Page 35 of One in a Million
A shudder passed through the massive body as Roper swung into the saddle and settled his weight. The stallion exhaled with a long sigh as his rider nudged him to a walk. This routine was familiar. So was the man on his back. He began to behave as if he felt safe again.
Roper took him around the arena at an easy lope, then began the patterns that had long since become second nature—the intricate spin, the circles, stops, and direction changes that demanded so much of an animal’s mind and body. The sequence would be determined by the judges, but the patterns and moves were always the same. The big circle, the forward gallop at full speed, ending in a sliding stop that raised a cloud of sand and sawdust around horse and rider—then the deft rollback and the exit. All perfectly done—not at the speed demanded for competition, but the stallion’s memory was perfect.
“Good boy. You’ve still got it.” Roper gave him praise and pats, took him through his paces again, cooled him down, and gave him a warm shower. He could feel the stallion relaxing into the familiar routine. Given time—time he still needed—he would hopefully be his calm, easygoing self again.
But his deep horse mind would hold the memory. One in a Million had been devoted to Frank. Roper knew that a part of him would never forget the night that had changed everything.
* * *
By suppertime, work on the large bungalow had ended. The van had gone. The place sat silent and waiting, one light burning over the front porch, another from somewhere inside.
When Jasmine appeared with his covered tray, Sam couldn’t hold back a surge of pleasure. Until now, he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her.
“It’s just a salad,” she said, placing the tray on the patio table. “After that late lunch, nobody was hungry.”
“It’s fine. Sit down, Jasmine.”
“That sounds like an order.”
“Take it any way you want. Sit down.”
She sank onto the nearby extra chair. “Was there something you wanted, Sam?”
“Just company.”
“You’ll have plenty of company soon.Mamá—” She spoke the word with a mocking accent on the second syllable. “Mamáwill be settling in for the duration of the memorial, at least. Maybe longer, until Dad’s estate is settled. She owns that bungalow, you know, along with guaranteed access. She can come and go as she likes. Nobody else is allowed to stay there. That was a condition of the divorce.”
“When was she last here?”
“Why are you asking?”
“No reason. Just curious. I’m looking forward to meeting her.”
“As far as I know, it’s been years since she paid a visit. But don’t look forward too much. My mother can be charming, but she can be a barracuda. That’s why Darrin and I need her here.”
“Then I look forward even more.” He was tempted to probe deeper with Jasmine, but he didn’t want to drive her away.
“You might be wondering why I chose to live with Dad instead of my mother when they divorced,” she said. “It wasn’t him I chose. It was the ranch where I’d grown up. Even with Lila in Dad’s bed, it was more comfortable than Mom’s condo in Austin. Also, I was planning to leave and go to Hollywood. I knew Dad would let me go. Mom would try to stop me, probably stick me in some dusty old college. I might have been better off—fat, dumb and happy. But I wouldn’t have the things I’ve earned the hard way.”
“Such as?”
“Self-reliance, pride, toughness, humility . . . plenty of that where I’ve been.”
“So, when is your mother planning to arrive?”
Jasmine shrugged. “Whenever she arrives. She’ll be driving from the airport in Abilene, so it could be anytime. Believe me, you’ll know she’s around. So will I.”
Jasmine fell silent as the moon began to rise, casting long shadows from the distant hills across the land. Tonight, there were no rifle shots from Charlie’s ranch, no sounds except the whine of night-flying insects, the faraway wail of a coyote and, from the paddock, the nickering of brood mares to their colts.
A gentle breeze stirred Jasmine’s hair and cooled Sam’s sweat-dampened face.
Her profile was almost childlike in its softness, vulnerable but defiant in the set of her lips and the thrust of her small, perfect chin. She sat very near him, within easy reach of his arms. The urge to pull her close and hold her was a cry from the core of his own need.
Sam forced himself to speak.
“Are you all right, Jasmine?”
“I’m fine. Why? Does something make you think I’m not?”