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BLUE MOON THUNDER

Jill Webster sat on her back verandah waiting for Andy to arrive. He'd hinted at something special about this dinner date, but was being secretive, saying only, "I'd love it if you'd wear my favorite dress."

The distant rumble of thunder heralded the mounting storm to the West, providing an aria to the performance the setting sun was playing across the sky. As Jill watched the storm clouds gather on the Southwestern horizon, she thought, that explains the charge I feel in the air. She'd always felt a heightened sense in energy just before an electrical storm. She thought, as the thunderheads became tipped with the pinks and golds of a sunset, I feel a part of it in a way. I love being outside, watching a storm build.

A flash to the right, at the crest of the hill, caught her eye. There, awash in the glow from the sky, stood a silvery-white horse. Its flowing mane, billowing in the winds from the impending storm, reflected the sky's colors, merging with the clouds. It's tail swished about as if to a music beyond the comprehension of the human ear. Its magnificent head was turned to the West, the ears erect and tuned into a message meant for him only. Jill dared not breathe for fear of interrupting this moment between beast and maker.

The distant rolling of thunder had come closer. A streak of lightening split the sky and seemed to enflame the horse with its fire. Then, almost as suddenly as it had appeared, the horse was gone. She caught only a glimpse of its luminous tail as it disappeared over the crest.

A soft click from the garden gate failed to stir her from the spell. Andy's

voice, warm and gentle, poked into her reverie. “Jill, what are you looking at? Is there something there on the hill?" His gaze followed hers as he remarked, "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Recovering from her trance, she greeted him with a hug and a smile. Then pushing her windswept golden hair from her face, she exclaimed; "You won't believe what I just saw. It was a horse, like none you've ever seen. It seemed to be communicating with the universe, as if it were otherworldly. It was beautiful. It stood on top of the hill, seeming to float, as if part of the clouds. Then the lightening charged it with its force, just before it disappeared from sight."

"Are you sure you weren't dreaming? You've had quite a day, from what you told me on the phone. Maybe you dozed off for a few minutes." Andy was well aware of the overactive imagination she could have.

"No, I know I saw it.” Jill answered, “It looked like the horse my grandmother painted when I was a little girl. She had written a book about this horse; she used to tell me the tales about the horse as bedtime stories. I always

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insisted that she describe it for me, so she painted a portrait of it and hung it on the bedroom wall where I slept when I visited her. That way, she'd said, you can look at the horse as I tell you of its adventures."

Jill's eyes took on a far-away look as she recalled those times, safe and warm in her grandmother's embrace. "I haven't thought of that horse in a long time. I could always feel him watching over me, protecting me as I slept."

"Well, it looks like something triggered the memory." Andy slipped her shawl over her shoulders, impulsively burying his nose in her lavender scented hair. He still wasn't convinced the horse actually existed.

They left through the rose-arbor gate that marked the boundary of the flower garden. Jill's little adobe house was set apart from the others in the neighborhood by the variety of plants and flowers in the garden, which was accentuated by a collection of her sculpture.

A few miles away, a rider pushed his horse against the approaching storm. He didn't notice until too late that he'd ridden the horse into a box canyon. He could turn around and face the approaching storm, or find some shelter in which to spend the night.

Looking around he saw in the near darkness what seemed to be a cave. "Well Stormy, looks like we might be here for the night; let's check it out." Just as they headed for the opening in the cliff wall a flash of lightening lit up the countryside, He caught a glimpse of a horse standing on the rim of the canyon. It wasn't any ordinary horse. It was as if it were part of the storm, an extension of the lightening. It's mane and tail flowed with the beat of the storm like liquid silver.

"Man," he exclaimed, "Did I really see that, or have I been too long in the saddle today?"

The next flash of lightening revealed the South rim devoid of anything but a ragged mesquite and a few cacti, not a hint of anything that could be mistaken for a horse. "Well, whatever it was, or wasn't, it's gone now, and here comes the rain. We'd better get under cover before we get soaked." With that he hurried into the cave, which proved to be larger and warmer than he'd expected.

Stormy was able to make himself at home with some dry grass he found near the entrance. Pete was very happy with a level spot where he could lay his bedding down and have a view of the goings on outside.

I couldn't have chosen a better spot if I'd had a road map, he thought. He stretched, breathing deeply of the earthy smell of the interior of the cave. I can ride out the storm and watch in relative comfort at the same time.

After he'd lain there for a while, he drifted off to sleep. His sleep was visited by dreams of another time, another place. He was ten, a gangly boy, enraptured by a certain horse. It was the most perfect horse; the one that surpassed all others.

He'd seen it in the circus that came to town that summer. It had stood out among the rest, with it's mane of gold and silver, and it's tail flashing fiery in the overhead lights. The white of its coat had an iridescence about it that seemed to come from within, and from a source far beyond the reaches of the human eye.

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The way it held its head reflected the majesty of its countenance, while at the same time revealing it's humility. He had gone to the circus every day to watch the horse perform, vowing that someday, he would have a horse like that. As the years went by, the memory of that circus had faded, but not the memory of the horse.

Ethan Kimble was returning home from his office in town after an especially grueling day. "Old Silas Howe is definitely one hard man to do business with," he snarled, as he maneuvered his shiny new Cadillac up the dusty road to Double-K Ranch. "I'm going to get that half section from him if I have to take drastic measures to do it. I've got to think of something fast, or the news about the development will be public knowledge. "If he finds out...".

His thoughts were interrupted by a clap of thunder, followed by a flash of lightening illuminating the crest of the hill. There, ablaze from the glow of the lightening, stood a giant horse. Its eyes were balls of fire. Its coat shimmered in the deepening rays of the sunset. The mane and tail whirled a frenzied pattern to the pulse of the storm.

Just before the beast turned and disappeared from sight, it reared onto it's powerful hindquarters and sent forth a cry that sent shivers throughout Ethan's body. Trembling with uncontrollable fear, he had to pull off the road to regain his composure. What was it about those eyes that frightened him? Besides the fire in them, there was something unsettling in the way they penetrated his being. It was as if there was a recognition behind the fire, a warning conveyed.

As he pulled back into the road and was headed for home, the sky opened and released torrents upon the dusk, hurrying the advent of night. By the time he reached the ranch, the dusty road was slick with puddles of mud. "I'm going to make the town pave this road one of these days. I'm a taxpayer; I have some rights," Ethan grumbled.

The Stargazers Podium was the favorite restaurant of all the lovers in town. The entire ceiling and most of the walls were of heavy glass, with retractable blinds to block out the hot, late day sun. Each table was privately enclosed with lavish potted plants. The candles on the tables were made with a crescent moon base holding a thin taper, topped by a star-shaped flame holder. The tablecloths were night-black with silver and gold napkins.

Jill stared lovingly into Andy's eyes as they sat at the intimate table for two. She knew that the salary for a first year teacher wasn't very much. He'd taken a few years off after high school before going to college to become a teacher. He was a darn good one too.

"You're being very extravagant bringing me here tonight. What's the occasion?"

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"You'll find out over dessert," Andy answered with a teasing smile and a twinkle in his smoke-gray eyes. He had high hopes for this night; he'd especially chosen it because of the blue moon. His mom had told him of another blue moon thirty years ago when Douglas Sloane had proposed to her and she'd accepted.

