Whitehorse - By Katherine Sutcliffe Page 0,1

tolerate. Trouble was, the world was becoming much too intolerable of late.

It would be smooth sailing from here. The road was good. No danger of flooding. She checked the truck clock. It showed ten-ten. "Liar," she said, and thumped the plastic cover over the clock with her finger, as if the action would miraculously remedy the clock's problem.

Pumping the brakes, Leah eased the truck to a stop where FM 67 teed into Highway 249. The light from her headlamp illuminated the hodgepodge of billboards directly ahead. Visit Ruidoso, Land of the Mescalero Apache! Ski the slopes at Sierra Blanca. Relax at the Inn of the Mountain Gods.

Whitehorse Farm. Two miles south on Highway 249.

The truck idled and the window fogged over as Leah focused on the sign pointing toward Whitehorse Farm.

"Forget it," she said. "I won't do it. The last thing I need right now is to deal with a colicky horse—among other things." She slammed her fist against the steering wheel and listened to the rain drum harder on the car roof. Left would take her south, to the imposing entrance of Whitehorse Farm. Right meant home. A hot bath. Hot tea. Warm blankets. And sleep. Oh God, for a mere hour's worth of uninterrupted sleep…

She turned left.

The rain drove in spears and the truck shuddered under the impact of the winds. Tree branches somersaulted across the road. Lightning zigzagged across the sky, briefly outlining the mountains in the distance. Visibility dwindled, forcing Leah to slow the truck to a crawl, to lean partially over the steering wheel to search out the yellow no-passing lines dividing the narrow highway. Her hands began to sweat, as did her scalp.

She reached for the volume control on the radio-cassette player, regretting her action even as the first melodious strains drowned out the rhythmic thump of the wipers and the drone of the rain. Tonight of all nights was not the night for memories. Her obsession with old Neil Diamond tunes and all the history each song stirred up in her mind, not to mention her heart, was just short of masochistic.

Taking a deep breath, Leah relaxed back against the truck seat and did her best to hum along with the tune, despite the rawness of her throat and the sleep that was beginning to tug at her eyelids.

At first there was nothing before her but road and rain. Then the horse leaped out of the dark and into the small halo of light from her headlamp, its hooves skidding on the asphalt and its terrified eyes reflecting the white beam like mirrors.

Leah slammed on the brakes and wrenched the wheel to the right. The impact and subsequent spin threw her against the door. The world whirred by in slow motion as the truck slid sideways, bumped over the narrow shoulder, then bounced down the embankment before coming to a sudden stop, all four wheels bogged up to their axles in mud.

Someplace in the foggy and confused blankness of her mind, Neil Diamond continued to croon about love, loss, and loneliness amid the pounding rain and thunder.

Leah opened her eyes and stared through the cracked windshield at the stream of light from her headlamp pooling on the black surface of the water-filled ditch. Odd that the only thought to rouse in that moment was the realization that she had not eaten in twenty-four hours.

From the corner of her eye she saw a movement. Carefully lifting her head, she peered through the driver's window, which was criss-crossed with tiny cracks like mullioned glass. A face materialized that was somehow familiar, with black eyes and a wide, masculine brow shielded from the rain by the limp brim of an old cowboy hat.

"Don't move," the face said.

The man grabbed the door handle and wrenched open the door, leaned over Leah, and popped the seatbelt loose. His shirt was soaked and rain streamed from his hat, down the front of her sweater.

"Dr. Starr?" he asked with the slightest hint of Native American accent, gently touching her face. "Are you all right?"

"What happened?" she finally managed.

"The horse—"

"Oh God. I hit it, didn't I?" She shoved the man back and slid from the truck. Her legs buckled. She grabbed the truck door, vaguely aware that she was bogged to her ankles in mud and the rain was fast drenching her hair and clothes. The cold and wet slammed her back to reality as she looked up into Roy Moon's concerned eyes. "Is it dead?"

He shook his head and his