Mostly Good

Chapter Two

No matter how early he woke up, Mom was already busy at work in the kitchen and Pops was already sitting at the table downing his giant mug of coffee.

"Kota." Pops greeted him in his gravelly voice.

"Hey Pops." Kota yawned and stretched, the thick muscles in his arms and chest bulging.

His mother walked by carrying a carton of fresh eggs. "Nobody's impressed, son. Go put a shirt on."

The young man sleepily turned to go back upstairs. "Dad out at the fields already?"

Pops set his mug down with a grunt. "He's out with Jeremiah and Damon. They're lookin' fer that new filly."

Kota paused on the stairs, thick eyebrows knit in concern. "She jump the fence?"

"Yup."

"Told Dad that stall wouldn't hold her."

"I'm sure he'd appreciate being reminded of that."

Mom chuckled over her pans of sizzling eggs, pancakes, and bacon.

Kota exhaled deeply and went upstairs. He passed several closed doors before entering his room, where he quickly pulled on a clean shirt. Back downstairs he peered out the kitchen window into the darkness. "Its still rainin?"

"Mm." Pops peered over at him. "Radio says should clear up 'round noon tomorrow. Good thing too; yer brother's coming to help with the prepping."

"He finally got round to fixing the seed drill?"

"Yeah. Think he's bringing his new 7600 to hook up to the harrow too."

Kota placed his hat on his short dark hair and headed for the front door. "Sounds good. See y'all in a bit."

"Put on a rainjacket!" Mom ordered as he stepped out onto the porch.

Kota obeyed with a faint smile. He headed down the porch steps and strode across the yard toward one of the barns. The cows had already been taken care of by the farm hands, but the horses were his responsibility. Just as he reached the door, he heard a loud nervous neigh.

Turning, Kota was surprised to see the runaway filly cantering up the dirt driveway toward him, looking agitated. Even more surprising, someone was on her back. Quickly ducking into the barn, Kota grabbed a halter and hurried back outside.

"Whoa! Whoa there, girl! Eeeaassy." Kota carefully approached the animal, hand extended. "Easy there, little lady. That's it." His calm, smooth voice served him well. The filly allowed him to approach, despite fidgeting quite a bit.

He slowly placed a hand on her forehead and stroked it, his other hand running along her neck. With a low nicker the filly relaxed, her prancing stilled. She shook her head in distate as he slipped the halter on, but didn't resist. She was completely drenched and would need a good rubdown.

Kota then turned his attention to the rider, and his eyes widened. "Holy . . ."
She was filthy, soaked, and bloody, arms latched around the filly's neck in a death grip. She wasn't moving.

Kota pushed back the mop of sopping, matted black hair to reveal thick dark eyelashes, cracked lips, and cheeks streaked with mud. He quickly and carefully led the horse to the front of the house and tied her to one of the old hitching posts.

He then tried to remove the girl from the horse's back. Her grip was unusually powerful even while unconscious. As soon as her arms released, Kota pulled her off the horse as gently as possible.

"Mom! Pops!" He kicked the bottom of the screen door. "Open up! Hurry!"

Mom appeared first. "What  are you bangin' on my---" she gasped as she opened the door and saw what he was carrying. "Oh good lord!"

Kota brushed by her and carried the girl inside. Pops stood in the doorway to the living room and stared. "What in blue blazes . . . Who is that?"

"I don't know." Kota gently lay the girl down on the couch by the fireplace. "But she's soaked to the skin and hurt bad. Mom, can you grab some towels?"

His mother was already hurrying upstairs.

"Where's the med kit, Pops?"

"I'll get it, and some warm water and soap for them cuts. Best you stoke the fire," the old man stated as he moved toward the bathroom. "She must be half-frozen."

Kota added more logs to the fireplace until the fire turned from glowing coals to a roaring blaze. Mom came hurrying downstairs followed by Grace, who was carrying an armload of towels. Kota moved aside but stayed close as the women began rubbing the still unconscious girl dry.

"She looks like she rolled around in a pig pen," Grace observed dryly, trying to dry the girl's thick mop of hair. "Where'd you find her?"

"She was riding the filly," Kota revealed, causing them all to look at him in astonishment.

"The filly? She won't hardly let anybody near her, let alone ride her," Pops remarked skeptically, reappearing with the first aid kit and bowl of warm soapy water.

"Horse must've sensed she needed help," Grace suggested, wiping the girl's face with another towel. "Animals can be peculiar like that."

"Could be." Taking the kit and bowl of soapy water from Pops, Kota knelt down and began cleaning and applying antibiotics to the cuts on her arms, face, and legs. There were so many. "Dang . . . Wonder how she got so scraped up."

His mother's face looked uncharacteristically grim. "She's got a lot of old scars too . . . Kota, why don't you bring her upstairs to the big guest room? Grace and I will give her a good bath, get some new clothes on her, and let her rest, poor sweetheart. Then I think we need to call the sheriff."

Kota nodded, though he doubted the phone would work for at least another day or so. Storms around here had that effect on the service. He scooped the girl back up in his arms and carried her upstairs to the large homey bedroom, then left her with the women.

Pops was picking up the dirty towels as he came down. "Well that was some kind of exciting, eh boy?"

"Reckon it was." He glanced back in the direction of the stairs, hoping she would be alright.

"Almost 'nuff to make a man forget 'bout his chores and that horse standing out front," his grandfather continued pointedly.

Reluctanly taking the hint, Kota headed back outside. He led the filly toward the barn, wondering who the mysterious girl was, where she was from, and how she'd ridden the barely broken horse. Hopefully when she woke up, she'd have some answers.

*to be cont*