I’ve already called 9-1-1.
I hop down off the horse and loop
her reins through the door handle.
If she really wants to get loose,
she will, I guess. I grab Gabe’s coat and hustle on foot to join him. When I reach his side, he pulls back, and I recognize the person he’s tending to. Hillary. Damn. “Is she conscious?”
No. Not sure if she’s got head or neck injuries, so I don’t want to raise her feet. For now, we’ll just keep her warm and let the EMTs figure it out.
I’m torn between joining his vigil
and taking better care of the horse, who might spook if a car goes by or at an approaching siren and flashing lights.
Not much I can do for Hillary, and
I know she’d be worried about the mare.
“I’m going to move her horse away
from the road. I’ll be right back.”
He tucks the coat carefully around
Hillary. Call your dad and let him know why I won’t be back right away, okay?
Don’t want him to get the wrong idea.
I wouldn’t have even thought
about calling Dad, but it’s a good
idea. When he answers his phone,
he’s skeptical at first, like we’d go to such lengths to try and deceive
him. “Listen. Hillary’s on the basketball team, and it’s a pretty great coincidence that we found her when we did.”
He Asks
About a dozen questions,
most of which I can only
answer with, “I don’t know.”
How bad is she hurt?
What was she doing out there?
How long till the ambulance arrives?
What are you going to do after that?
Have you called her parents?
Okay, that last one deserves
some thought. I don’t know
her parents at all, but their number must be listed.
Their ranch is what’s known
in the trade as a “going concern.”
“Listen, Dad, I’ll get back to you when I’ve got more answers.
I’ll try calling her parents now.”
I can’t believe I didn’t think about doing that myself.
I ask information for “Grantham,”
but the operator can’t find a listing.
I can’t remember the name
of the ranch. Something with a G.
The Lazy G? Crooked G? No,
not right. Then it strikes me that Hillary’s probably carrying a cell phone, with relevant numbers programmed in.
I take hold of the horse, whose breathing has slowed to warm
puffs of steam exhaled into
the rapidly cooling air. Just as we turn away from the road, an old pickup belches by, and I know without looking who
it belongs to. Garrett doesn’t even slow down to see what’s
going on. In fact, he picks up speed, hoping, I’m sure, to kick up some dust. The mare reacts with a nervous skitter, and
I’m glad Garrett’s timing isn’t worse. “Easy, lady,” I tell her.
“He’s a jerk, but you’re okay.”
I lead her out into the field, close to the girl she left lying there. “Hey, Gabe. See if Hillary has a phone on her, would you?”
When he asks why and I explain, he says, Would you please do it?
I’m uncomfortable reaching into her pockets. I’ll hold on to the horse.
He’s Comfortable
With that, at least, so we trade places and as I kneel beside my not-quite-friend he walks the mare to keep her calm.
Hillary’s wearing a Windbreaker,
and I try those pockets first, come up empty. I’m scared to move her too much, but the front pockets
on her jeans yield nothing, so I reach under her and find what I’m looking for. She moans a little as I extract it, and I have no clue if that’s bad or good. Maybe she’s coming to?
“Hillary? It’s Ariel. Don’t move, okay?” There’s no sign she hears
me, but perhaps the sound of a familiar voice will comfort her somehow.
When I go into her contacts, the first one to pop up is “Daddy.”
“Answer. Answer,” I pray, but it goes to voice mail. “Um, Mr. Grantham?
This is Ariel Pearson. I’m one of Hillary’s teammates. There’s been an accident. Looks like Hillary
was tossed from her horse and . . .”
I offer the spotty details, and as I disconnect I can hear the not-so-subtle approach of the ambulance.
Noting the horse’s reaction, I offer to take charge of her while Gabe
goes to wave down the EMTs.
As I move her farther away from
the scene, I look for another contact and find a Peg Grantham under favorites.
She answers on the fourth ring, but freaks at the unfamiliar voice. What are you doing with Hillary’s phone?
Her accusatory shriek pisses me off.
“Okay, listen. Hillary’s horse threw her.
My friend and I found her, and called 9-1-1. The ambulance just got here, so she’ll be on her way to the hospital soon. I’ve got the mare and can bring her to you, or you can come get her. Just tell me what I should do. By the way, I’m not into stealing horses or phones.”
Well, that’s certainly good to hear.
Do you know where the ranch is located?
The foreman can meet you at the gate.
Okay, That Was Weird
I guess maybe expecting
an apology was too much,
but, “I know where you are,
and I’m happy to deliver
the horse, but don’t you