"It had been a marriage made in heaven," she'd always said with a deep look of sadness in her eyes. He barely remembered his dad, for he'd been killed in the Vietnam War when Andy was only three. The last memory he had of his dad was a picnic they'd had just before he was shipped overseas.

"I'll never forget that afternoon," he'd told Jill, while they were on one of their frequent picnics in the hills surrounding their little town of Doringo. 'There was so much love in the air, and so much laughter. I know now that Mom and Dad were trying to pack enough frivolity into that one afternoon to last for as long as he'd be gone. There was no spoken consideration that the memories would have to last a lifetime."

"Andy." Jill's voice gently prodded into his reverie. "You're deep in thought; where are you?"

Grinning, and fully back to the present, he looked into her eyes and said with a trace of nostalgia in his voice, "I was on a picnic with my other golden-haired girl." He then quickly explained, at her surprised expression, ''My mom!"

"Oh," she laughed, "How is Connie these days? Do you still hear from her often?"

"I just got a call from her this morning. She's fine; her sister keeps her running around a lot, you know, antique shops, luncheons, and all that stuff. She loves it!"

Andy was pleased that his mother no longer had to work as hard as she had after his dad died. She and Aunt Florence had always been close, and now it was just the two of them since

Aunt Freda died three years ago. Now they lived in the town where they'd grown up in Colorado.

"But enough about Mom," Andy raised his wine glass and said, "Right now I'd like to propose a toast to the brilliance of Happy Gardening magazine for accepting your article, Sculpturing the Garden. Their brilliance comes in second only to yours, for writing the article."

"How'd you hear about that? I was going to wait and tell you over dinner tonight." Jill set down her glass, puzzled.

"I was standing just around the comer when you came out of the post office reading the acceptance letter. I knew that shriek and little dance you did couldn't mean a rejection." Andy grinned, pleased with his surprise.

Jill laughed, "Isn't it great? I couldn't believe it; the first magazine I sent it to accepted it. I'd envisioned a stack of rejection letters. She raised her glass again and with a big smile said, ''To Happy Gardening."

Andy once more held his glass aloft and said, "Here's to the success of your article, and to the many more to come."

"Boy, that check came just in time to pay a couple of bills that were hanging over me. I'd taken the chance and used the money I'd set aside for those bills, for my sculpture. After the people backed out of the commission for the coyote they'd

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wanted, I hoped to be able to sell it to someone else. But so far, it's still in Lucy's gallery." Jill was' looking discouraged.

Andy had seen the piece of sculpture; he said, "Don't worry, I'm sure it'll sell. You did a great job on it. Didn't you say that their son had been hurt, and the unexpected doctor's bills were going to be a drain on their budget?"

"Yes, that's true. But Lucy is going to have to sell the gallery, or close it down; her husband is being transferred to Denver. She offered me first choice, but it's hard enough for me to make ends meet. Certainly buying the gallery is out of the question." Jill brightened a little, "But that won't be for awhile; she told me it'll be at least two or three months.

"I'm sorry to hear that; I know how much you like working there." Andy hated seeing her so worried. "But I know it'll work out for you; just wait and see."

"Yeah, I know. A long lost rich uncle is going to die and leave me his fortune." She smiled, to lighten her sarcasm. Since her grandmother died a year ago, she hadn't been able to bring herself out of the hole she'd fallen into emotionally, as well as financially.

After her parents died in that awful train wreck four years ago, she'd spent a lot of her spare time with her grandmother. Effie Webster hadn't been the kind to sit home and rock in her chair and knit. She had worked right up to the day she died.

She’d needed to provide a living for herself after Jill's grandfather, Burt, had passed away, and she spent long evenings at home, exhausted, after a day of taking care of the house for the village parson. She didn't work weekends, though; most of them were spent visiting out of town friends, or involved in some project at home.

She had done quite a bit of painting in the years before Burt took sick. She was very talented, and her work was very much in demand. But when she'd had to start work, her painting had to stop. She'd always said, when Jill asked her if she missed painting, "Oh, I'll probably take it up again someday."

Pete awoke with a start. What had he heard that had brought him out of his sound sleep? All he heard now was the sound of the crickets, and silence. No thunder, no rain beating on the rocks and sand outside the cave in which he was bedded, dry and comfortable. The storm had passed and left behind a night sky filled with stars and the second full moon of the month.

Stormy, seeing his master stir, turned and greeted him with a soft whinny."Looks like we got us a special moon tonight, fella’. A blue moon is what they

call it. My daddy always told me that if I wake in the middle of the night and look out on the blue moon, I'd have a full year of good luck. Well, I sure can use some of that good luck for a change. Maybe Daddy was right, maybe this will be the night our luck gives us a break. "

He tossed aside the light cover he'd pulled up over him a few hours ago, and rose to venture outside and get a good look at how the storm had cleaned the surrounding area. By the light of the moon, the canyon walls glistened silver and

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gold. The sharp lines of the cliff walls were softened by the shadows created by the moonlight.

"I declare," he exclaimed softly to the night, "The smell of wet earth and vegetation is so sweet and thick I feel I could break a piece off and eat it, and it would melt in my mouth like honey on tender flapjacks."

Stormy softly whinnied again, and Pete turned to look in the direction the horse was staring. There on the South rim, where he'd been before, was the magnificent horse he'd seen just as the storm was about to break. For a few moments, the beast and the man stood transfixed, locked in each other's gaze. They seemed to be communicating in a way understood only by some force beyond the confines of those canyon walls. Then the horse turned and was gone again, as he had before.

Pete remained staring at the rim of the canyon feeling in tune with the horse. A look of utter rapture illuminated his features, though the moon was shining behind him. When he did turn to look at his own beloved horse, his face glowed with the delight of a ten year old.

"Stormy, I've only seen a horse like that one other time in my life. This one seems every bit as unreachable as that one did, yet I almost feel like he's mine already." Feeling a bit of disloyalty, he stroked Stormy under his mane and hastened to add, "Of course, you'll always be number one in my book. I get the feeling you're as awed by him as I am." Stormy nodded his head and pawed the ground in agreement.

Later that night as Ethan lay sleeping, he dreamed of another dusty road to another ranch in Southern New Mexico. In the corral, the mighty stallion threw back its massive head and reared onto it's hind quarters, it's forelegs pawing at the air in frenzy. The dark haired rider, a young man of twenty-two, dug into it's hide with his spurs, unmercifully.

Suddenly he was airborne, and landed in the dirt several feet away, more embarrassed than hurt. The pretty raven-haired girl laughed, at first, expecting the young man to see the humor and laugh it off too. Instead, all he could do was brush off his bruised ego and walk away, her laughter echoing in his ears.

Later that night, by the light of the full moon, he stole out to the corral and threw a lasso around the horse's muscular neck and led him away from the ranch to a corral that had not been used for years. There he tied the horse by the head and legs so that he couldn't move, and proceeded to thrash him with his whip until the helpless horse was bloody.

The suffering animal fell, half hanging from it's restraints. The man turned and walked away, the cries of the stallion staying with him till he crested the hill that looked down over the ranch. The next day two of the ranch hands found the horse dead, a muddied, blood soaked, fly infested carcass.

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Buzzards and coyotes circled the corral, but none of them had been inside. When the men approached the flying, circling sentries had retreated, but only to the edge of the trees, a few hundred feet away, where they quietly watched.

