by Abigail Armani
The horse galloped on tirelessly and Cindy laughed, elated to be on horseback, feeling the sun on her face and the wind in her hair. On and on they hurtled, before slowing pace a little.
Half way up the slopes of a hill, Cindy reigned in her mare and peered down into the valley below. She could see the bright sparkle of a stream as it ribboned its course through the gully. With a flick of the reigns, horse and rider proceeded down the slope.
As the mare drank, Cindy sat and pulled off her boots and dangled her feet in the cooling stream. Her feet submerged in the bubbling waters, she lay back and closed her eyes against the heat of the afternoon sun.
The mare came close, inclined her head and snorted warm breath from her nostrils down onto Cindy's face. Giggling, Cindy sat up, petting Savannah as she nudged against her arm, seeking affection.
"You're lovely. I know it. You know it. Ok - off you go and eat some grass while I take a little nap."
Savannah obediently munched on the lush grass by the edge of the stream. Meanwhile, Cindy lay down again; relaxed and happy she dozed, oblivious to the time.
It was after three in the afternoon when the first drops of rain began to fall. Cindy blinked and sat up, rubbing the remnants of sleep from her eyes. The day had changed. The sun had disappeared behind a bank of thick grey cloud and in its shadow, the once sparkling crystal waters of the stream now appeared dull and murky.
Getting to her feet, Cindy glanced at Savannah. The horse was edgy and tense and wouldn't come when Cindy called. Ignoring the mare for a moment, Cindy bent to put her boots back on. The splats of rain came faster now, and in less than a minute, she was thoroughly drenched, the folds of her clothes plastered to her body.
Glancing up at the heavens, what she saw there sent a spine-tingling chill of fear coursing through her body.
The sky was neither blue nor grey, but an ominous sickly greenish colour, punctuated by large, dark and low-lying clouds.
"Oh shit!" she gulped, ineffectually wiping her eyes as the rain hurtled down in torrents so thick she could barely see through the amorphous curtain of water. "Savannah! Here, girl!" she called through the din of the lashing rain.
Savannah's ears went back, and a moment later she turned and bolted.
"Savannah! Savannah! Come back!" yelled Cindy. Her voice cracked as desperation bit and she struggled to keep calm and rational.
But the horse was off in a panic, racing away through the increasingly boggy ground, and was soon out of sight behind a ridge of trees.
"Oh no!" wailed Cindy. She was beginning to feel really frightened now. The little hairs on her arms and the back of her neck were standing to attention and a coil of terror began to unleash itself from the pit of her stomach. Something wasn't right. There was something in the air ... something unwholesome... The air trembled and stilled into a brief unnatural silence. It was broken by Cindy's scream - as in the same spot from which the horse had bolted there came a huge crackle of white lightning and a sickening thud as a thunderbolt blasted from the torn sky.
Cindy jumped back in terror. What should she do? Where should she go? At the mercy of the elements she stood for a moment rooted to the spot, trembling and sodden, lashed by wind and rain.
The landscape, which such a short time ago was wonderfully benign and welcoming, was now alien and terrifying. A chain of thunderbolts close by created the effect of making pockets of ground ripple and jump repeatedly. Lightning flared, shredding the skies, and thunder rumbled ominously overhead. Day turned to night in an instant, the gloom alleviated by the dazzling brightness of the lightning, which crackled and hissed menacingly, illuminating the threshing treetops, their boughs bent into weird contortions by the wind and driving rain. Bolt after bolt of lightning ripped the battered sky and an unholy light pulsed through the jagged wound.
Cindy whimpered in fear as she stumbled along aimlessly, now caught in the path of a new danger as a keen wind hurtled in from the west, harrying a mass of debris and leaves before it. Leaves rose high, whirling in a frenzy, obscuring her vision even more. The storm raged like some furious ravening beast. Cindy staggered forwards, heading for a copse of trees. In the dim recesses of her mind came the half-remembered knowledge that one should never shelter beneath trees in a thunderstorm as lightning may strike.
But Cindy dismissed the thought. To her, at that moment, the trees were an oasis of safety and seemingly a much better prospect than being exposed to the elements whilst wandering on open ground. She was hell bent on reaching the trees as they surely must offer some protection from the raging storm. So when she felt a hand grip her arm and pull her in the opposite direction, she squealed in shock and terror.
A stranger had grabbed her arm. A man. He wore a battered black hat with a cattleman crown crease, and a four inch brim from which water cascaded in rivulets. His face was hidden in shadow, pierced by a pair of penetrating green eyes. A sodden, cognac-coloured fringed suede jacket was set atop a blue plaid shirt. His blue jeans were worn with a wide-buckled belt, and his black boots were caked in thick mud.
