Where Hearts Run Wild Read online

  Where Hearts Run Wild

  Glen Olson

  Published: 2017

  ISBN: 978-1-62210-451-2

  Published by Blue Swan Publishing. Copyright © 2017, Glen Olson.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Manufactured in the USA

  Email [email protected] with questions, or inquiries about Blue Swan Publishing or Ten West Publishing.

  Blurb

  A cunning wild horse gallops the Colorado open plains with the spirit of a storm. A wayward youth and the horse meet and recognize their rebelliousness in one another. Magically, an attraction is formed and the two venture out into a world of painful trails, transforming their lives forever.

  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to Sheilah, my sweet and wonderful wife now in heaven, who inspired me to write this book as a message to young people, providing them with hope and a ray of sunshine in their lives.

  Chapter 1

  The sun bathed the tall brownish grass that rolled gently with the wind, creating waves that caressed the green oak trees that dotted the wide-open Colorado prairie. The foothills at the edge of the prairie continued this ensemble, eventually sweeping higher and higher into the horizon-filled mountains, hooded by a deep blue endless sky.

  The day seemed calm enough, and all appeared right with nature. For out here, primarily only the sounds of wind, rain, and thunder were heard along with the nightly cries of distant coyotes. Except for this summer day as unexpected horse hooves were heard pounding the earth.

  A wild horse appeared in the distance, running at a good clip. Its hooves created a cloud of sun-lit dust that trailed behind the animal as it wound its way down a foothill and onto the prairie flats.

  The horse came to a dusty, kicking halt. The animal was large in stature—a specimen of good health. A stallion; lean, shiny with sweat, and muscular. He was reddish brown in color and wild as the prairie wind. The horse breathed heavily, steam blowing from dilated nostrils. He scanned the horizon with fire in his eyes. Fire that told us something had rattled his peace of mind, had shaken his world. The horse was somewhat of a legend and had inherited the name Rebel by his human adversaries. A name that well suited him.

  Before Rebel could settle, the sound of running horse hooves was heard in the distance. Rebel turned his head quickly and saw two wild, multi-colored horses approaching fast. The two ran on the same trail Rebel had taken down to the prairie floor. Rebel whinnied loudly, obviously upset upon seeing the animals.

  The two horses approached Rebel, slowed their run and began to circle him. They too were sweat-covered, and it was obvious a chase had taken place with Rebel being the target of their pursuit. Rebel snorted with a growl. The two horses neighed back as they continued to circle their prey.

  The three animals eyed one another with caution and suspicion. Their nervousness seemed to fill the air, and for a few moments, no other sound could be heard except the steam bursting from the nostrils of these warriors and the clicking of their hooves of bone. Hostility was peaking to a boiling point.

  Suddenly, and without provocation, one of the spotted horses reared up onto its hind legs and began to thrash his front legs with a deafening whinny.

  Walking on his hind legs, the horse approached Rebel. Using his front legs as if he were a boxer throwing haymakers, the multi-colored horse began to strike Rebel with a series of blows to his neck and body.

  Rebel reared on his hind legs and with his powerful hooves, he began to fight back.

  The two animals wailed out primal screams as they continued to slam their hooves into each other. Each horse began to bleed as their sharp hooves ripped into their hides, creating deep gashes.

  The multi-colored horse began to falter. The animal lowered itself to the ground and stood on all four legs. Rebel seized the opportunity, with his fighting instinct telling him to go for the kill. Go for it now before his opponent’s partner joined in the battle. Still standing on his back legs, Rebel lunged at the standing horse and began to thrash it in a series of powerful hits. The spotted animal fell to the ground and screeched out in pain.

  With that, the second horse reared and made an attack on Rebel, striking him in the same violent manner. But Rebel was in the heat of the battering scuffle. His temper was flaming to the point he felt nothing. No blood, no pain. His only quest was to conquer the two horses or be conquered. And the latter was not part of Rebel’s nature, not an option under any circumstances.

  Rebel struck back with another round of pounding blows that hit the second horse hard and fast. The horse began to suffer several cuts, and blood streamed down his perspiring coat. Rebel continued to attack which forced the second horse to back into a tree.

  The impact caused a branch to break from the tree and fall to the ground.

  At the same time, a frightened prairie gopher attempted to scramble from its hole in the ground to escape the horse hooves that danced around him as though they were jackhammers. However, before he could flee the scene, the tree branch fell squarely on his back and pinned him to the ground. The little animal squealed in pain and struggled to free himself, but it was to no avail.

  The first horse that attacked Rebel stood, shook himself off, neighed out a cry and ran toward the foothills. The second horse managed to step away from Rebel, and it too galloped off after the first fleeing animal.

  Rebel lowered to all four legs. He held his head high in victory as his angry eyes watched his defeated enemies trail off into the distance. His nostrils flared as his heavy breathing pushed steam into the air. He was cut up, but the wounds were mostly superficial, and the bleeding had either slowed or stopped.

  Nearby, a small creek wound its way gently through the prairie floor. Rebel crossed to the water and stepped in. He moved to the middle of the creek and lay on his side. He rolled over a time or two as the cool blue waters washed away the blood and cleaned his cuts nature’s way.