The rancher, the sheriff, and the veterinarian arrived. The smell of death was overwhelming; in stunned silence they witnessed the atrocity. The guardians at the edge of the trees kept their silent vigil, as if paying homage to the spirit of the once magnificent stallion that now lay a victim of inexplicable outrage.

Ethan bolted upright in his sweat soaked bed, the cries of the suffering animal waking him from his nightmare. The memory of that terrible night lay buried all these years in his troubled mind, turning him into an unmerciful, hateful man.

Suddenly the vision of the horse on the crest of the hill, filled the room. Through the window shone the light of the full moon. It was reflected in the beast's eyes shooting streaks of light toward the frightened man as he cowered in bed.

He found his voice and screamed, "That was a long time ago. You were a mean spirited creature; you deserved to die!"

Hurried steps sounded on the hardwood floor outside the door, and Ethan's wife Marie, ran in. "What's going on in here? I heard you all the way downstairs."

Regaining his composure somewhat, Ethan managed to mumble, "I just had a nightmare; it's over now. Go on back to what you were doing." Realizing that it was the middle of the night, and she hadn't been in bed, he asked, "What were you doing, anyway?"

"I awoke when the storm was over and was thirsty, so I went for a drink of water. It was a bit stuffy downstairs, so I opened the windows. I'll just go turn off the lights and be right back." She paused at the door, "Do you want anything?"

"I'm going down myself; never mind the lights, I'll get them." He was out of bed and past her before she had a chance to comment. As he headed down the stairs he muttered determinedly, "I need a drink."

The waiter came with the dessert and decaf coffee, setting them in front of Andy and Jill with a graceful flourish. ''Thanks, Tony, but you don't have to show off for us. You're still my cousin, and I remember when you'd as soon flattened me as waited on me." Andy poked Tony good-naturedly on the arm as Tony ducked.

"Just trying to impress your lady," he said with a wink. "Enjoy your midnight sky cheesecake." He bowed ceremoniously and hurried away.

The cheesecake, dark chocolate with white chocolate bits, was covered with a cloud of whipped cream. The decaf coffee was the rich, full-bodied kind they both enjoyed so much.

As Jill laid her fork on her plate with a satisfied sigh, savoring the last tasty bite, Andy reached into his pocket and produced a small box, handing it to her. With that little boy grin she loved so much, he said, 'This is for you, if you'll accept it."

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Jill nervously took the box and opened it. Andy could see the twinkle of the stone reflected in her eyes. "Will you marry me? You know how I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you." Seeing some hesitation in her expression he quickly said, ''You don't have to answer me now. Ten minutes from now will be fine."

They both laughed as he closed her free hand in his. "We are so good together; I just know we'd be dynamite if we were married. I have the house my Aunt Freda left me, we could live there. Or, we could live in your place, where your beautiful garden is. Of course we can create another beautiful garden at my place. Or we could sell both..."

Jill was laughing and shaking her head."What does that mean?" he asked, obviously confused."If you'll stop talking long enough for me to answer, I'll tell you." Her eyes

held their own twinkle, now as she looked into his eyes, "I would love to marry you. Yes, I'll marry you. I'd live anywhere with you, as long as we can be together. I love you too, completely, irreversibly."

Andy reached over and took the box from Jill's hand and removed the ring. Taking her hand in his, he slipped it on her finger. Tony, noticing the moment, delayed his approach, grinning affectionately, when they sealed their engagement with a kiss across the empty dessert plates.

Pete sat outside the cave leaning against the red rock wall of his 'room' for the night. The stars decorated the sky as if someone had thrown handfuls willy-nilly to the heavens. The moon hung as a beacon revealing the secrets the darkness coveted. The innermost depths of beauty were guarded during the time of preparation for this monthly command performance.

He watched his horse munching on some dry grass "Stormy, I sure am glad I decided to take this trip with you instead of my old motorcycle.” The horse looked his way, and nodded his head as if in agreement.

Pete always wanted to discover this part of the country. When he was a boy, he loved listening to the tales his grandpa used to tell of the days he went on the cattle drives. He'd told of all the adventures he'd had with his best friend, Lasso. ''That horse could pick his way through a stampeding herd of cattle and come out without a scratch or bruise on him. "

Since Pete's band, The Lone Riders, had broken up, he had been trying unsuccessfully to re-organize and be able to play the country-folk music he loved. But there was no one around the little town he lived in who was good enough, or interested enough. So he decided to head for new territory; maybe find some raw, but good talent just waiting to be discovered.

Picking up his mouthpiece he suggested to Stormy, "How about a little blue moon lullaby to honor the gift we've been given tonight." Putting the harp to his lips, the hush of the night was transformed to a symphony of sweet wails and

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melancholy cries. Resounding from the cliffs and the canyon walls, it created a haunting tune throughout the shadows and the softly rolling rises of the canyon.

Two sets of eyes reached upward at the same time, meeting with the soft glow of a set of eyes that shone down with all the love of the universe.

"Well Stormy, I guess it's time to catch a few more hours sleep before the sun completely takes over for another day." He pulled his bedroll a little closer to the cave opening and fell asleep with the moon and stars closing his eyes to the night.

The drink Ethan poured was a stiff one. His hands trembled, spilling some of the golden liquor onto the bar top. Making a feeble attempt with a paper napkin, at wiping it up, he turned and walked to the window.

The moon, hanging big and bright, lit up the stretch of grassland that was part of his ranch. Off to the West lay the half section Sierra Enterprises wanted for their planned development.

Ethan wondered, how am I going to persuade Silas to sell me that piece of land before the news comes out? James said they're going to release the news report in a month, and that was almost two weeks ago. He said they're prepared to give a pretty penny to the owner of the land. A hundred thousand dollars is a mighty pretty penny. .

Suddenly those same fire eyes he'd seen earlier appeared in the sky, piercing his eyes to his heart. He shook his head to clear his vision of the sight. When he looked again they were gone, still his hands were wet with sweat, and despite the cool night breeze, beads of perspiration stood out on his face.

Turning to refill his glass, he bumped into the sofa in his haste, his bare toe receiving the brunt of the collision. "Damn, now I've got a broken toe to boot. That devil horse thinks he's going to break me, but I'll show him." He slammed his glass down and poured himself another stiff one.

The whiskey burned all the way down and hit bottom like a clod of hard packed clay. "Jesus, did I grab the wrong bottle?" He looked at the label squinting in the moonlight.

This stuff never hit me like that before, he thought. It's lying there getting heavier and hotter, like it's going to eat right through me. He thought he would pass out from the intense pain; then it was gone. Not a trace of discomfort was left, as if it had never happened. Did I imagine that too, just like I did the eyes of that devil horse?

Ethan was suddenly aware of an emptiness in his stomach. What he needed is an ice-cold glass of milk and a slice of Marie's peach pie, he decided. I didn't realize I was so hungry: I guess I forgot to eat supper in town.

As he swung open the door to the kitchen, he thought he heard a noise. But a flick of the light switch revealed nothing out of the ordinary. "I'm getting paranoid,” he mumbled. I won't let that horse get to me.

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He opened the refrigerator and produced a carton of milk, a tray of ice cubes, and the peach pie with one piece gone. Marie had eaten alone again tonight. The price she pays for being married to me, and having anything she wants.

