Black Wind

Black Wind

Aya Walksfar

Smashwords Edition

Published By Wild Haven Press

This book is a work of fiction. With the exception of recognized historical figures, the characters in this novel are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright 2015 by Aya Walksfar

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use this author’s material work other than for reviews, prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

Cover Art: Deva Walksfar

Dedication

To Si?ab, my German Shepherd Muse

Chapter 1

I walked into the barn and tossed my backpack in the tack room. Friday. School had ended and the whole summer stretched ahead. Next year I’d be a senior. The only fly in the soup, as Grams says, was the stroke she’d had, but even that was only a temporary glitch. If I didn’t love my grandmother, I might’ve been pumping my fist in the air and yelling, ‘Yes! I get to do all of Black Wind’s training and conditioning. I might even get to ride her in her first race.’ That was if Uncle David hadn’t shown up and taken over the house.

Grams had been in the hospital three days before her stepson, David, had walked into her room one afternoon. Next thing I knew, Grams had invited him to stay at the house. Wasn’t much I could say about it since Grandpa had been his biological father as well as my dad’s adoptive father. I wished Grandpa was still alive. I couldn’t go to Grams right now as sick as she was and tell her about Uncle David. I’d awakened one night and found him in my room staring down at me while I slept. I’d yelled at him to get out and he’d left, but it had really creeped me out. Once Grams returned home, I wouldn’t have to keep putting a chair under my bedroom doorknob anymore. I shrugged off the disquieting thoughts.

Immediately, I started daydreaming about three-year-old Black Wind carrying me to first place finishes in the twenty-five and fifty mile endurance races this summer. A grin played around my lips because I could hear Grams in my head, Maddy Jacobs, don’t go getting all cocky. You haven’t run those races, much less won them, yet. A smile would be playing around her lips and I’d duck my head to hide my grin, knowing she thought Black Wind would do well, too.

Grams and I were as different as an apple and a banana. At seventy-six, she was five-foot-three, thin and pretty with long, midnight black hair streaked with silver; and bitter chocolate eyes in a sweetheart face. Even, white teeth flashed when she smiled, which she often did. At seventeen, I had brownish hair with deep red streaks--Gram’s called it auburn--and weird hazel eyes that changed with my moods from evil green with an amber ring to a more mellow cinnamon brown with a deep brown ring around the iris. I hated my eyes. Grams said that my hazel color might’ve come from the combination of Dad’s dark brown and Mom’s cobalt blue eyes. I don’t care where it came from; I just wish I had the same color as Grams.

I had inherited Dad’s height of five-foot-eleven, but instead of being fashionably thin I had curves. Grams called my body voluptuous and said it was the kind of healthy look that she’d always wanted. The girls at school envied my breasts, though they didn’t envy the rest of me. As far as I was concerned, I would’ve loved to give them the breasts. No bra existed that held those milk bags tight enough not to bounce when Black Wind trotted. I’d been practicing cushioning the trot by posting. It helped keep the milk bags from drawing attention when I was around others. When I was alone, I still sat the trot like Grams taught me.

Halter and lead rope in hand, I hurried out to the back pasture. At the gate, I called Black Wind. I still missed Blackie, the Arab horse who’d been part of my life since before I could remember. Last summer, he died at age thirty and it had hit me nearly as hard as Grandpa’s dying the summer before that from prostate cancer.

No sound of hooves racing toward me. I shrugged. She’d probably gone into the woods where the creek flowed to browse on some of the bushes that grew in the shade. She seemed to like that spot and since the weather had heated up to eighty-five it’d be the sensible place.

As I trudged across the field, I wished Grams would hurry up and get well enough to come home. I stayed away from the house as much as possible; especially since that night. When Grams returned home, I expected Uncle David to leave. She certainly wouldn’t put up with his drinking. Alcohol, drugs and tobacco wasn’t allowed on the property.

I had dropped by the hospital, as I did every day, on the way home from school. Just this afternoon, Dr. Ling promised to schedule Grams’ transfer to the Lowell Care Center in Arlington for tomorrow. If Grams did well, she might be home within a few weeks. I’d have to tolerate Uncle David until then. Grams said he was family and family didn’t belong in motels. Grams saw the best in everyone; and, sometimes that made her blind to their reality. I hadn’t had the heart to tell her about Uncle David’s drinking.

I arrived at the creek and didn’t see Black Wind at her favorite spot by the old maple tree. With a sigh, I tramped up the creek. When I failed to find her, I turned at the fence and followed the creek toward the west property line. Letting my head mess with me, I walked a bit faster.

I reached the west fence. Not a sign of Black Wind. My heart gave a lurch. Where did she go? Had she found a break in the fence somewhere and gone wandering? She’d done that once before during the big snow last winter. It’d taken Grams and me all day to find her at the neighbor’s five miles away. Darn it! I told Grams I’d check the fences a couple of days ago and I forgot. I set off at a jog.

By the time I ran the fence line around the pasture acreage and searched the small copse of alders and maples to the north, I knew Black Wind wasn’t on the property. No break in the fence accounted for her absence. Ice lodged in my chest and I shivered. He wouldn’t dare.... Even Uncle David wasn’t that stupid. My stomach knotted as I raced up to the house. I jumped the three porch steps and thudded on the old wood floor. In one stride, I reached the front door and flat handed it open so hard it bounced off the wall. I stormed into the living room. Uncle David!

Uncle David ambled out of Grams’ bedroom, tucking his shirt into his pants. Quit yelling.

Eyes narrowed, I glared at him. What are you doing in Grams’ room? Your room’s that way. I pointed a stiff finger at the hall.

