Free The Enchanted Life of Adam Hope by Rhonda Riley

the ground four feet below me. He lay in the mud, facing up, his hat had tumbled away from him and his left leg stuck out beside him, the angle of it so wrong it seemed to belong to someone else. His horse, a young gray mare his daddy had just bought, stood a few yards off, tensed as if to bolt. There were deep gouges where the stone and clay of the driveway had given way.
    Cole held his hand up to his eyes, shielding his face from the rain, and struggled to get up on one elbow when he saw me. I glanced back at the house. My stranger was in there, warm, dry, and calm where we had been alone for five days—a place like a dream of comfort. I was the link between Cole and the cold and her— her —in the house.
    I could barely see. My skin prickled with the heat of alarm. None of this was a dream.
    I turned back to Cole below me, shouting over the rain, “Cole, I’m here. Don’t move! I’ll get help.”
    I felt a warm hand on my arm. She was there beside me, a jacket and Uncle Lester’s hat on. I allowed myself one short glance. “Stay here with him. I’ll be back.”
    Below us, Cole grimaced with pain, his face ash-white against the mud. The rusty rainwater eddied around him.
    “Cole, we’re going to pull you up. I’m going to get some rope.”
    When I returned with rope, a wide plank, and an old sled, she stood where I’d left her, looking down at Cole, who squinted up. His face was all pain, but his eyes held a question. I gave her one end of the rope and had her back up a little while I went down for Cole.
    His voice was hoarse. “I was worried ’bout you.”
    “Hush,” I told him, and tied the rope around his chest. The fabric of his pant leg was blessedly coarse, easy to grip. I straightened his leg. He made a high, whimpering sound, shuddered, then passed out. While I strapped his legs to the plank, his horse came over and pulled at my coat. With Cole so slick and wet, dragging him up onto the sled took several tries. Unconscious, he was heavy, dead weight. We would need the horse.
    I glanced up, but the mare was gone. Then I heard a sharp whinny behind me. Further down, past the driveway where the rise was less steep and covered with grass and rock, she stood above the horse, her hands open, encouraging. Under the drone of rain and the horse’s sharp cries, I first felt, then heard a tone expand, sweet and imploring. The horse struggled, muscles straining at the collapsing mud. Crouching, she opened her arms. Her strange voice soared, split through the drumming of rain. Brilliant. The horse reared and beat the ground below her. She straightened, her arms open wider. The mare gained purchase, heaving up, then pranced straight toward her, neighing triumphantly. She tilted her face up and closed her eyes. The mare nosed under her hat, mouthing her short red hair intimately. She held the horse’s head, laughing as her hands trailed the wet mane. Turning, they encircled each other.
    I had to look away. Take a deep breath.
    The two of them walked side by side, both seemingly oblivious to the rain and cold, to where she had dropped the rope. She picked it up and tied it to the saddle horn in a knot, her movements swift and sure.
    I checked the line that bound Cole to the sled, then dragged him to a spot close to where the horse went up. She led the mare pulling the sled, and, with me guiding and pushing, we made it up over the rocks.
    Cole came to, shouting a curse of pain just as we reached the top. Raising his head enough to see her and the horse ahead of us, he grunted, “Who is she?”
    She. I glanced at her. Uncle Lester’s big hat covered most of her face. She was drenched to the skin. She.
    “I don’t know,” I mumbled, unable to form an explanation.
    In the white noise of the rain, he heard a name. “Addie Nell? Addie Nell,” he said. He grasped the sides of the sled as it lurched forward. “That’s a nice name.” Then he cursed God and passed out again.
    She put Cole’s horse in the barn