He pulled a tall glass and a plate from the cupboard, and reached into the drawer for a fork and knife. He plunked three ice cubes into the glass and poured the white liquid over the crackling cubes. After drinking it down in one long swallow, he declared to himself, that's the best way to drink that stuff, if you're going to drink it straight. He poured another glass, then cut a large piece from the pie.

As he savored the juicy, sweet fruit, a terrible scream erupted from the contents of his mouth. The scream reverberated around the room, turning into moans and cries the likes of which he'd only heard once before. Those cries, then had filled his body with their pain and torment, and gradually faded as he'd walked further and further away.

"I'm going to be sick," he realized with horror. He sprang to his feet, knocking over the chair, and ran to the bathroom, his hands over his mouth. The cries faded as they had that other time.

Expelling everything from his stomach, he sat up and wiped his mouth with tissue, feeling a bit whoozy from the ordeal. He clung to the bowl to steady himself; as he struggled to get up the room began to spin and he collapsed to the floor.

The ride back to Jill's place took them by her grandmother's house. Jill usually glanced hastily, not wanting to see too much that would remind her of how she missed those days. Effie Webster had been, not only a loving grandmother, but a trusted friend as well.

Since her death a year ago, Jill hadn't been able to bring herself to go there, even though it now belonged to her. Tonight as they approached the curve in the road just before the house, Jill had a sense of expectancy, and found herself holding her breath as the two-story New England style house came into view.

Effie's parents had moved here from a town outside Boston, Massachusetts when she was just two years old. Loving everything about the area except the architecture, they had built their house in the style they loved and missed.

Her father had been in the mining business, and owned the Copper Lady Mine. He'd been able to provide for his family very well, building a very well constructed house and outbuildings, of which only the carriage barn and horse stables remained.

After her parents died, Effie and her new husband, Burt, had come to live there. They took down the chicken coop and milk house to make more garden area. The big, stately barn that had housed the milk cows and meat cattle had burned flat twenty-five years ago. That had laid to rest the notion Burt had rekindled every few years to ‘buy a few head and make use of the grand old barn’.

They were in front of the house now. Jill gasped, "Look Andy, over there by the stables. Quick! Pull over!." Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes gleaming. The car

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had barely stopped, when she was out the door and running toward the rear part of the house where the stable was.

Andy was right behind her calling, "What is it? What did you see?" "Oh, it's not here now," disappointment in her voice. "The horse I saw

earlier this evening, he was here. I saw him, I know I did. I'll never forget that beautiful animal"

Andy looked a bit skeptical, "I wonder why I never see this horse." Despite his doubts, he looked around on the ground. He saw no footprints, nothing to indicate there had been a horse there just moments ago.

"Jill…." his voice trailed off as a look of sadness came over her beautiful features.

She was searching the surrounding area for more than just the horse. She was searching for the courage to stay and explore. She lifted her gaze to the second story windows of the bedroom she'd slept in, behind which were the light oak bedstead, bureau, and dressing table she had lovingly polished every time she visited.

The patina that awoke beneath the cloth reminded her of the shine on her childhood pony's coat just after she'd finished brushing her. Amber had to be put down after an accident, which had left her with injuries too severe to survive. She'd always miss that pony, but now the memories were pleasant.

A soft radiance from the small attic window caught her eye, and as she looked, a swish of silver and gold danced out of sight from inside the room. "Andy, there's something going on in the attic. See the light? I swear I saw something shimmery flash by the window."

The excitement in her voice propelled her forward to the far end of the back porch, where she reached underneath the floor joist on the inside of the comer post, behind the rosebush, and came up with the expected gold key. "Come on; we're going to see what's going on up there. It's probably the moon casting it's glow into the attic, and reflecting off the mannequin dressed in Grandma's prom dress."

Jill remembered how she'd secretly hoped to be able to play dress up in it. "It's all encased in plastic to preserve it. She didn't have the heart to pack it away out of sight. Her favorite Aunt Millie had made it for her as a graduation gift, just a month before she'd been killed by an out of control car.

The key slid into the lock, and with a little coaxing, clicked into place.

The roar of motorcycles propelled Pete out of his sleep. "Wha-a-a, what's going on? Stormy, whoa boy; easy now." He grabbed the startled horse's bridle speaking softly to him to calm him. By the time the horse was quieted, the noise from the engines had stopped, leaving a cloud of smoke and a spattering of mud.

"Sorry to have startled you like that. We didn't know anyone was here." One of the riders apologized, seeming as surprised as Pete was.

''No harm done. What brings you up here anyway?" Pete asked with a grin.

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"We got caught in the storm and tried to find shelter in that other canyon over yonder," indicating to the East. ''It was too small for all of us, so we figured we'd search for someplace better. Lanney, here, knows this country pretty well. Said he thought there might be a good size cave here where we could hole up for the night." The man had taken off his helmet, revealing a mass of long, wavy, red hair, redder than the red of his beard and mustache.

"Well, he was right, this cave's big enough for all of us, if you don't mind sharing it with me and Stormy. My name's Pete Sturgis." He reached out his hand in a gesture of friendship.

"Blaze O'Reilly's the name," the tall muscular redhead beamed, shaking Pete's hand. "And this," gesturing to the dark haired Indian, "is Lanney Shore. He's lived around here for ten of his twenty four years."

Pointing to the skinny, brown haired man, no taller than five foot seven, he said, "This dude over here is Monster Joe, because he's so mean." At that they all laughed, while Monster turned beet red.

"And this guy here," Blaze, getting off his cycle and putting his arm around the shoulder of the kid in back of him said, "is my kid brother, Tim. We used to call him "Tiny Tim", till he started to shoot up from the shrimp he was."

Tim knocked the kickstand in place and rose to the full six foot four he'd attained in what looked to be his seventeen or eighteen years, at least a couple inches taller than his older brother.

"Well, come on over, I'll show you where I'm bunked; then you can decide where you want to be. "Pete turned and headed for the cave. "I don't know about you, but I'm pretty wound right now. I'm glad of a little company."

"Yeah, I'm sure we'll have no trouble sleeping after awhile, but I'm pretty wide awake myself." Lanney said with an enthusiasm that the others shared.

Blaze reached into the gear he'd brought from his bike and pulled out a six-pack of beer. "This'll help unwind us. Have a beer, Pete?" He held one out to their host, kept one for himself and handed the rest to the others.

"Don't mind if l do, thank you kindly." Pete accepted the cold brew eagerly. "I didn't realize how thirsty I am. I've got some Doritos chips, here, dig in." He plopped the open bag on the ground between them, releasing the mouthwatering aroma of corn and cheese.

"What do you guys do with your time?” Pete asked. “I'm an out of work musician. I had a band going, a dam good one too, but we all decided to go our separate ways a little while back; too many conflicting interests. I decided to move on to new territory to try to form another band." Pete took another long draught from the can.

The cyclists looked at each other and grinned. Blaze asked, "What do you play, when you are playing, that is?"

Pete looked from one to the other, puzzled at their grins. "I play the harmonica, I was playing it earlier, in fact."

"I knew I heard a harp while we were in that other canyon, remember, just before we started our bikes to come here? You didn't believe me, but I knew it was harp music. The music of the winds, I call it." Monster Joe wore a satisfied grin.

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BMT, NT

"Mind playing a little bit for us? We're kinda partial to music. That, and the beer, and we'll sleep like babies." Blaze had a twinkle in his eyes that convinced Pete he meant it.