All this she absorbed in an instant. Still shocked, she stared at him. His mouth was moving, shaping words as he yelled at her.
"W...WHAT?" She had to shout to be heard above the rising din.
"I said MOVE! Quickly, or you'll get us both killed."
"Killed?" she repeated stupidly, her senses reeling in relief that at least she was no longer alone in this nightmare.
He jerked his head upward and said one word. "Tornado."
Cindy looked up, and when she saw the sky, she quailed. The sickly green colour had intensified and thickened, and strange clouds were moving in, scudding across the sky.
"How do you know?"
"Trust me," he said and pulled her arm.
He led her east, along the bank of the stream, and then they began to climb the hillside. The thunder and lightning retreated, the lightning fading fitfully, and the thunder now only a low rumble over the distant horizon. And as quickly as it had started, the rain stopped.
"Oh," puffed Cindy. "The storm's over now. We're safe, thank God. We'll stop here awhile. I need a rest."
"It ain't over by a long chalk," said her rescuer. "No time to rest. Keep moving."
To Cindy's annoyance he herded her up the hill as though she were a cow.
"Wait - I need to catch my breath. I hate hills," she gasped. "You're a bully. I hate bullies. Get off my arm," she said crossly.
He ignored her protests and grabbed hold of her hand, pulling her bodily up the hill. It took her a moment to realise that though the storm had abated, there was a strange yet expectant quiet. The dead calm was rapidly followed by an intense wind shift. A glance up at the sky again showed the fast moving clouds were churning, all of them converging at one point in the sky. And then, to her horror, she saw there was one funnel-shaped cloud that was rotating.
"Oh Lord," she breathed. "What the hell is that?"
"I already told you. Tornado. Hurry! We're almost there."
"Almost where?" Cindy looked ahead, puzzled. The grass and scree had given way to a rocky outcrop, dotted at intervals with pine trees.
She gasped for breath as he urged her even faster up the rocky slope. She was slipping and sliding on the wet ground. And then the air was full of noise - the sound of rushing air intensifying to the roar of a mighty waterfall. It was so loud she wanted to ram her fingers in her ears to muffle the din. The noise increased. It now sounded like the rumble and roar of a jumbo jet. Another glance up showed the funnel shaped cloud had elongated; it pulsed with a dreadful energy as it whirled, filled with a raw and terrifying power.
The wind blew so fiercely that Cindy bent against it and would have fallen if she had not had the support of the stranger. Though even he had difficulty remaining upright; he staggered on, bowed by the wind, resolutely dragging her after him.
And then, when the fear and terror of it all threatened to topple her into despair, they reached the sanctuary of the cave, half hidden on the hillside. He pulled her in after him and led her further inside into the gloom. Immediately, she felt safe. Cocooned, with the sheer comforting weight of earth above and below her. Gratefully she sank to her knees, her chest heaving with exertion as she regained her ragged breath.
Outside the cave the storm wreaked havoc, the wild wind keening and howling with rage, but in this place, they were safe.
She looked up. He was standing, leaning against the wall, his arms folded, looking down at her. And as her eyes locked with his green gaze, she felt a frisson of recognition.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
Cindy sat bolt upright in bed, all her senses instantly alert and tingling, as though something momentous was about to happen.
"Jeez, that was some dream," she muttered, getting out of bed.
She paused to peek out of the curtains, to reassure herself that there was no thunderstorm or whirling tornado. There wasn't. Neither, sadly, was there any sign of the green-eyed cowboy.
"Pity," she shrugged, disappointed. He had been so real she felt a deep connection to him.
But his presence faded as the new day began to unfold, and between brushing her teeth and getting dressed and ready for school, the strands of the dream faded and melted away so completely that the sixteen year old Cindy forgot all about tornadoes and the intriguing cowboy.
Little did she know that by a strange quirk of fate she would meet him for real eleven years later.
Diego's Dive Bar was the kind of place where the music stops and the heads of the regulars' swivel round en-mass to stare at any newcomers who walk in. It followed then, that nobody was staring at Jake Swain and his buddies. Indeed, given their reputation, folks took pains not to disturb them.
At 48, Jake was no oil painting. He was short, stockily built and balding, with a battered bullet-shaped face and hostile, gimlet eyes. He was a thug and a bully, a man with immense power, probably attributed to the fact that he and his cronies were feared. Rumour had it that Swain had connections in high places, and there must surely be some substance in the rumour as, regardless of what he did - and he did plenty - he always managed to avoid arrest and imprisonment.
