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“Oh, yeah?”
“A friend of mine. A rodeo performer. I’ll have to introduce the two of you.”
“Rodeo?” Natalie’s look said it all. Yuck. “Can’t imagine anyone involved with the world of rodeo knowing anything about reining horses.”
“You might be surprised.”
In fact, he’d make a point of introducing the two. In the arena a black horse worked—unimpressively, he thought—over so-called trail obstacles that were nothing more than wood poles, tires and plastic bags filled with aluminum cans. The gelding was slow on the uptake, so much so he almost dumped his rider when the man picked up one of the bags.
“That was scary,” he heard Jillian say.
The main arena had been sectioned off into three different pens. The first was meant to showcase the animal’s horse sense—in this case, none. The second was for showing off the animal’s maneuverability. The third was where they would work a cow. The middle ring was the one that Natalie would pay close attention to because that was where the horse would circle, stop and back...along with a few other tasks, all moves that would be necessary at a reining competition.
Less than a minute later a horn sounded, signaling it was time to move. Alas, the black horse didn’t appear to be any better at reining than he was at trail. Meanwhile, a new horse had entered the first ring. There would always be a horse working in one of the pens, something that made watching interesting.
“Here we go,” Jillian said. “This is one of the horses we’re interested in.”
Curiosity made him study the dark bay gelding. Like the horse Jillian had picked out for him, the gelding hardly seemed impressive. No flashy white on his face. No tiny dish head. No thick neck and round butt. He seemed as plain as a brown paper package. He glanced at the catalog. The horse’s name was Playboy Gunslinger.
Each horse had been given ninety seconds to work each pen. The dark bay obviously had a good head on his shoulders, because he didn’t spook at any of the obstacles. He cleared the log poles without a second glance, walked obediently around pylons and didn’t so much as flinch at the bag of cans.
“Well, if I ever need to go on a trail ride, I won’t have to worry about breaking my neck.”
Wes had to agree. He liked the look in the animal’s eyes, too. Even though they were high in the grandstand, he could tell the horse seemed calm and cool, as if nothing would faze him.
A horn sounded again. He sat up a little straighter.
“He’s going to be great,” he heard Jillian say.
Wes almost leaned forward and asked if she’d spoken to the horse personally. For some reason the thought amused him. Nobody could talk to animals, but wouldn’t it be interesting if they could.
Once the gelding stepped into the middle ring, Wes knew they were in for a show. The rider stopped the gelding dead center, dropped the reins and waited for his horse to settle. Even so, Wes could see that the horse waited to be told to go. Like a rock in a slingshot, he wanted to shoot off. Sure enough, the moment the rider tapped the horse with a spur, the animal spun around his hind end so fast that his black mane seemed like streamers of liquid onyx. So fast that the animal appeared to sink low to the ground. So fast that his tail became wound up in his legs.
The audience roared.
“Impressive,” Jillian said.
The rider stopped. Wes wondered if the tall, lanky cowboy on board the animal’s back was dizzy. He sure would be. After a moment or two, he set off at a lope that was both beautiful to watch and clearly comfortable to ride. The horse’s head was low, not too much but enough that Wes knew the animal respected the bit. He was in a snaffle, too, not one of those long-shanked implements of torture known as a spade bit. He watched as the horse changed directions, switched the leg he was leading with as effortlessly as a world-champion horse and continued on with his figure eight.
“I think I need to buy this horse,” Natalie said.
“I think you’ll be bidding against a lot of other people.”
As if hearing him, the crowd erupted, this time at yet another flawless lead change. When the rider headed to the rail and began to pick up speed, everyone knew what came next. Wes held his breath as the animal headed toward the opposite end of the arena at a full-out run. If he’d blinked, he would have missed the cue the rider gave for the gelding to stop, which he did instantly, the horse seeming to sit down, back legs leaving twin skid marks in the dirt.
“Wow.”
It was Jillian who’d spoken but the word was echoed by dozens around him.
“What is a horse like that doing at an auction like this?” Wes asked.
“That’s a good question.” Natalie shot him a glance. “I would expect him to be a futurity horse. He should be out earning money.”
“He was raised on a cattle ranch,” Jillian said. “The kid riding him is the owner’s son. He learned about reining horses by watching YouTube videos.”
