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Mom nods. “Maybe we could schedule a tour after we settle in? See what options they have for a double major?”
My head snaps up. “Really?”
Some of the weight drops from my chest, making it easier to breathe. I wish we’d had this conversation before, but at least we’re having it now. “I’d like that,” I say.
“As for the whole summer school thing, I’m going to call the district office on Monday to see if there’s anything we can do about the graduation requirements. Having to take three summer school classes is a lot. I really don’t see why your oceanography class can’t count as earth science or why your Intro to Shakespeare class doesn’t count as an English course. It may be a bit more complicated trying to get your first-aid class to count toward health ed, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“That would be great.” She opens her arms for a hug and I lean in. “Thanks, Mom.”
“I love you,” she whispers. When she pulls me in tight, something crinkles in her pocket.
“Oh,” she says, dropping her arms. “I almost forgot. I think you’ll be needing this.” She fishes a wrinkled, folded-up piece of paper out of her pocket and hands it to me. “You should apply.”
It’s the artist-in-residence application I tossed in the trash last night during our fight.
“I dunno,” I say, smoothing it out. “I’m just a—”
“Talented artist waiting to be discovered? Maybe it’s a long shot, but you won’t know unless you try. What’s the worst they can say?”
“No,” I mumble.
“Exactly.” Mom squeezes my hand. “But no means you tried, and it’s so much better than ‘what if.’ Plus, there’s always a chance they’ll say yes.”
She has a point.
“It says I need to submit some sample sketches and a design plan. I don’t have enough material in my sketchbook to work with.”
Mom glances at her watch. “The wagons aren’t scheduled to leave until two…Think you have enough time to work on it now?”
It only takes me a moment to pull on a pair of not-yet-broken-in jeans, a plain cotton scoop-neck tee, and the soft flannel shirt with silver threading throughout the navy blue and pink plaid. I slip on a pair of socks and slide my feet into my new hiking boots, slightly more comfortable to wear after a few days on the trail.
Pencils. Charcoal. Pastels. Sketchbook. Once I’ve gathered all my art supplies, I toss them in my backpack along with some snacks.
Mom waves goodbye from the couch, a coffee table book splayed open on her lap. No one else is awake yet, so thankfully, the rubber soles of my boots are quiet as I tiptoe my way to the door. I race down the stairs and push open the front door. Down the porch steps and to the right, I duck behind the hotel. It’s light enough to see, but the sky is still an icy, pale blue and Fort Bellows is cast in various shades of browns and grays.
Now that I’m outside, I take a deep breath. The air is cool and fresh, with a hint of dew and damp earth. Birds chatter above me. I’m not feeling inspired by the fort, but I know I’ll find what I need out on the prairie. I make my way toward Fort Bellow’s side gate, where the wagon train rolled in yesterday.
Only yesterday? It seems like a lifetime ago.
It doesn’t look secured, but when I push against it, the door doesn’t budge. I try pulling it inward, but no luck. The gate is probably locked to keep people out until the ticket office opens for the day. Trying to slip out the employee entrance is too risky. I rack my brain, trying to remember if I saw another exit while Colton and I were wandering around. My heart squeezes when I remember the cold, hard, and hurt look in his eyes after he overheard the fight with Mom, so different from the warm, soft, and hopeful look when we kissed.
I want to make things right, but I’m not sure how. Somehow I’ll find a way.
A donkey braying snags my attention. The corral.
Right after we checked on Chance, Colton showed me the fenced area where the animals are allowed to roam and graze during the day. If I can get inside the barn, I can get to the corral, and then I can get to the prairie, where there’s plenty of space to think and create for a few hours. At least until it’s time for the excursion to head out again.
CHAPTER 34
Colton
CHANCE STARTS OUT at a slow walk to get warmed up, but as the sun’s rays grow stronger, even behind the thick blanket of clouds, he moves faster across the rutted terrain. Soon we’ve reached a steady trot over the dusty lane leading west.
It’s tranquil out here, with only Chance and Mother Nature for company. Usually I like being alone with them and my thoughts, but not so much this morning. Not even the strongest cowboy coffee could wash away the bitter taste of regret and disappointment.
Chance and I follow the muddy creek bed around the base of a hill until it turns north. We keep on until we reach the edge of the long paved road that leads from the highway to Fort Bellows. It’s quiet now—not a car in either direction—but traffic will pick up once the main gate opens.
The ride back to Fort Bellows goes more slowly. Maybe it’s because I’m tired from a restless night of tossing and turning on a lumpy bunk mattress. Or maybe it’s because I’m not looking forward to having to face Riley after overhearing the argument with her mother. Either way, I don’t coax Chance to go any faster than his current plodding gait. At this rate, it could take hours.