This afternoon found him with two other familiar faces, known locally as Swain's henchmen. They were Victor Smalley, a sinewy man in his early 40s with buck teeth, a thin, pointy-chinned, rat-like face topped with lank and greasy black hair. He had one thing going for him - he was a notorious sharpshooter. Mario Machuta on the other hand, was a younger man, probably in his mid 30's. He was a giant of a man - 6ft 5, 300 pounds, with iron fists the size of meat plates. If he was somewhat lacking in the brains department, it was no big deal - folks didn't pick a fight with Mario Machuta unless they fancied a long stint in hospital, which is where his unsuccessful opponents ended up (either there or the town mortuary).
Swain's third drinking partner hadn't been seen in these parts before. Luke Daniels was a man around 30. Whilst not classically handsome, he certainly had rugged good looks and a good physique. At just over 6 feet, he had shaggy brown hair and glinting green eyes. There was a look about him ... a suppressed intelligence, and a kind of raw smouldering presence. He didn't say a deal, but listened to everything going on, and quickly assimilated facts. Because he was with Swain, no one challenged him or asked where he was from.
Luke Daniels drank his beer slowly. He faced Jake and participated in the conversation, all the while listening unobtrusively to what was being said behind him at the bar.
"These are guys who know how to steal cattle because they've been around livestock for most of their lives," someone was saying.
"Rustling's gettin' worse," his buddy agreed. "Locations are being hit in the early morning hours. A guy can come onto a ranch late at night, get about 30 or so cows and get as much as $1,000 a head for them at livestock auctions."
"Ah'll be dawged - $1,000 a head? My pa's in the awhl bidness and he don't make that sort of money."
"Yeah, the stolen cattle are generally calves weighing somewhere between 350 and 500 pounds. Theft of bovines is a profitable business - if the rustlers don't get caught."
The bartender joined in the conversation. "You boys hear 'bout those 28 calves vanished from a sale barn out in Crockett? Yeah? Well that same night a livestock trailer was stolen 20 miles away. These guys are organised - they sure know what they're doing."
"They're probably hauling a long goose-neck trailer in the early hours, hitched to high-powered pickups."
"Likely making a better living than I am," the bartender sighed. "Now then Joey - what'll it be?"
"Gimme another beer," growled Joey.
Joey proceeded to tell everyone about the new whore house that had opened up on the shadier part of the east side of town, under the guise of a truckers lounge. The conversation promptly moved away from cattle rustling to more interesting and ribald talk of women and their talents at pleasing a man.
"Fizyu I'd git outa here and pay them ladies a visit real soon," Joey urged, and recommended two girls in particular for their extraordinary talents.
Meanwhile, Jake Swain and his cronies had finished their business. There was a scraping of chairs as the four men got up from their table and prepared to depart. Jake headed out first, and the assembled throng respectfully stepped back so he could pass through their ranks, followed by his three men.
Once outside, the four prepared to go their separate ways - Luke strode off in the direction of the bank, and the other three, after mulling over the conversation overheard at the bar, decided to check out the recommended girls at the truckers lounge.
Luke pulled the brim of his hat down lower to shade the hot afternoon sun that threatened to blister his eyelids. As he did so, he almost collided with two women on their way out of the bank.
"Apologies, ma'am."
Luke doffed his hat at the nearest woman. Evidently in her fifties, she was attractive - tallish, with shoulder length light brown hair and intelligent hazel eyes. She acknowledged his apology with a smile and a nod.
"Sorry 'bout that," he said to the second.
"No problem, cowboy," she said, and flashed him a bright smile.
Luke stared at her, and in that brief moment instinctively knew that he was meant to be with this woman. Their paths would cross again, of that he was absolutely certain. He had been waiting for her all his adult life without realising it. And here she was. She was pretty - mid to late twenties with a cheeky smile, a cute snub nose and sweet rosebud mouth. Her big hazel eyes were thickly fringed with sweeping dark lashes. A brunette, she wore her hair swept up into a long ponytail. She had curves in all the right places and she was wearing sandals with a three inch wedge heel. He figured she was maybe 5ft 4 in her bare feet. She was perfect. And she was his - or would be - she just didn't know it yet.
"Come on Cindy." The older woman linked her arm with that of the younger girl and escorted her across the road toward a parked vehicle.
Cindy. Nice name, he thought, watching her walk. When she got to the vehicle, he had a feeling that she would turn and look in his direction before getting in. He was right, she did, and she flashed him a smile. He returned it with a tilt of his head and a flash of his eyes.
He gave her such an intimate knowing look that Cindy blushed and squirmed a little in her seat.
"I'm goin' to get me a cowboy just like that one," she said to her companion. "Just you wait and see."
Luke watched the departing vehicle, making a mental note of the license plates. Smiling, he suddenly realised how hungry he was, and followed his nose to the nearest diner where he ordered a prime rib-eye steak.
The food was good and he ate well, but all he could think about was Cindy.
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