Wes’s mouth had dropped open. “He learned all that from a video?”
Jillian leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “Yup. And by studying the rulebook.”
He clamped down on his lips just in time to stop a laugh. Unbelievable.
Whoever the kid was, he had a brilliant career ahead of him as a trainer. The gelding worked the rest of the pattern beautifully. When it came time to switch arenas, Wes expected to be disappointed with the way the animal handled cattle. He wasn’t. He was half tempted to make a bid on the animal himself, except he strongly suspected the horse would sell for more money than he could afford.
“I hope jumping horses pays well.”
Natalie didn’t hesitate. “It does.”
Of course it did. As with horse racing, the people involved had money, and lots of it. The purses for jumping competitions were pretty big, too. He’d heard Natalie had won a big grand prix not too long ago. It made sense that she had the means to afford a nice horse. Yeah, his buddy Colton Reynolds needed to meet her. He’d probably appreciate meeting someone who wasn’t a buckle bunny.
“You’re not even watching the horse I picked out for you.”
Huh? He turned toward the first arena and sure enough, there was the sorrel gelding with the four white socks. He looked tiny beneath the man who rode him, a big hulk of a cowboy with a bushy beard and black half chaps and spurs. Wes disliked him on sight.
You have to buy him.
Jillian’s words reminded him that they did have something in common. They both hated animal abuse. He’d like to rake the man in the sides with his own spurs.
The little gelding barely glanced at the poles in the arena. He seemed unfazed by the bright orange pylons, too, and the audience watching him so intently. Jillian shot him a “See? I told you so” look. When the whistle sounded a little while later, he was curious to see how it would go. Like the man before him, the gelding’s rider paused in the middle of the center arena. He no doubt planned to wow the crowd just as the last cowboy had done, only when he tapped the horse with his spur, the gelding erupted, and not in a good way.
The crowd gasped. Wes came half out of his seat as the demure sorrel gelding turned into the best-looking bronc he’d ever seen. One jump, two, three—the cowboy came off. Wes wouldn’t have been human if he hadn’t found himself amused. The man had it coming with the ice picks he used for spurs.
“Bad horsey.” He could hear the laughter in Natalie’s voice. He shot her a look that conveyed he agreed.
The horse had begun to run around. Much to his credit, the gelding in the cutting arena—the big bay Natalie wanted to buy—hardly spared the little bronc a glance. His owner did, however, stopping the horse as officials ran for the man who lay in the arena. The cow the bay horse had been working ran up the rail nearest to the riderless horse, and Wes couldn’t believe what happened next. The sorrel horse pinned its ears, snaked his head and tried to bite the little steer through the pipe-panel fence. Not only that, but he followed it along the rail. The cow, terrified, turned back in the other direction. So did the gelding. Back and forth the two of them worked, more than a few audience members laughing as the little animal doggedly stalked the calf.
“Too bad he’ll be sifted,” Natalie said.
He would, Wes agreed. Any animal caught misbehaving would be sent home. It was part of why the sale remained popular. You had a better-than-average chance of buying a good animal when all was said and done.
“I can’t really blame the horse for bucking him off,” he admitted.
“What do you mean?” Jillian’s friend asked.
“That’s the horse I was telling you about earlier,” Jillian said. “The one with the spur marks on his sides.”
Someone managed to intercept the animal on the rail, stopping the fun the gelding had been having with the steer. A few people in the crowd groaned. Wes wasn’t the only one who’d been impressed by the gelding’s natural ability.
“You’re going to buy him.”
The statement came from Jillian, and Wes couldn’t believe his ears. “Excuse me?”
Jillian stood up, motioning to Natalie that they should change places. His dog’s tail thumped when he spotted his favorite human.
Traitor, he silently told the dog.
“He’s going to be amazing, Wes.” She sat down next to him. “I know he’s not reining bred, but you saw him with that cow.”
“He could be by Secretariat for all I care. He’s a gelding. I can’t breed him.”
“He has ability. He would have cut that cow by himself if someone who knew what he was doing had been on his back.”
Wes followed her gaze. The horse had been caught. Its head was down, sides heaving, tail swishing as it passed by its still-prone rider.
“I think he might have been hurt,” Natalie observed.