He took the harp from the case, where only an hour or so ago he'd lain it, and put it to his mouth. The sweet flow of notes, like the gentle winds playing through the canyon walls, teased the crevices, rippling the water of the shallow creek. It filled the night air. The four men listened, lost in it's melancholy.

When Pete laid the harp down, there was silence for a few moments, then Blaze said, softer than anyone knew he could, "Man, that was sweet. Would you like a job?"

Pete looked at him confused. "A job? You mean playing my harp?""That's just what I mean. Look, we've been trying to find a real mean harp

player. We're trying to get a band going, too. We've never played together professionally, but we've jammed together a lot and sound real good. The only thing that's missing from our sound is you, Man, and your harmonica."

The others all echoed Blaze's offer. "I haven't heard such sweet notes come out of a harp since my grandpop used to play for me after a day of working in the fields." Monster Joe had a dreamy look on his face from the memory of the music then and now.

Lanney and Tim both grinned, nodding their heads, and Tim said, "I tried playing the harmonica once and just didn't have what it takes. Decided I'd stick to my guitar."

"Good thing too," Blaze chuckled, "I heard you trying to play that thing. The only sweet things you can produce from your mouth are the sounds you make when you're singing."

He affectionately ruffled his kid brother's reddish brown hair. "He can make tears come to Satan's eyes. But when he wants to bust out, man, you'd better stand back and give him room. It's like all the banshees in Ireland are inside him screaming to get out. He lets ‘em out a little at a time, in a way only he can do."

He looked at Pete again, "So, what do you say, wanna give it a try'?""You know, I think I do. This sounds just crazy enough to work. Tomorrow,

when we leave this luxury motel, we'll have to give it a try." Pete was excited at the prospect.

"What's wrong with right now'? Have any of you wound down enough to sleep?"

Blaze jumped up and waved his arms in a sweep, demonstrating his increase in energy.

"Sure, let's do it." Lanney agreed enthusiastically. "The night is clear after the storm, and the moon is bright. We can be back to town in about a half hour."

"Yeah, I couldn't sleep now unless a boulder fell on me. Let's go jam." Tim was already gathering up his gear.

"Come on Pete," Monster Joe had his gear in hand and was turning to go. "If you're going to be part of this band, you'll have to be prepared for anything, as long as it's crazy."

13

Pete laughed and looked at Stormy who interrupted his munching in response to his master's voice. "Well Stormy, looks like Dad was right. The change of luck seems to have started already. We may have found us a band."

When Ethan came to, he was aware only of an ache deep in his stomach that sent a tearing pain throughout his insides as he tried to get up. He fell back to the floor and lay there a few moments. Suddenly the ache, all discomfort, was completely gone. In fact, he felt incredibly good and strong.

He got to his feet, muttering, "I don't know what that was all about, but I'm sure glad it's over.” I feel like a million bucks, he thought as he started for the door. Must have been some freak food poisoning, or something. All that thinking I was seeing a devil horse. I've heard that sometimes you can hallucinate with food poisoning.

The door suddenly opened just as Ethan was about to turn the knob. "Goodness you startled me." Marie stood there, wide-eyed.

"Marie, what are you doing here? It's the middle of the night." Ethan, a bit irritated with her, muttered, "You don't have to check on me all the time. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"I'm sorry, Ethan. When you didn't come back upstairs, and I thought I heard something going on down here; well, I just got worried." Marie was hurt by his reaction. "You should be thankful; someday you might really need my help, and I might not come."

"Fat chance of that." he whispered to himself, "When have I ever needed that woman?" He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, "Go on up to bed." He walked past her toward the den.

Closing the door behind him, he switched on the light and moved toward the desk. I've got to come up with a way to beat Silas out of that hundred thousand dollars. There has to be a way."

He sat down at his desk pulling some files from the bottom drawer after unlocking it with the key he had taped under his chair seat. Something in this file will give me the answer I need. The file was labeled Sierra Enterprises confidential. I paid two hundred dollars for this. It had better have the information I was told it would have. He turned on the desk lamp and opened the file.

As Jill slowly swung the door open, the mustiness of a long closed house greeted her. As she stepped into the kitchen, she noted that the sweet, earthy aroma coming from the root cellar door, which had been left ajar, accentuated the musty smell.

Jill remembered descending those stairs on an apple-gathering errand, or to bring up potatoes for the evening supper. She looked around at the familiar table

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BMT, NT

and chairs where she'd eaten so many delicious meals; the double bowl sink, where dirty dishes had never sat overnight; the refrigerator that had finally come in to replace the old, perfectly good one that Grandma had gotten tired of constantly defrosting.

She lovingly caressed the wood of the well preserved floor to ceiling china cabinet that housed the every day dishes; then moved to the cast iron wood cook stove that had chased the chill of a good many winter evening, while cooking, to perfection, any number of Grandma's tempting goodies.

"The best ever cookies, pies, breads, and cakes came out of that oven," she said nostalgically, as Andy closed the door behind her.

He reached for the light switch, but Jill said hurriedly, "No, I want to see it in the moonlight, as I used to love to do as a kid, when I'd sneak down here for a late snack of Grandma's cookies and milk.

After a few more moments, Jill opened the door into the dining room, and maneuvered her way around the large walnut table and chairs; past the massive hutch and china closet where the best dishes were kept.

Andy followed, wondering what they'd find when they got upstairs.The stairway was in the front entry. There was a large window at the head of

the stairs where there had always been a huge fern hanging. It now had only a lace curtain, allowing the moon to shine in and illuminate the way. At the top of the stairs, Jill turned right and walked past a bedroom door to another door set into a recess in the hallway.

She tried the doorknob, and it turned in her hand. There was a pull chain just inside, which, when pulled, released a soft light revealing the stairs that led to the storehouse of treasures that had collected over the years.

Jill hesitated before ascending the stairs, "Oh, Andy, what if there's someone there who broke in? We didn't check the other doors to see if everything was secure."

"Don't worry, I checked the front door before we came up here. You were so busy looking around you didn't notice. I was looking around too, with something different in mind. Everything's fine; let's go up."

He gently put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring hug."Okay, I'm ready." Jill, with new determination and strength, hurried up

the stairs, Andy right behind her. At the top of the stairs, Jill stopped dead in her tracks, barely leaving enough room for Andy to squeeze by. A startled gasp and a low whistle of surprise broke the silence. .

"I can't believe what I'm seeing!" Jill was in shock."Will you look at all this?" Andy's eyes were moving about the room; he was

overwhelmed by what was before him.Occupying every possible inch of floor and wall space, leaving only a path

wide enough to walk through, were hundreds of framed and unframed paintings. Jill kept focusing on one painting, then another. It took them both a few minutes to take it all in and realize what it must mean.

Finally Jill made the first move and started picking up the paintings, examining them, looking for the signature she already knew she'd find.

15

"These are Grandma's paintings. It must have taken her years to do them. Look at some of the dates; they were done after Grandpa died.

But when; how did she find time to paint them? And why didn't she sell them so she wouldn't have to work? I don't understand." She looked at Andy, as if expecting an answer, but knowing he didn't have one.

As his eyes wandered, he noticed an envelope sitting alone on a little marble topped stand to the right of the room.