His lip curled. Why should I try to rest in a bed that’s twenty years old and hard as a rock?

Before I could respond, a blonde woman slinked out, hair disheveled. She shot me a pouty look then kissed Uncle David. See you tomorrow, handsome. She trailed her fingers down his arm then turned and sauntered past me as if I didn’t exist.

I fisted my hands at my sides. Grams would be really ticked if I hit someone; besides, Uncle David stood a good two or three inches taller than me and outweighed me by at least a hundred pounds. Still, my temper urged me to do it anyway. I shoved it down.

What’s she doing here? I haven’t said anything to Grams about your drinking, but bringing strangers in here, especially women, and in her bedroom doing.... I grimaced and let the thought trail off.

Uncle David strutted across the living room. Josie Jacobs isn’t here, now is she? His lip twisted into a sneer. And you shouldn’t be either. This house should be mine. I'm the only son my father ever had and this place has been in our family for generations.

My lips drew back in a snarl. This house belonged to Grandpa and he had the right to give it to anyone he wanted to.

He slammed a hand on the top of the wet bar. You listen to me, brat. My family gave generations of their lives to build this ranch. Then your grandmother showed up with her bastard child. Anger reddened his cheeks, or maybe it was the alcohol.

The color drained from my face. Don’t talk about my father, I said through gritted teeth.

A hateful grin stretched his lips. Why shouldn’t I tell the truth about Greg? That’s what he was until your money-grubbing grandmother came sniffing around my father and convinced him to marry her and adopt her little bastard.

That’s how much you know. My dad’s father died from a fall before he had the chance to marry Grams. I let the contempt show in my face.

He gave me a look of disdain. Whatever. The point is that this house should’ve come to me when my father died. Your grandmother and you are not part of my father’s bloodline.

My stomach churned, but I kept my face blank. I’d learned to do that because kids didn’t like other kids who were different. I’ve always been different. Seriously? Who cares? Grandpa obviously didn’t. You were at the reading of Grandpa’s will, just like I was. He set it up so that Grams is to live here until she dies and then the farm comes to me.

He shrugged and retrieved a bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey from beneath the wet bar. We’ll see about that.

What’s that doing here? You know alcohol isn’t allowed on the property. The beer in the refrig is bad enough. Grandpa, a recovering alcoholic, had built the wet bar. Said he liked the idea of serving drinks to his guests. He’d kept it stocked with five different kinds of juice, three different colas, and four flavors of bottled water. I think he loved surprising people by doing something different, like not having any kind of alcohol in the house.

Ice cubes clinked into the crystal water glass beside the whiskey bottle. The ice crackled as he poured the amber liquor over it. He taunted, Get over it, kid. Once that old biddy dies, this place is mine. I have an attorney who’s sharp, sharper than my father ever was, and he knows how to overturn that bequest once your grandmother’s out of the way.

A lead weight settled in the center of my chest. I couldn’t imagine not living here. Could an attorney do that? I shoved that distracting worry away. Right now I needed information about Black Wind. What did you do with Black Wind?

I don’t answer to you, brat. He took a deep drink before he set the glass on the counter. But if you really have to know, I got rid of that piece of crap. I sold her.

Sold her? For a moment, all the air got sucked out of my lungs. I gasped like the time when I was six and had fallen into the deep end of the pool and almost ran out of air before I reached the surface. What do you mean, you sold her?

He shrugged and smirked. A man up on Grandy Road buys worthless horses. He came and picked her up this afternoon. Glass tipped up, he gulped more whiskey.

Shoulders tensed as anger rushed through me, hot, out of control, like the time I was kicked out of school for beating up that boy who groped me. I clenched my jaw and breathed through my nostrils like Grams had taught me. You had no right to....

He slammed the glass on the bar, his big hairy hand clutching it as whiskey splashed out. You listen to me, girl, I have every right. This house, this acreage, nearly every antique piece of furniture in here should’ve come to me when my father died. He swung his arm wide, ignoring the amber liquid that spilled in an arc onto the hardwood floor. This all belonged to my family, my blood kin.

I stomped up to the bar. Grandpa left this to Grams and me. Not you.

He shoved his face toward me; a vein throbbed in his forehead. Your gold-digging grandmother may have talked that sick old man into signing this place over to her, but I'm going to make sure it never goes to you. I'm his son. Me! Not Gregory.

I wanted to tell Uncle David what Grandpa had told me that one time he came to visit not long after Grandpa was diagnosed with prostate cancer. I’d turned fourteen that summer. Teeth grinding, I managed to keep that secret to myself since this situation didn’t qualify for sharing it. Even Grams didn’t know what Grandpa told me. I took a deep breath and tried to make my voice reasonable. Look, Uncle David, Grams is going to get better and come home so none of this matters right now. Maybe it won’t matter for a lot more years to come. Right now all I want to do is to go get Black Wind and bring her home. Call that man and tell him you made a mistake. You shouldn’t have sold the horse. I’ll pick her up so he doesn’t have to haul her back.

A nasty laugh boomed out of Uncle David then all levity dropped from his face. That piece of dog food is sold. She’s gone. End of conversation.

In two strides I reached the wet bar and swung my arm. The whiskey bottle flew through the air, liquor spraying out of it as it tumbled. It shattered when it hit the floor, glass skittering across the room. You. Had. No. Right.

His hand lashed out so fast I never saw it coming. It impacted my cheek and my head whipped to one side. The heavy ring he wore split my lip. Don’t mess with me, he said in a low, dangerous voice that kicked my heart into overdrive. Don’t ever mess with me. Then