Wild Horses Read Free Page A

became a necessity.
    There was a group of 20 or 30 youth, which Sadie had always been grateful for. They had been her friends for quite a few years, good friends with whom she could share her feelings and also Sunday afternoons and evenings playing volleyball and having supper together, often with a hymn-singing afterward. Sometimes the youth went camping or riding or shopping in a faraway location, which was something Sadie always anticipated.
    The winters were long here in Montana. Months of cold wind swept down from the distant mountain ranges, which were always covered with snow. The snow on the tips of the mountains never ceased to amaze her, especially when the sun warmed her back or she felt a gentle summer breeze in her face. But in winter, everything was white and cold, and the whole world felt like the tops of the mountains.
    Sadie sat at the table in the dining room watching the snow swirling across the wooden patio floor. Little eddies of it tried to accumulate in the corners of the panes in the French doors but were swept away by the howling wind.
    “It’s always windy here, Mam.”
    Mam looked up from the cookbook she was leafing through, took a sip of coffee from the brown stoneware mug, and nodded her head.
    “It’s Montana.”
    Sadie sliced half a banana into her dish of thick, honeyed oatmeal, adding a handful of dark, sticky raisins, and nodded.
    “I know.”
    Mam glanced at the clock.
    “Jim’s late.”
    “Probably because of the snow.”
    She finished pouring the rich, creamy milk onto the raisins, stirred, and spooned a large amount into her mouth. She closed her eyes.
    “Mmmm. Oatmeal with honey.”
    Mam smiled.
    “What do we want for Christmas dinner this year?”
    Sadie looked at Mam, surprised
    “Christmas is two months away.”
    “I can still plan ahead.”
    Sadie nodded, grimacing as the battered truck pulled up to the French doors—a dark intruder into the lovely, pristine whiteness outside.
    “Oh, here I go.”
    “You haven’t finished your breakfast.”
    “It’s all right.”
    She put her arms into the sleeves of her black, wool coat, threw a white scarf around her head, and was out the door to the tune of Mam’s usual, “Have a good day!”
    The whirling bits of snow made her bend her head to avoid the worst of the sharp little stings against her bare face. She pulled quickly on the door handle, bounced up into the torn vinyl of the pickup seat, and flashed a warm smile at the occupant behind the steering wheel.
    “How you, Missy?”
    “Good. Good, Jim.”
    Jim put the truck in reverse, a smile of pleasure lighting his pale blue eyes, the dark weathered lines of his face all changing direction. His long, graying mustache spread and widened with the lines, and he touched the brim of his stained Stetson more out of habit than anything else.
    Jim Sevarr was of the old western line of hard-working, hard-driving range riders who lived with horses and cattle, dogs and sheep, and were more comfortable on the back of a horse than behind the wheel of a truck. His jeans were perpetually soiled, his boots half worn out, and his plaid shirttail was hanging out of his belt on one side, with the other side tucked securely beneath it.
    He ground the gears of the pickup, frowned, and uttered an annoyance under his breath.
    “These gears are never where they’re supposed to be.”
    Sadie smiled to herself, knowing the gears were right where they needed to be. It was the hand that was more adept with a horse’s bridle that was the problem.
    “Twelve inches,” he said, shifting the toothpick to the other side of his mustache.
    “What?”
    “Of snow.”
    “Really?”
    “Yep.”
    Sadie knew the cold and snow meant more work for her down in the valley at Aspen East Ranch. She was one of the girls who helped prepare vast amounts of food each day for the 20 ranch hands, give or take a few. There were always newcomers, or someone moving on, but the number of men never varied much.
    Sadie