No less than he deserved, but Wes kept the thought to himself. There was no excuse for leaving marks on a horse. If it misbehaved or behaved like a bronc, half the time the spurs had caused the problem, that or a bad-fitting saddle. Men like the guy in the arena—a man who would be okay, judging by the way he waved people away and slowly came to his feet—shouldn’t be allowed to ride horses. They were bullies, pure and simple.
“What makes you think that horse doesn’t have some serious mental issues?”
But he didn’t need to wait for her answer, and he almost shook his head.
“I just know,” she said.
His gaze shot to her own. She had a way of looking at him. A challenge shone from her eyes, but there was also a plea, one that begged him to trust her.
Son of a—
“All right.” He couldn’t keep himself from shaking his head this time, though. “I’ll take a look. But you know he’s going to be sifted. I won’t be able to buy him at the auction. It’d have to be a private treaty sale.”
“All the better. After what just happened, they’ll all but give him away. You could probably buy him out behind the barn right now.”
“For good reason.”
She placed a hand on his thigh. His gaze quickly moved to where her fingers rested, Wes wanting to move his leg out of the way, stopping himself just in time, wondering why he minded her touch so much.
“Just give him a shot.”
Her hand, those eyes... He had to look away. “Okay, fine.”
But he got up before he changed his mind. No, before he convinced himself he should give something else a try...like touching her back, maybe even kissing the woman with the kind green eyes.
Chapter Five (#ulink_b63c8dce-0e3b-5739-b91b-da1f15f0ed0f)
She didn’t have a hard time finding the owner of the sorrel. All she had to do was go out behind the barns, where, just as she expected, the man had the gelding at the end of a lead rope, lunge whip in his hand.
“Don’t you dare hit him!”
The jerk masquerading as a cowboy flew around to face her. She wanted to run forward and grab the whip from his hand.
It’s okay, she told the horse.
The animal stood there, head thrown up in terror, nostrils flaring, feet braced as if waiting for the next blow...which he was.
“Get the hell out of here.”
“I want to buy that horse.” The declaration had popped out of her mouth before she could stop them. If Wes wouldn’t get this horse away from his owner, she would, although she had no idea how she’d afford the purchase price, much less the cost to transport him home.
The cowboy tugged the brim of his hat down low, eyes as dark as the irises of a snake’s. He’d taken off his half chaps, but he still wore his jeans and white button-down, although that shirt was stained by arena mud. He had body-builder shoulders and with his black beard and dark eyes he reminded her of Bluto, a cartoon bully from a decades-old television show.
“You can’t buy him.” The man’s hand lowered. The tip of the long whip touched the ground. “He’s been booted from the sale.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t buy him.” Sensing the man’s obstinacy, she quickly added, “But if you don’t want to sell him today, that’s okay.”
She forced herself to turn away, told her feet to take steps even though every fiber of her being cried out to stand her ground. That horse...that poor horse. She had to save him.
“How much you willing to pay?” the cowboy called out.
“I want to try him first.”
Jillian’s whole body reacted to the words, an involuntary jolt that had her whirling around to face Wes. She hadn’t even seen him follow her, but there he stood, with Cowboy sitting at his feet, panting, tongue out—as if they’d both run to catch up to her.
“Who are you?” Bluto asked.
Wes’s gaze found her own. She smiled, so happy to see him she wanted to run over and hug him.
“I’m Wes Landon, not that it matters. The point is I want to buy your horse.”
They both turned to face the man who still held the reins of the horse. The poor animal hadn’t relaxed one iota. His sorrel coat had started to darken from sweat.
You have to buy him.
She realized she’d looked up and spoken to Wes with her eyes. She’d felt him staring at her. Strangely, though, he seemed to understand.
“Let me get on him.” But he spoke to her, not the man.
“Did you see what happened in there?” Bluto asked.
“I sure did.”
“And you still want to try him?”
“The sooner, the better.”
A breath she hadn’t even known she’d been holding breezed past her lips. She had no need for a cutting horse, but she’d have taken this one home even if it’d meant riding him back and begging people for a second job.
“There’s no cattle to work him on,” the man said.
“That’s okay. I can work him without a cow. I mainly want to see if I can stay on.”
