When Mountains Move Page 23

  “Oh, Bump. I can’t …”

  “Don’t worry.” Bump interrupts me. “Mr. Tucker said she wasn’t for sale.”

  I exhale. The very idea of losing Firefly brings panic. I consider the options. “What about that paint pony?” I point to the pen of sale horses. “She’s a good horse. And no one up here seems to want a paint.”

  “True.” Bump looks out at the pen. Only one paint. Ours.

  “Mr. Tucker doesn’t have anything down there for her?” Isabel pulls at Bump’s hat and I smile.

  “Been reducin’ his stock, movin’ everything good up here and sellin’ off what’s left. Poison was the only fit for Camille, even when we were there.”

  “Why’d he sell her?” I give Isabel the pamphlet, and she tries to eat it. I pull it from her mouth.

  Bump shrugs as a man approaches us, hands in pockets, black Stetson tilted crooked on his head. He has no spurs, and an old-fashioned pocket watch hangs from his vest pocket. My first impression is that he has money. “You Mr. Anderson?”

  “Yes, sir.” Bump extends his hand and the man returns the greeting. I take Isabel from Bump and step back a bit so the men can talk without Isabel reaching for them.

  “You own that batch of quarter horses? Branded with a circled arrow?”

  “Actually, my boss, Cauy Tucker, owns them. All work easy around the catch rope. All for sale.”

  “Mind if I take a look?” The man tilts his head, a gesture that makes me think he’s interested in buying what we’ve got.

  “Sure thing.” With that, Bump leaves Isabel and me to wander the event grounds. We weave our way through groups of families, musicians, cowboys, and girls hoping to win some guy’s attention. It seems strange to think I once competed with Firefly. As much as I love to ride, I no longer have any desire to perform in front of a crowd. I’m content watching the show, holding my daughter, celebrating when others win. I’m surprised Jack never outgrew his need for the crowd’s cheers, and I’m happy I no longer crave that kind of affection.

  As the announcer’s voice breaks the air, the fans make their way to the stands for the start of the bronc competition. I move along with the spectators and find a seat, holding Isabel in my lap. She squeals with excitement when a sponsor girl circles the arena, flag waving in the wind. I remember how disgusted Jack was when the rodeo started letting sponsor girls be a part of the events. He thought it cheapened the competition by turning it into a show. I scan the crowd for signs of Fortner, hoping Oka can find her way back to me. I’m watching a little boy dip his finger into his sister’s lemonade when I hear Kat’s voice. My entire body tightens. Please don’t let her see us.

  Before I can turn away, our eyes meet, and Kat smiles awkwardly. I’m not sure I can bite my tongue if she stops to talk. She waves. I turn my head to look for Oka.

  Henry runs toward me. “Hi, Mrs. Anderson!” He’s full of energy and happy as usual.

  “Hello, Henry.” I return the smile. I can’t blame him for his mother’s actions. He tickles Isabel under the chin. “Tickle, tickle, tickle.” I laugh, and Isabel does too.

  “You better get back to your mom.” I pat his back and add, “It’s getting crowded.”

  “Bye!” Henry shouts behind him as he runs back to Kat’s side. I don’t look at her. Still, she doesn’t get the hint. She moves down my row and sits next to me.

  “Millie, it’s so good to see you. I just got back last night. Feels like I’ve been gone for ages.” Kat talks with a chipper pep, as if we’re still friends. As if she can make the whole world work exactly how she wants. “My goodness, look how beautiful Isabel is. She’s grown so much!”

  I don’t respond. Please, Oka, hurry. I shade my eyes with my hand and search the distance for Oka’s dark braid.

  “She looks just like you,” Kat says, touching Isabel’s hand. I shift my weight to pull Isabel away. I hope Kat doesn’t make a scene. It’s important for us to make a good impression here today. The business depends in great part on the deals we make at this event.

  “I’m glad she’s well,” Kat says, still trying to engage me.

  I don’t give her what she wants. She’s just like Bill Miller, too used to getting her way.

  “Millie? Is something wrong?” Her voice squeezes into an annoying whine.

  I look at her now. My temples pulse. “Yes, Kat. Something is very wrong.”