"Here, Jill," he said handing it to her. "It's addressed to you." Jill tore open the envelope; the letter began, My dearest Jill.

Before they started their motorcycles Pete said, "You guys go on ahead. I'll follow close enough so I won't be in your smoke, but I'll be able to keep track of you."

Blaze answered, "Okay, but if we should get separated, just keep heading West till you get to Doringo, then ask anyone you see where you can find us; they'll know." He tipped his helmet to him with an exaggerated swoop, and with a hardy "Adios, partner," in an Irish brogue that brought a smile to Pete's face. He fastened the helmet in place and roared the cycle into life.

As the cyclists rode out of sight in an acrid cloud of blue smoke, Pete mounted Stormy and bent to whisper in his ear, as he always did, "Giddup boy, we're off again."

The going was fairly easy, as long as you took your time. The moon gave off a good strong light, casting interesting, though somewhat misleading shadows along the way. The tracks left by the motorcycles in the wet ground made the path obvious.

Keeping the faint buzz of the cycles within hearing distance, Pete was enjoying the leisurely ride out of the canyon and through the rises and falls of the mesas and buttes that interrupted the flat desert floor.

Suddenly Pete felt Stormy tense underneath him. The next instant, the horse was rearing, spooked by something only he experienced. The cry of surprise from the horse was followed by one of equal magnitude from Pete as he was sent flying to the ground.

He rolled to a stop as the frightened animal raced off down the gorge to the left of them. Recovering from the unexpected turn of events; worried about his beloved Stormy, Pete called out to him, "Stormy, come here, boy; whoa, boy," hoping to calm him. But the spooked animal was out of earshot, leaving Pete alone and confused.

"What happened?" he seemed to question the wind and sand around him.. 'I've got to go get him." As he started into the gorge he winced from the pain, realizing for the first time that he'd twisted his ankle in the fall. "Dang horse," he muttered in frustration, "This is a hell of a time for him to go spooky on me."

He brushed the sand off and sat down on a rock, then immediately jumped up thinking, "I'd better walk this ankle out, or it'll stiffen up on me." Continuing on

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BMT, NT

down the twisting path of the gorge he decided, "I'll just keep on going at an easy pace and meet him when he comes back."

He limped along for a while, annoyed with Stormy, while at the same time worried about him. He thought the horse would have reappeared by now. His ankle was throbbing, so he sat down and elevated it on a rock.

The late night air was brisk and clear. He was at a wide part of the gorge, probably thirty to forty feet across. Above him the blue moon hung, lighting up the sides and floor, creating secret hiding places with the shadows it produced, exposing other places to the eye of the intruder.

Pete, sitting very still, listened for a sound of approaching hoofbeats. He heard nothing but the whispers of the night breezes through the leaves of the trees and the spines of the cactus.

As he sat there, enraptured by the night sounds, his thoughts turned to the days of his youth when he and his dad would go out riding on the range that was part of the fifty section spread that Jasper Oates owned.

"Mr. Oates, to us, son," his dad reminded him from time to time, whenever he was feeling especially frustrated by his boss. All the ranch hands over at Bill Watson's place felt free to call their boss "Bill" or even "Will". It was the same at John Turner's ranch, the Crossed T, to them it was "John" or "Mr. John". But Mr. Jasper Oates was not a friendly sort. Some said that if he'd married it might be different. But then who would marry such a cantankerous man anyway?

Those times when his dad was upset with Mr. Oates, Pete would ask him, "Why don't you quit and go to work for someone else, someone who'll treat you better?"

His dad's answer was always, "Because he pays me better than anyone else would.", or "It's kinda traditional to work for him. You know your grandpa started working for old Mr. Oates, then for Jasper Oates after his father got sick and died."

Or he'd just look off into the distance, as if looking into the past, or the future, I never decided which it was, and would say, "I just can't do that, son."

Pete never could figure that one out. Never felt he had a right to ask. Some things are better left to a man's privacy, I guess.

As he read, Ethan became more and more discouraged. There was nothing in the file that would help him to buy the land from Silas Howe in time. He had to keep the knowledge of the proposed development of the valley from Silas.

After all, that half section should have been mine from the start. If my money hungry grandfather hadn't been so eager to part with that piece of land, it would be mine now. It had originally been part of the parcel that he'd inherited from his father. Silas has no right to it, even if his father did buy it from my grandfather. "Probably paid him in chickens and hay, he muttered aloud.

"Stole it is more the truth," a voice inside his head interjected."What do you mean, stole it? That's what I plan to do." he retorted quite

unexpectedly.

17

He immediately shook his head, as if to clear it, looking around at the same time, confused over the words he'd heard come from his mouth.

"I guess it's later than I thought, and I'm more tired than I realized," he said aloud to the four walls.

The voice was there again, "For once I'm telling the truth, that I'm trying to screw a man who needs the money more than I do."

Ethan jumped up sending the chair reeling behind him, as if trying to escape the hot seat of truth. He ran to the middle of the room, his hands covering his ears, as if the voices he'd been hearing were coming from outside of himself. "You are crazy, driving me crazy." he screamed as he tried to block the accuser's mocking words from his mind.

As suddenly as it had come on, his confused state of mind cleared up. He slowly dropped his hands from his ears, and looked around the room, wondering why he was standing there, and not sitting at his desk as he had been just moments ago.

Returning to his desk, hesitantly, he sat down to the open file, fingering it uncertainly. ''I have to get back to this. That money is mine! Silas deserves to be poor. He's just a weak, sentimental, sorry excuse for a man. Imagine, crying over his wife's illness! He should be glad he'll be rid of her soon, as fat and ugly as she is."

Feeling a presence behind him, he whirled in his seat to stare into the fiery eyes that by now where threatening to haunt him for the rest of his life. He recoiled from their heat, and turned his back on them to study the file once more. Still they remained, burning into the back of his neck, till he could no longer stand it.

He jumped up and ran to the door, in a futile attempt to escape through it. His hands were so wet with sweat he couldn't get a grip, the doorknob refused to turn beneath his grasp.

Terror began to mount in his chest, flooding its way into his throat threatening to choke the very life from him. He stood immobile, clutching at his neck, as if to disgorge the bile that was suffocating him when, as quickly as it had come, it receded, then disappeared altogether.

Catching his breath, he stumbled to the desk and gripped the edge of it for support, gasping for air. Suddenly his eyes focused on the file laying open. He made his way around to the chair, determined to resume his original plan. As he sat down his head began to clear; he was feeling much more in control. His eyes scanned the paper, and he turned the page searching the words that would be a clue to his success.

''There it is." Suddenly the answer was right in front of him. He reread it, read on a bit further, then read it still again. "Here it is," he cried, "in black and white. I'm going to be able to pull it off."

Jill read the words on the paper. If you're reading this, it's because you're in the attic, standing midst my gift to you. Jill sat at the table where the letter had

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BMT, NT

rested for over a year. It still held a trace of the English Rose talc Effie had used so lavishly.

"With these paintings, I want you to have the chance in life that I never had. I want you to be able to open your own gallery, and not have to work at anything other than your chosen profession, that of creating wonderful artwork. You've always worked hard at anything you've done, even though it hasn't always been something you enjoyed. I've always felt that anyone with the talent you have shouldn't have to do anything but that which you love so much, and are so good at." Jill thought of the irony; her grandmother had to work so many years doing something she didn't like.

