartest horses I've ever had."

Things were quiet and easy between Mich.e.l.le and Gavin as she put Dooley up, taking the time to grain him, curry him out, paint a bit of red disinfectant on his hock, where she had noticed a small cut. She cleaned the tack while Gavin looked on approvingly.

They checked on Cody to find that he had fallen fast asleep, so they went for a drive out to the small local air park. Gavin greeted people by name there, and showed her into the hangar where he kept his two planes-the vintage biplane, and the P-51 Mustang, his prized possession. The Mustang still had its original D day invasion stripes. It was one of the few surviving WWII planes. Most were in museums these days.

"As soon as your license is reinstated," she said, "I'm going to expect the ride of my life, Daddy."

"You're on," he promised her.

It was early twilight when they returned and walked over to the guest quarters to see Cody. He was curled up, still asleep on the sofa, the TV on but the volume down. Seizing the opportunity to do what he wouldn't let her do when he was awake, Mich.e.l.le covered him with a knitted striped afghan and brushed a curl of hair off his forehead.

"He all right?" Gavin whispered as they left.

They started across to the big house. "He's doing fine."

"I can't say I'm sorry to see some of that hair disappear."

They stomped the snow off their boots, leaving them in the mudroom. Inside, they sat staring at the fire. Tadao brought c.o.c.ktails-Dry Sack for her, watered-down cranberry juice for Gavin, a bowl of salt-free pretzels neither of them touched.

"I had a chat with Dr. Temple this morning." She sipped her sherry. "He said he might advise postponing the surgery."

"Yeah?"

"I told him he was full of s.h.i.+t, that I wanted to go ahead right now."

Gavin shook his head. "I've been living with this for a long time. Another week or so isn't going to kill me."

She stiffened against the back of the leather sofa. "I wish you wouldn't talk like that." When she looked at his face, she wanted to think that she was seeing what all daughters saw when they looked at their fathers. But the memories simply weren't there. Maybe that was what she was seeking now. If not history, then at least something dear, something precious. They didn't have that. Maybe there was still time. Would having the transplant bring a new intimacy?

It seemed a fanciful notion. A kidney was just an organ. A spare part, as Cody liked to call it. There wasn't any sort of mystical power in a kidney. And yet she kept thinking, because of what she gave him, he'd be healed.

He clearly had no inkling of her thoughts, because out of the clear blue he asked, "So what does Sam think of the boy?"

"Of Cody?" she asked stupidly.

"That would be the one." Gavin spoke with exaggerated patience and humor.

"He thinks Cody is angry and rebellious."

"So is this a phase the boy is going through, or is there a problem?"

She gazed at her father incredulously. "You really don't know, do you?"

"About raising a teenager? I don't have any experience at it, Mich.e.l.le."

And she felt it again-the anger, the resentment. "It's both a phase and a problem."

"Maybe getting him together with Sam wouldn't be such a bad idea," Gavin suggested.

"Um, I haven't told Cody that Sam's his father." She swirled the ice in her tumbler. "Why didn't you ever tell me Sam moved back to Crystal City?"

"I didn't think you were interested in hearing that or anything else from me."

She sensed something more beneath his words, some judgment or evasion. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. "I could have done with a word of warning," she said.

He combed a splayed hand through his white hair. "h.e.l.l, honey, I guess I was afraid you wouldn't come if you knew Sam was here."

"I would have come anyway," she insisted. "I'm going to let Cody know about Sam this evening." Helplessly she watched the flames leaping in the grate, reflecting against the iron fireback. "I have no idea what he's going to think when I tell him."

"So how's Sam taking all this?" he asked.

"He says he wants to get to know Cody, but that's what's making me so insane. You can't know a kid in a few weeks. You have to raise a child from birth to truly know him."

"You believe that?"

"Yes."

"Then I don't know you? I can't know you?"

She gulped the rest of her drink. "We're talking about Cody."

"Fine, so talk."

"I just... don't understand what Sam expects. What if he wants something I can't give? Like more time with Cody?"

"Are you willing to allow that?"