  With this, a flash of shame crosses her face. She finally accepts the fact that I know.

  “Oka!” I yell, finally seeing my grandmother walking toward the stands. “Over here!”

  Kat and Henry move up to the next section of seats, as Oka finds her way to Isabel and me. Don’t do it, Millie. Don’t you dare cry.

  “Want me to handle her?” Oka whispers, shooting Kat a look that could kill. She’s obviously trying to make me laugh. It works.

  The announcer delivers the opening prayer just in time, and the competition begins. Isabel, Oka, and I all cheer. Below us, Bump points out our best horses to the potential buyer. Instead of worrying that Bump might see Kat, I do what Kat would do. The same thing Diana would do. I pretend Kat doesn’t exist, that my world is perfect, and that nothing can steal my joy.

  Chapter 28

  It’s Christmas week, and Isabel turns one today. I’ve baked a pound cake to celebrate. Now I add one tiny white candle and strike a match. Fortner plays his beat-up guitar while we all sing “Happy Birthday.” Oka claps and kisses Isabel from head to toe.

  I pause for a moment and try to capture the scene: the way Isabel’s curls brush beneath Oka’s small fingers, the sound of Oka’s laugh, deep and hearty and true. The flickering flame of the match reflecting in Isabel’s dark eyes. The sun-kissed back of Bump’s neck, as he bends over the cake and says, “Make a wish!” The lemon smell of the browned batter, the white sugar icing drizzled thin across the top. Fortner’s callused fingers strumming six strings, his soft humming as he tunes his guitar. The way the sun colors the room a shade of pinkish-yellow, a hue that knows no name, and the particles of dust swimming through the air like fairies, like the floating dandelion seeds scattered on our wedding day, when Janine also said, “Make a wish.” I take photographs with my mind and file these memories, these simple gifts of grace. I never want to forget.

  Isabel flaps her hands and squeals, “Daddy!” as he helps her turn the spark to smoke. Not Dada this time, but Daddy, clear as day, as if there’s no more debating. As if she’s telling the whole world, “See this man? This man right here? This man is my true father.”

  I slice the cake and pass a piece to everyone. Isabel tears into hers, coating her face in sticky white icing, much to the delight of us all. Once I’ve cleaned her hands, I help her open presents. Janine has sent a set of wooden horses with a card from Mr. and Mrs. Tucker, proof she’s fully embraced her new role as a wife. Isabel pulls each miniature pony from the box and puts them straight into her mouth for a taste. “Oh, look,” I tell Isabel, trying to teach her how to play with the horses. “Here’s a cowgirl to ride them.”

  Isabel takes the doll and tries to imitate my movements. She places the girl on one of the toy horses. “Oh, she likes this one?” I ask, pointing to the black stallion. Isabel nods.

  We play horses until her attention drifts. Then Fortner hands Isabel a handmade leather ball, small enough to cup in her hands but too big to swallow. Isabel throws it into the air and laughs as it bounces three times on the floor. Then she does it again. And again. And again.

  “That was very thoughtful,” I tell Fortner. “She loves it.”

  Fortner’s cheeks go pink, and he gives a bashful smile.

  “She’s awful lucky to have an uncle like you.” Bump slaps Fortner’s shoulders in the way men do when they really want to offer a hug. I remember when I was angry with Bump for hiring Fortner, too afraid we were putting our family in danger. I also remember Bump’s respons
e, telling me, “Sometimes, all a man needs is a chance.” Fortner rolls the ball back to Isabel, and she throws it again, erupting in laughter at her ability to send an object propelling so far and so fast.

  Next, Oka brings Isabel a hand-stitched doll, soft and squeezable, filled with fabric scraps. “Baby!” Isabel squeals, hugging the doll tight. She brings her new baby around to each of us, and we all respond by giving the doll hugs and kisses. “Baby,” she says, each time, so proud of her new toy.

  “You’re a good mama,” I tell Isabel.

  “Baby,” she says again, kissing her baby doll’s head.

  “That’s right,” I tell her. “Love the baby.”

  “Your baby sweet,” Oka tells her.

  “And loved,” I add. “Just like you.” I tap Isabel’s nose, and she giggles.