She read on, "It has given me the greatest pleasure to create these paintings. They will make it possible for you to realize your dream, that of having a gallery here in town, before you're old and gray like me. Each painting I did was done with a great deal of love and satisfaction, because I knew that my talent was not to be wasted. I could have used the income from the paintings to support myself after your grandfather died, but I would have then died an unhappy woman knowing I hadn't given you the opportunity I never had.

You have your whole lifetime ahead of you to make a difference, in not only your life, but in the professional lives of other artists as well. With this house and these paintings, you can make that difference.

As Jill was reading, Andy had started moving among the rows of paintings. He held up one which appeared to be approximately eighteen inches by twenty four inches, and was a dreamlike representation of the town they lived in as it must have been in Effie's childhood days. She had indeed been a masterful artist. Though the streets, at first glance, appeared to be empty, upon closer scrutiny, he was able to see the hum of activity, at least in his mind's eye that with careful brushstrokes, were mere suggestions of energy.

Jill, distracted for a moment by Andy's movements, looked his way and they shared a smile that spoke volumes in a single second. She then returned her attention to the letter.

Remember the story I used to tell you about the horse; and the painting I finally did for you to look upon as I told you the latest tale about him?

Well, what I never told you was that I once saw that horse. He made a lasting impression on me, with his mane of all the colors of the rainbow; his tail dancing to a tune playing on the winds. His coat was of shimmering silver, his eyes glowed with a love that took in the whole universe, while at the same time shone only for me. He appeared to me one evening just before a storm that cleared away in time to reveal the rising of an incredible blue moon.

That was the night I decided to marry your grandfather, instead of going off to art school. I've never for a second regretted that decision. My life with Burt has been one I wouldn't change for anything. He always encouraged me to keep up my art; always said that one day I would be able to fulfill my dream of opening a gallery here in town. Yes, my dear, we have shared the same dream, and now it can be realized for both of us. The Wildfire Gallery can now be born."

Jill put down the letter and looked at Andy, tears streaming from her liquid blue eyes. "She saw him too." was all she could manage to say.

19

"She saw who?" Andy asked as he tenderly wiped away her tears."The horse, the one I saw earlier this evening. The one I thought I saw as we

came up to this place." She handed the letter to him; then as if being drawn by an unseen force, she turned and walked among her grandmother's legacy to her.

Reaching into a row of paintings, she held one up of the house they were in. It was a fiery scene of a thunderstorm. A bolt of lightening split the sky, revealing a horse unlike any ever seen here on earth except by a chosen few.

The countryside was ablaze with the colors of the sunset, electrified by the charge of the storm. The wind pulled the trees in a dancing motion. The occupants of the house hurried to close the windows against the blowing rain. The dusty streets had already begun to be subdued by the first cleansing drops. The painting bore a familiarity to Jill that at first she didn't recognize.

Then, "Andy, this is the horse in the stories she used to tell me; the one she painted the picture of that hung in the room I slept in. This is the horse we've both been visited by."

Andy by now had begun to realize that something extraordinary was taking place. Maybe it was time to look at this horse business seriously. His life had been very much in the explainable plane. But since meeting Jill, he had encountered some irrefutable events of a seemingly unexplainable nature. It had caused him to start looking at aspects of his own life that seemed to have formed some kind of pattern of so-called destiny. It's led him to believe that there may be something to this serendipity stuff, after-all.

Suddenly Jill's face broke into a big smile, her eyes alive with excitement, "Come on, let's go down stairs. I know what must be done."

Pete felt his ankle starting to stiffen, so he rose gingerly and walked further into the gorge. Soon it narrowed just wide enough for a horse to get through. Catching a glimpse of something shiny on the ground, he stooped to pick it up. "It's my canteen," he exclaimed. "Must have caught on 'this jagged piece of rock sticking out of the wall." He opened the stopper and took a thirsty swallow. "Whatever spooked him, must have quite a hold on him. I hope he's okay, not lying suffering someplace."

Resuming his pursuit, he remembered another horse, Star, his father's pride and joy. His dad always used to say, "He's not quite the horse Lasso was, but he was a close second. Your granddad's horse was the best there ever was; there'll never be another like him. But Star was the finest of his generation."

"Strange," Pete thought, "that the thing Lasso excelled in, was what got the best of Star.

"His dad had told the story, "If he hadn't already been worn out from a day's hard work, he never would have stumbled in that stampeding herd of wild horses. I was lucky; I was thrown clear. I would have been trampled to death just as poor Star was, instead of just getting this limp, where my ankle never mended right."

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BMT, NT

Pete had seen the sadness still there in his dad's eyes, after so many years. He'd vowed years ago that he would never live the kind of life that put himself, or his horse, in such danger. The days for that way of life were over; he would have a different life.

Rounding a bend in the trail the gorge opened up to a moonlit pool, about thirty feet across. It was surrounded by at least twenty feet of sandy soil. The walls rose to a height of at least fifteen feet, with yucca, teddybear cacti, and mesquite decorating parts of the rim.

To the right rear of the pool, he saw Stormy. His back was to Pete, and he stood nose to nose with what appeared to be another horse in the shadows. Pete gave a soft whistle, as he often did to call him, when catching him off guard. Stormy, startled, rose onto his hind quarters, pawing the air, not so much in fright, but in recognition of a familiar, welcome sound. As soon as his feet hit the ground, the other horse was gone, if indeed he ever was there to begin with.

Pete approached Stormy carefully, talking quietly to him all the while. When he got close enough, he took the reins, and patted his friend on his silken neck. Stormy affectionately nuzzled Pete and stood accepting all the attention Pete was giving him.

"I don't know what it was that spooked you, but I sure am glad to see you, and know you're not hurt." Remembering the other horse, Pete looked around but saw no sign of it. "Got yourself a friend, Fella?" he teased, as he fastened the canteen back onto the saddle. "She must be a fickle babe, or maybe just shy, and will follow us back." He jumped up into the saddle and turned the horse to find their way to Doringo, and their new friends.

As they were about to enter the narrowing part of the trail, Stormy turned around and whinnied in the direction of the far wall. Pete looked and could just see a flash of silver before it disappeared from sight. As horse and rider rode easily through the gorge, a new strength and spirit could be sensed about the horse.

Upon reaching the narrow place where the canteen had been, Pete dismounted to lead the horse through. For a moment he looked into Stormy's eyes. He saw a new light there, as if he'd undergone a change from within. There was a depth that was impossible to define.

It was a bit unsettling at first; then he felt a great joy and comfort from it. It was as if there was a different soul in his horse's body, yet he knew that he was his own beloved Stormy. Suddenly, the feeling he'd had back in the canyon returned. He felt that this horse, that he already owned and loved, was that horse from the South rim of the canyon. He knew that from that moment on he would never feel quite the same way about Stormy, or himself, again. It would be better.

Ethan arose from the chair, and taking a key from the key chain in his pocket, he unlocked the mahogany file cabinet that stood against the wall behind the desk. He reached into the back of the drawer and came out with a folder that, from the looks of it, had been around for quite awhile.

Holding it with both hands, as if it were of great weight, he returned to the chair and sat down, placing the folder carefully on the desktop. Looking about him,

21

as if afraid of watching eyes, he slowly opened the folder and picked up the document that was the top one of several.

