behind.
I jerked around in the saddle, staring wide-eyed at a man on the other side of the fence. Hornet side-stepped uneasily.
“Go home,” the man repeated. “Today. Before you get hurt.”
I opened my mouth to answer, but something cracked loudly in the thin air and Hornet went plunging wildly down the mountainside.
Chapter Nine
I clung to the mare’s neck, half out of the saddle as she scrambled down the indistinct path. Footing was practically non-existent. I felt my grip sliding with every jarring step. My left stirrup was gone, slapping freely against Hornet’s side. My foot clamped helplessly against her flank; though I knew such pressure would encourage her flight, I couldn’t help myself.
Fingernails snapped as I clawed at the saddle, trying to drag myself upright. My right hand still gripped the horn, but every sliding half-leap, half-step Hornet took loosened my grasp. I bit my lip and felt it tear, but the pain was hardly noticeable in all my fear.
One rein dangled freely, snagging on brush and branches as Hornet plunged on heedlessly. The other one was twisted around my right hand, and as I pulled myself upright I realized it was my only chance. I began to reel in the slack, like a fisherman playing a tarpon.
I called something to the mare, trying to stop her maddened flight. She slipped and slid, floundering in the loose shale and earth. My head snapped on my neck and I gritted my teeth, trying to ignore the wrenching of my spine. When at last the rein was taut I began to pull her into a circle.
The pitch of the mountain was steep, too steep for the trick to work perfectly. But it slowed her. She stumbled again, scrabbling across a granite outcrop, and I loosened my grip and pushed off.
I fell sideways, instinctively wrapping arms around my head and drawing up my legs. Something beneath me cracked; a dirtfall slid over my hands; a rock dug into my side. Then I was still.
Hornet crashed and scrambled her way down the mountainside. I lay very quietly for a moment, marveling at the fact I was still alive, then slowly unwound my limbs. Everything hurt, but nothing seemed to be broken.
I released a long, slow, hissing sigh and sat up. The sky was up and the ground down, so at least everything seemed to be in place. I tongued my split lip and felt the swelling, wiping gently at the blood that had spilled down my chin.
I heard him arrive at the edge of the trail. Slowly I looked up. For a moment all I could see was the shape: a man on horseback, hat pulled low; he stood in the stirrups as he peered down the hazardous trail.
“Kelly?” he called. “Kelly—”
I heard the hissing slide of dirt and rock as it spilled over the edge of the trail. Carefully I perched myself on a rounded portion of a large granite boulder and waited.
He muttered something and flung himself off Sunny. He embarked on a clumsy, sliding course down the mountainside, arms thrust outward for balance. Sunny waited at the top, peering down curiously as his rider departed; soon enough his attention turned to succulent grass edging the trail, and we were both forgotten.
Harper arrived rapidly, halting his noisy, graceless descent with a single braced leg. He winced, paled a little, and I realized the old injury interfered with more than rodeo.
“Kelly,” he said again, fearfully, and I saw in his face emotions I’d never thought to see from him.
For an odd moment all I desired was to reassure him, to say all the words that would erase the pain in his eyes and the strain of his face.
I backed away from the moment at once, taking refuge in lightness. What I had seen in myself was something I could not yet comprehend. Not this soon…
“I think I found the trail,” I said.
An expression I couldn’t name crossed his face, leaching it of character. “Kelly—”
I sat calmly on the boulder, aching in every bone, and yet more concerned with the inner me than the outer.
“What’s broken?” he asked harshly.
“Nothing.”
“You sure?”
“I think so.”
“Let me see.”
I stretched out both arms for his inspection. They were bent; unbroken. But scarred. The sleeves of my sweater had ridden up so that my forearms were bared.
He looked from my arms to my face. “How’s your head?”
“Attached.”
Some of his color was coming back. But not enough. “Stand up.”
“Can’t I just—”
“Stand up, dammit! I want to see if you can walk.”
I pushed