  Isabel tries to put her baby on one of the toy horses from Janine. “Too big,” I say. So she puts the horse on top of the baby, and everyone laughs.

  “I can’t believe how fast this year has gone,” I announce to no one specifically. “It seems like Bump just yelled, ‘It’s a girl!’ And now here she is. All grown up.” Bump puts his arm around me, and we watch Isabel playing with her new gifts. Together, with Fortner and Oka, we all celebrate the life, the light, that Isabel has given us.

  Bump takes the guitar from Fortner, strums a few chords, and says, “Ya mind?”

  “Not at all,” Fortner says.

  Then Bump plays a slow tune, one I’ve never heard before. The melody is lovely, sweet in a way that feels honest, innocent like a lullaby. After a run-through, he begins to sing to Isabel.

  I’ll find you a place, a place you can rest.

  I’ll sing down the moon. Build a soft, feathered nest.

  I’ll carry you there, in my arms through the night.

  I’ll find you a place, call it yours, call it mine.

  I’ll give you a home, a whole world away,

  And I’ll love you forever. Plus a day.

  By the end, I’m in tears. “That’s beautiful,” I tell him. “What’s it called?”

  “Just a little thing I made up.” Bump puts the pick between his teeth and repositions himself for another song.

  “You wrote that? For Isabel?”

  That crooked grin spreads across Bump’s face and he bends to kiss his daughter, my daughter, our daughter, our Isabel.

  We are all laughing and talking and singing when we suddenly hear a scream. A horrifying, haunting cry behind our home. The same one I heard last year, seconds before the mountain lion launched her attack and sent me running into the barn.

  “Lion,” Fortner says, standing and signaling for us all to be quiet.

  We hold still, waiting for another sound to confirm our fears. Then we hear it again. There’s no doubt, a mountain lion is outside, probably in the woods behind the house. Fortner moves, pulling a pistol from his belt. Bump joins him, reaching for the rifle. But then he stops. Says, “No. Not tonight.”

  “The lion won’t care that we’re having a party,” Fortner argues.

  “True,” Bump says. “But I do. We don’t get many moments like this. Now where were we?”

  Fortner gives Bump a long look, worried he may regret his decision. Bump pulls Isabel and me both into his arms, and says, “Keep the music comin’, Fortner. I want to dance with my girls.”

  With that, Fortner trades the pistol for the guitar. He sits next to Oka and begins to play a lively “Cotton-Eyed Joe.” We all dance together around the living room as Fortner moves from one cowboy song to the next.

  Isabel wiggles from my arms, pulls herself to her feet, and takes a step. Then another. Bump pulls away and calls to her. She takes two more steps before falling bottom first.

  “Did you see that?” Bump cheers. “Our Isabel is walkin’!”

  “Not walking,” Oka says. “Dancing.”

  Isabel giggles wildly, and we all clap. Outside these walls, predators stalk, cats prowl, unjust men do awful things, but in here, right now, we focus only on the celebration of life, refusing to let the constant threats break us.

  Chapter 29

  I hurry to the post office while Bump delivers another stash of Oka’s baskets to the store. “More letters,” Abe says, passing me my mail. “Nice day out there.”

  “It’s gorgeous,” I answer. It’s one of those perfect mountain days, when the autumn colors burst forth and the summer sun yields to cooler winds. Three seasons have swept through since Isabel’s first birthday. She’s nearly two years old now, a feisty little thing. It’s hard to keep her contained, and she cries every time I bring her inside. If she could manage it, I have no doubt she’d spend her days climbing trees, running the woods, and exploring the creek beds, just as I did when I was a girl. It’s only a matter of time before her body catches up with her will to be wild. Now Isabel reaches for the envelopes, fussing when I don’t give in. “I knew better than to bring her to town today, with her teething,” I say. I thank Abe, and hurry out the door before my temperamental daughter breaks into a full tantrum. I thumb through the letters while Isabel wiggles in my arms.

  I am heading back to the truck, pointing out the elk to Isabel, when the sight of Kat stops me in my tracks. She is talking to Bump, right here, in the middle of town. It’s been more than a year since I saw her at the rodeo in Estes Park. Since that awkward confrontation, Kat hasn’t stopped in for a visit. Not even once. We haven’t bumped into each other in town. And no one has mentioned her name. If anyone still talks about the whole situation, they do it behind my back. I was just beginning to feel a safe distance from Kat. And here she is. Again. Going after my husband. Isabel is squirming, whining, as I approach them.