"Here it is, the paper that is standing between Silas Howe and One hundred thousand dollars." Ethan gave a low chuckle, and wrung his hands together in extreme relish. Too bad he'll never find out it exists. If I hadn't discovered this folder in that old safe in the attic, I wouldn't have the lost deed necessary to provide clear title to the land.

Sierra Enterprises, according to their file, requires that the title be clear back one hundred years. Without this deed, Silas' ownership of the land is worthless. In fact, I can argue that he really doesn't own the land at all, legally. Technically, I do. But being of a fair nature, wanting to see justice prevail, I will pay him the generous sum of twenty thousand dollars to take it off his hands. I know he'll go for it, because of the hospital bills facing him for his wife's illness. Most generous of me, since legally I own it already."

Ethan was delighted, in anticipation of Silas' defeat. His eyes gleamed with a greedy light that mirrored his soul. Of course, this old document will miraculously appear when it comes time for me to sell the land to Sierra Enterprises, and I'll be all the richer. Too bad you're not smarter, Howe, or you could get richer, instead of me. He sat at his desk. open file in front of him, glorying in his genius.

With an intensity not yet experienced, Ethan suddenly doubled over in extreme pain, hitting his head on the edge of the desk. Pushing his chair violently away, he rolled from it and lurched toward the door, moaning.

It was almost more than he could bear. Jabs of searing pain wrenched through him, till he pleaded mercifully for unconsciousness. Then the pains started moving all over his body; across his back, encircling his legs and arms; terrible stabs of pain threatened to explode inside his head. He wanted to scream out, but even though his mouth opened, and inside his brain horrible suffering sounds erupted, the room was quiet, except for the shuffling his feet made as he stumbled in the throes of torture.

Then abruptly, all the pain and physical suffering left him. Instead, there was the faint crying of a horse being tortured; the cries growing stronger with every moment. The sound was deafening. Once again Ethan was pressing his hands desperately over his ears to block out the agony.

But it kept on getting louder, more invasive, until he felt himself snap. Something deep inside, from the innermost depths of the mind, gave way. Then there was nothing, an empty monotone of humming, accompanied by a lack of awareness of anything, except the mild curiosity for the refrain being played for the entertainment of the mind.

Outside the window, a tail of gold and silver swept the glass and was gone, leaving a whisper of sadness in its wake. It lingered momentarily on the pre-dawn breezes.

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BMT, NT

Jill was already halfway down the stairs before Andy realized what was going on. He caught up with her in the huge living room, where the lights were blazing from the overhead chandelier.

She whirled to face him as he stood in the doorway, and exclaimed with delight, "It's perfect, this will make a perfect gallery. The windows give a nice indirect light, and there's enough wall space to hang many works of art. The fireplace will provide a wonderful focal point for the Christmas season."

Flinging open the music room door, she flipped on the light switch. Dancing into the room, she swept her arms around gracefully as if to music coming from the baby grand piano, which enjoyed center stage in the intimately arranged room. "This can be another room to the gallery."

Then, with a new revelation, she swung open the door leading onto the enclosed wrap-around porch. "Then when the gallery gets even more successful, we can expand out here.

''Throwing her arms around him, she looked into his eyes and said quietly, with a tone of reverence, "This is what Gram would want. We shared the same dream. Now I can make it come true for both of us.

Andy, there's the whole house to use. Either as a residence, or as part of the gallery. There's any number of possibilities for the rest of the house, and the carriage barn as well. We could have an art workshop, affordable housing for struggling artists. We could live here, or at my place, or at yours." Noticing the grin on his face, she took a breath and asked, "What's so funny?"

"It's you! Now who's excitedly going on about where we live?" Andy grasped her in a bear hug and danced her around the floor, stopping to kiss her gently.

"I love seeing you so happy," he said softly, holding her in a tender embrace. "I've been so concerned for you since your grandmother died. You've had so few truly happy moments. But now I can feel that all changing."

"Oh it is, thanks to you; and thanks to the discovery we've made tonight." Jill reached up and pushed a stray lock of his sandy gold hair out of his eyes. "All my dreams are coming true. I'm going to marry the best man in the world, and I'll finally be able to realize the dream that not only I've had, but that which my grandmother wasn't able to achieve in her lifetime." I must be the luckiest person in the whole world."

The happy couple stood in the fading glow of the moonlight. It filtered through the trees that shaded the screens of the porch, creating a cool haven fragrant with juniper, rose, and eucalyptus. This early morning, it provided a space into which a softly glowing pair of eyes could witness another of life's justices, and a new beginning. The soft whinny from the departing shadow mingled with the morning murmurs and faded with the last rays of the blue moon.

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Epilogue:

Jill and Andy sat together on the porch glider, looking out over her garden, deep in thought. They'd finally wound down from the night's excitement. The coffee was rich and steaming. The cups provided a gentle warmth against the early morning chill.

Andy had been staring off at the hilltop where Jill had said she'd seen her magical horse. He turned to her, and with a face alive with love, asked, "Do you want to have children, our children?"

Realizing that the subject hadn't as yet come up between them, she hesitated a moment before answering. "Why, yes. We haven't even talked about that yet, have we? I'd like to have two kids." Then, a worry crossed her mind, "Do you want kids?"

Andy responded with a big grin, "I sure do." Then his face took on a mysterious look, and he said in a faraway voice, "And we have to keep the family horse alive for them."

She reached over and squeezed his hand, whispering in his ear, "They already know him; and to know him is to never forget him."

When the four on their motorcycles first realized that their new friend was no longer behind them, they were only a couple of miles outside town. "Should we go back and find out what happened to them?" Lanney asked.

''No, let's just wait here a little while. They'll probably be along soon. Pete's horse may have been spooked by the roar of our motorcycles, and so he decided to hold back even more."

Blaze was content to take a break and enjoy the cool and quiet of the night air for a little while. He swung his leg over and stood alongside his bike, stretching his frame to loosen his tight muscles. "I could use a couple of winks while we're waiting," he declared with a yawn. The others murmured their agreement, and all stretched out, sitting on their packs, leaning on their bikes for support. Before long they were snoring.

Out of the shadows rode a man on a horse, majestic in stance, light in step. He took in the scene before him and chuckled, "If they sound as good playing together, as they do snoring together, we're in trouble, Stormy."

With that he gave a whoop and a holler, and spurred his horse into a gallop, veering off just in time to see them all scatter. He brought the horse to a sudden halt, and jumping off, leapt into the midst of the bewildered group, laughing uproariously. At first he drew confused anger, then ignited raucous laughter that relieved the concern for their friend.

''This is one hell of a way to start a new day. One hell of a way to start a new life." Pete declared as the first rays of the new day broke over the horizon.

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BMT, NT

The early morning light filtered through the leaves of the trees outside the room.

Marie expectantly opened the door and peered inside, calling softly to her husband, lest she wake him from the easy chair he often sank into after a night of restless paperwork.

The chair sat empty. Swinging the door wider so as to take in the whole room, her eyes briefly focused on the papers scattered over the desk top, then moved on and came to rest on the gently rocking figure, absently sitting, sprawled on the floor. His eyes kept a secret that the tune he was humming didn't reveal.

As she let go of the doorknob and softly spoke his name, he lifted his face to her. With a slight upturn of his lips, he uttered a single word, in a childlike voice, "Horsy." Then he turned his head to stare blankly out the window, while humming his untold tale.

The End

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