Something Extra

CHAPTER ONE

The pinto, a mixture of chestnut and white, reluctantly submitted to the pressure of the reins and turned away from the rich grasses of his pasture. His head bobbed rhythmically from side to side as he plodded down the rutted lane. Fifteen summers had been seen by his soft brown eyes. He no longer pranced and tossed his brown and white mane, nor tugged at the bit between his teeth. Through the years he had grown fat and lazy, saving his energy to swish away flies and tear at the long green grass so that he would have the strength to see another South Dakota winter sweep by.

The horse didn't need to look at a calendar to see the month of September preparing to make way for October. He had only to look at the trees and their green leaves that were dotted with gold and orange, or to raise his brown eyes to the blue skies and see the gathering of birds which were ready to begin the migration to the south at the first sign of cold. The waving fields of wheat next to his pasture had ripened and their grains of gold hung heavily on their slender stalks. The days were still warm, but the nights held a chill. The pinto had already begun growing his shaggy coat to ward off the cold north-west winds.

A heel dug firmly into his side, and he snorted his dislike before amiably breaking into a rocking canter. The weight on his back was light and the hands holding his reins were gentle. The pinto's dark ears pricked forward as a brightly plumed rooster pheasant took wing ahead of them. But there was not the slightest break in his stride. A hand touched the side of his neck in praise, followed by a checking of reins. The aging pinto gladly settled back into a shuffling trot and finally to his plodding walk.

The girl astride his bare back sighed deeply, letting the circled reins drop in front of her while placing her hands on her hips. Her bare legs dangled from his fat sides as she balanced herself easily on his broad back. She squinted her own soft brown eyes at the sun's glare, feeling its warmth on the skin not covered by the white halter top or the blue shorts. If she had looked for them, she would have seen all the signs of autumn that the horse did. But her gaze flitted over them all, looking but not seeing.

Her figure was adequate, not over-curvaceous nor over-slender, just somewhere in the middle. In her bare feet, she stood five feet four, an average height for an average build. Her hair was the same warm brown shade as her eyes, thick and cropped in a feathery boy-cut that allowed its thickness and natural wave to frame her oval face. Again her features were average, not possessing any startling beauty, only a pleasing wholesomeness.

When she was younger, Jolie Antoinette Smith used to moan about her lack of glamorous beauty. Her father always used to gather her in his arms in one of his giant bear hugs and in his laughing voice teased her.

"You have a pair of very nice eyes to see with; a nose to breathe and smell with; nice, generous lips to frame a mouth that talks and eats with its full set of white teeth." Then he would lift her downcast chin with his hand and study her face closely. His voice would become very serious. "And by my latest count, you have two thousand, four hundred and thirty-seven freckles, which you ought to thank the good Lord for, because he's the one who sprinkled gold dust all over your face."

She would be scowling by that time at the faint freckles that were there and not there, so light were they. Her father would then tickle the corner of her mouth, forcing her to smile.

"And he also gave you a matching set of dimples!" he ended triumphantly. Even though Jolie knew he was prejudiced in her favor, she always felt better after one of those sessions. It was only as she grew older that she realized he had been trying to make her content with the way she was, with the things she couldn't change. Yes, she had long ceased to curse the fact that she had been endowed with both freckles and dimples, too, and learned to endure the good-natured teasing that they always brought.

Even though Jolie seldom rated a second glance when she was walking down a street, the men who did become acquainted with her found that she was an excellent listener, had a ready smile, and could carry on a conversation without giggling. She was the kind of girl that got invited home to meet mother while her girl friends were invited to parties. After hearing tales of what went on at some of the parties, Jolie wasn't sure she would have liked it, but she never had the chance to find out for herself.

She was home now after a little more than three years in which she had crammed a four-year college course. She had finished her education and obtained her degree, but now what? What came next? Inside Jolie felt that surge of restlessness, that heightening sense of dissatisfaction.

She had come home and all was different while it remained the same. Home. A three hundred and sixty acre tract of land sixty miles from Yankton, South Dakota, where for the entire twenty-one years of her life, Jolie's parents had farmed. It had been a good life, and a hard life at times, the difference dictated by the weather and its effect on the crops. But it was her parents' life and not hers.

The pinto paused to munch on a tempting clump of grass until Jolie raised herself out of her indifference to lift his head away.

"If you eat any more, Scout, your sides will burst," she admonished. Dutifully the horse plodded on. "Poor old Scout," Jolie sighed, "you've changed, too, just like me. Whoever said 'You can't go home again' was right."

Her parents had lived by themselves for the last three years and had grown accustomed to it. They no longer knew how to treat Jolie. She was not a child any more, but to them she would never be quite an adult. Madelaine, her older sister by one year, was married and already had two children as well as a life completely separate from Jolie's. Change was the only constancy. And that included John Talbot.

Jolie saw his pick-up truck parked on the field turn-off of the country road. His tall, sunburned figure was standing on the edge of a wheat field, the muscles in his arms gleaming in the late morning sunlight. A stalk of wheat was between his teeth as he lifted an arm in greeting. Without any effort his long stride carried him to the edge of the field as Jolie drew level atop her pinto. His large hands encircled her waist and lifted her to the ground. There John lowered his head and with the ease of habit claimed her mouth in a kiss. Jolie responded just as naturally, liking the warmth and the closeness of his body next to hers.

"Hi." The gleam of quiet affection in his tawny gold eyes was comfortably pleasing, as was the slow smile. "It's been a long time since you've come out to visit me in the fields."