  “Millie,” Kat begins. “I need help.” She looks frantic. Henry is not with her.

  Isabel cries harder now. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “It’s Daddy. He’s hurt.” Kat’s voice breaks, and her eyes dart in all directions. It’s clear she’s afraid.

  I immediately soften toward her. “Oh, Kat. Where is he? I’ll fetch Doc Henley.”

  “I had to leave him at home. He couldn’t walk.”

  “What happened?” I ask, trying to soothe Isabel by giving her one of the envelopes.

  “He fell from a ladder,” Kat explains, speaking quickly. “Hit his head, and I think he broke some bones. Doc’s down in Denver and Uncle Halpin’s gone to Fort Collins with the reverend. I didn’t know what else to do. So I went to your place.”

  I don’t know how to react. Kat must feel very desperate to turn to me for help.

  “Oka said you had come to town,” Kat continues. “She was sending Fortner over to sit with Daddy while I came for help.” She’s on the verge of tears now, her voice tense. “Please, Millie?” She grabs hold of my arm. “Please. We need to hurry!”

  Bump says nothing but looks at me, and I know he’s thinking he can help. “Go,” I tell him. “I’ll meet you there.”

  “Thank you, Millie,” Kat calls as she runs to her car. Bump grabs his vet supply bag from the truck before jumping in the passenger side of Kat’s Oldsmobile. They speed away, and even though I’m the one who sent them off together, my heart squeezes tight.

  By the time I start the truck, Kat and Bump are already out of sight. I drive carefully, with Isabel playing on the floorboard. The vibration from the road seems to take her mind off the pain from her teeth, so she’s quiet for the first time in hours. The drive takes longer than it should because the elk have started their rut again. We have to stop and wait while a large harem blocks the road, their impressive bull filling the air with grunts and calls, still trying to attract more mates. Isabel climbs into my lap to watch the display. The bull walks mere feet from our window, his massive antlers spanning wider than my outstretched arms. Isabel bangs her tiny hands against the glass and the animal warns us with a snort. I’m reminded of t
he day we ate lunch with Kat in the diner. “Love can make a man do crazy things.” I honk the horn and try to weave through the herd. Finally, we break through.

  When we reach Kat’s family ranch, Mr. Fitch is propped in bed. Kat is at his side. “I think he’s going to be okay,” she says, her shoulders slumped in relief.

  “He’ll still need to see Doc,” Bump warns.

  “Of course,” Kat says, her voice quavering. “But thank goodness you were here. What would I have done?”

  Mr. Fitch’s eyes are closed, and I can’t tell if he has passed out cold or if he’s trying to block out his surroundings. “Have to run some stitches,” Bump tells me. He begins to work a row of sutures through a patch where Mr. Fitch’s silver hair has been shaved. A damp cloth rests over Kat’s father’s mouth, and I assume Bump has used ether. A sign that Bump has probably been doing something much more difficult than simple stitches. Resetting bones, perhaps. I shudder to think of the pain Mr. Fitch has suffered.

  “Where’s Fortner?” I ask.

  “Just left,” Bump says.

  “I was hoping I could send Isabel home with him.” She fusses and tugs my leg. As soon as I pick her up, she whines to be put down again. “Teething,” I explain. No one answers. It’s obvious we have brought more stress into the room.

  “You better get her home,” Bump says, not looking up from his work.

  “I’ll come right back.” I lift Isabel again as she arches her back in protest, squealing at the top of her lungs.

  “It’s okay. Just go take care of Isabel. I’ll take one of Kat’s horses home as soon as he’s stable.” Bump kisses Isabel’s forehead and she jerks back, splitting my lip. I taste blood in my mouth. “Look in my bag,” Bump adds, returning his attention to the stitches. “Give her some aspirin.”

  “Will do,” I call. I see myself out, a stab of worry in my throat. The last thing I want to do is leave Kat with my husband, together in a bedroom, but I know Bump’s only here to help. Right?