  Back near the tree, the gopher continued to struggle, unable to free himself from under the fallen branch.

  The rodent was doomed for it would be nightfall in a few hours, and the coyotes would surely be coming to the creek for a drink of water. They would, of course, take great delight in finding a dinner they did not have to hunt for or fight for. The gopher screamed out in frustration and pain. Rebel heard the cry for help. He looked in the direction of the tree and spotted the squirming gopher. Rebel stood and walked out of the stream and crossed to the trapped animal.

  Panic-stricken, the gopher peeked up at Rebel, sure he was a goner. Rebel’s hooves appeared to be giant pillars compared to the tiny creature. Rebel paused and studied the animal a curious moment. The gopher whimpered for mercy. Rebel lowered his head, and with one firm nudge of his nose, he pushed the branch off the gopher’s back, setting him free.

  The little rodent scurried away as fast as his legs could carry him. Rebel watched after the departing animal. Only now, his eyes were calm, his breathing mild. Noble would be the most appropriate word to describe this mysterious horse. Could he be an animal with a clear sense of right and wrong? A pioneer among the horse family who maybe, just maybe, had reached a higher plane of understanding as to the order of things? A primitive, yet clear understanding as to who gets punished, and who goes free.

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nbsp; Chapter 2

  It was a humid summer day in the urban residential neighborhood near downtown Denver. Dark, two-story brick homes some fifty to seventy-five years in age lined the streets. The glory days of this section of the city had long passed, leaving behind housing for the less than middle class. A mix of minority children played soccer in the street. An occasional car passed by and honked its horn at the children. The driver would dodge a scruffy soccer ball and yell at the children to get off the street. But they had no place to go—at least no place that was safe.

  Fifteen-year-old Bobby Shortino strutted down the sidewalk wearing his usual cocky and overconfident smile. Bobby was a handsome lad with dark features blooming from his Italian heritage. He was not too tall, but then again, he was not too short for his age either. That’s important when your last name is Shortino. Many scuffling street fights had taken place over this name, adding to the hard edge Bobby felt he had to show the world.

  Bobby’s dark brown hooded jacket somehow gave him the confidence he needed for survival on the streets.

  For he was a hot-blooded kid and was considered by authorities and others to be a youth heading down the path of becoming an incorrigible delinquent. But Bobby always claimed with a huff, “What do they know?”

  Bobby was once a member of a “loose gang” with floating membership. Although not a drug user himself, he moved to Denver from Los Angeles with his mother. Unbeknownst to her, Bobby had a mission to recruit other members and broaden the organization’s drug trafficking efforts. Not hard drugs. Marijuana, uppers, and downers. Nothing in the big leagues as Bobby and his colleagues were too young for that; they were in the minors just waiting to be called up. He was successful for a time, but his duties were cut short as his rebelliousness became more than the gang wanted to deal with. His pushing the independence envelope was considered a high risk. It was too flashy and created a spotlight the gang did not want to be in. By mistake, and being an amateur, Bobby also made some “dirty deals,” and the money from those transactions was never fully accounted for.

  Bobby’s mother was a drug addict. Growing up in that environment left bitterness in his heart—a lonely space that he was sure would never be filled with anything but the fire of anger. Bobby now lived alone in the city away from his mother. He stayed with friends here and there, and sometimes at the YMCA or vacated buildings with friends of his own like and kind. And sometimes in the streets.

  Sadly, his youth and the joy that it can bring had slipped away—a candle blown out by a chilly breeze before it had a chance to be a shining light.

  Bobby did have another side to him that almost no one had ever seen. Under the shadows of trouble, there was an intelligent and sensitive young man. There had never been anyone or anything to bring out these qualities, and he had never had the opportunity to show the world that maybe underneath the swagger and bravado there just might be a good kid with something to show, something to offer. And so, like a boxer in the ring, Bobby kept his gloves on and his guard up, determined to go the rounds and never get knocked down on the canvas.

  Bobby stopped walking and looked about with caution. He then slipped a few feet down an alleyway and pressed his body against the edge of a building. He carefully peered out from the cornerstone, eyeing an elderly woman who was walking down the street in Bobby’s direction, seemingly unaware of his presence.

  The woman reached the alleyway where Bobby was lurking, and before she could take another step, Bobby lunged out from behind the building and blocked the woman’s path. He grabbed her purse. The woman screamed with fright. However, she did not let loose of her purse.

  “Let go!” growled Bobby. “You don’t want to get hurt, do ya?”

  The two continued to struggle. Suddenly, the woman overpowered Bobby and pulled the purse away from him in a surprising show of strength. Bobby reeled back with a start, surprised by the old woman’s move. Bobby glared at the woman with tight frustration.

  “I saw you come out of the bank,” said Bobby. “And I know it’s government payday! So give me some cash, now!”

  The woman took in Bobby, in a surprisingly calm manner. “You poor little boy. Whatever did happen to you?”

  The old woman had Bobby in a corner, and he knew it. He could feel it in his bones. The tough guy vanished for a moment as the woman’s words chilled his nerves. Now he could only stand his ground and pretend he had the upper hand. “The money!” he said with a cool voice. “Okay?”

  The woman smiled, and this unnerved Bobby even more. She then reached into her purse and withdrew a handful of bills. She held the money out to Bobby who looked at it unsure, suspicious as to what exactly the woman was up to. Why would she fight like a wolf one minute and then hand over her money so easily the next? Oh well, Bobby thought, maybe she was too old and feeble to know what she had done. Bobby then snatched the money out of the woman’s hand. He eyed it for a quick count. “That’s it? Where’s the rest?”

  “In the bank,” said the woman. “That’s all I have left.”

  The woman’s words appeared to have had an effect on Bobby. He quickly peeked at the money in his hand, then extracted a few bills and jammed them into the woman’s purse. The woman continued to remain calm, which now had Bobby on the verge of freaking out.

  “Thank you,” said the woman, smiling at Bobby.

  “Whatever,” Bobby said, shaking his head.

  And with that, Bobby turned and ran down the street. The woman stared at him with dismay.

  As Bobby ran down the street, he pocketed the woman’s money in a jacket pocket. He glanced back a time or two in the direction of the woman, but he did not slow his sprint. Bobby smirked, confident he had pulled off the “job” without a hitch, even though he continued to wonder why the old lady was cool about things. Bobby looked back one last time as he rounded the corner of a building and darted into an alley.

  But to Bobby’s shock and with sudden impact, he ran headlong into the powerful grip of two Denver police officers. Jolted sober by the boys in blue, Bobby began to struggle for his freedom.

  “Lemme go, lemme go,” Bobby wailed. “Get your hands off me!”

  “Not today, sonny boy!” Officer number one said as he and his fellow officer forced Bobby to the pavement.

  The officers quickly handcuffed him. Officer number one frisked him in a heated manner and found the woman’s money in his jacket pocket. The officer waved the money in front of Bobby’s face. “You don’t want to get hurt, do ya?” the officer said, mocking the words Bobby had said to the woman. His fellow officer withdrew a small microphone/speaker from his shirt pocket and showed it to Bobby. The electronic device was to communicate with the “old woman” for her safety and to listen to Bobby during the sting.

  “Give me some cash, now!” the officer said, shaking his head in dismay. Bobby recoiled in shock as he stared at the microphone/speaker.

  “You can’t get away with this!” said Bobby. “I’ve got my rights, and I’m only fifteen!”

  Officer number one looked at Bobby with a tad of sympathy. “Bobby Shortino, you flushed your rights down the drain three convictions ago! Now on your feet, let’s go! We’ll read you your rights on the way to the station!” The two officers stood Bobby on his feet. Bobby eyed the men then gazed about in desperation—a pup with his legs caught in a bear trap.

  * * * *

  The interrogation room at the Denver Police Department was a dreary place. The tan walls appeared as though they had never had a fresh coat of paint since the day the room was open for business. The proverbial metal hooded light hung above a nondescript table and four chairs. There was a dark tinted one-way window on a wall of the room.

  Bobby sat at the table with his face buried in his crossed arms. At the other end of the table stood Lieutenant Dan Collins. Collins was good at his job with twenty-five years of experience to back it up. He eyed Bobby with mixed emotions, contemplating on what exactly he should say to a kid he had seen
too many times before. Collins was a clear thinker who maintained a positive attitude in the face of negative situations. He searched for the good in juveniles and older lawbreakers he worked with no matter how bad they may have appeared, or what their crime may have been—save murder, child molesting, rape, and the battering of women and children.

  There was no tolerance for those types. None.

  Bobby’s probation officer, Dick Crest, leaned against a wall. His figure was partially hidden by shadows. Crest was in his thirties, and his patience in dealing with Bobby had run out. The arrest of Bobby and this meeting would be a turning point in their relationship. The silence in the room was deafening. Collins took a step toward Bobby. “Shortino,” he said as he pointed to Crest. “Do you know this man?”

  Bobby mumbled incoherently.

  “What?” said Collins.

  “Yeah,” Bobby said with his head still buried in his arms.

  “Well, then who is he?” Collins said in a kindlier voice.

  Bobby glared up at Crest with a sneer. “He thinks he’s my probation officer.”

  Crest moved to Bobby with an expression that reflected his frustration. “Now, I’ve had enough of this! You listen to me, kid—”

  Collins waved off Crest. “Never mind, Crest.” Collins focused back on Bobby. “Bobby, Crest is your probation officer. But he can never find you. And you don’t report in on time, if ever!”

  “That’s right!” said Crest. “And I’m here to tell the lieutenant that you are beyond probationary status and should be locked up!”

  The words hit Bobby like an icy snowball as he looked at Collins for some mercy.

  “Bobby,” said Collins. “Nobody in this department can control you anymore. Do you know what that means?”

  “Yeah, it means I’m a screw-up!” said Bobby.

  Collins and Crest exchanged a look which told Bobby they were not impressed with his back talk and rebellious attitude. Collins picked up a file from the table and began to thumb through it as he walked around the table. Bobby watched Collins, worried as to what might come next. Crest continued to look at Bobby with measured contempt.