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Luke pulled a bale of straw toward the tailgate. “What’s this for?”
“Mulch—I thought maybe we’d try to bring the vegetable garden back.” Jake’s eyes flicked toward a weed-choked patch just south of the house. Annie had delighted in her kitchen garden. He and the kids had kept it up even when she could do no more than sit in a lawn chair and supervise. “Maybe Lucy will take an interest.”
Luke slapped Jake’s shoulder. “Maybe, but me and Tom will keep after it if she doesn’t.” He stacked the bales beside the toolshed. “Let’s rustle up some lunch, then I’ll fix that stretch of fence past the creek. Last time I rode out that way it looked like a bull elk sat on it.”
They kicked off their muddy boots before entering the sunlit great room. Jake’s parents had knocked out interior walls to create a living space where the family spent most of their indoor time. A fridge and a massive gas range filled one corner, a round oak table dominated the center of the room, and a scuffed leather couch faced the wide fireplace. Plants Annie had tended lovingly sat along the ledge of a wide west-facing window—geraniums, aloes, a bay laurel and a huge flowering cactus Jake had given her as a tiny plant their first Christmas together. Scarlet blossoms still clung to the cascading stems; Jake harbored an unreasonable anger it should bloom so extravagantly with Annie dead.
Tom sat in the recliner with an ice pack draped across his left thigh. Annie had bought the chair for Jake after a cow, resentful of being separated from her calf, had landed him with five broken ribs. As she’d weakened, the chair had become her command post from which she coached Jake and the boys through simple meal prep. Now whoever needed it most used it, although Jake never sat there without sharing it with Annie’s ghost.
Luke set an iron skillet on the range and threw in half a pound of bacon while Jake pulled eggs from the fridge.
“Don’t scramble the eggs to rubber,” Tom said. “And toss me a fresh ice pack—this one’s thawed.”
Luke fetched the heavy ice pack from the freezer and dropped it in his brother’s lap. “Anything else? Champagne? Couple of buckle bunnies?”
“Hey, Doc said I should rest my leg,” Tom said. “Guess I won’t be able to stretch wire with you.”
“Aw, stop whining for sympathy.”
A thundering silence filled the room. Annie’s presence—or rather her absence—hung in the air. She’d have been exclaiming over Tom’s injury and whipping up his favorite lunch.
They had just finished eating when Mike Farley’s blue pickup pulled behind the house. A door slammed and Lucy Cameron blew into the kitchen, her red-gold hair flying. She skidded to a halt by Tom’s chair.
“Hey, big bro! Nice win—I watched at Mike’s last night. How’s the leg?”
“Just bruised—it won’t keep me from riding.” Tom jerked his chin toward Jake. “Get a load of the old man.”
Lucy turned toward Jake. Her blue eyes widened. “What happened? Are you okay?” For a moment the brittle mask slipped—Jake thought she might actually care.
“Skidded off the road coming home last night,” he said. “The driving was pretty bad—I’m glad you stayed at Mike’s.” He peered out the window. “You steal his rig?”
“I forgot my stupid uniform for work,” she said. “Mike’s got basketball practice, so I drove home to get it. I’ve got a rehearsal till five and then the Queen till closing. Mike will bring me home.”
She whirled toward the stairs but turned back with one foot on the step. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
He smiled, although it hurt his scraped cheek. “I’m fine—you should see the other guy.”
“That’s good.” She pounded up the stairs and galloped out the door moments later with her striped tunic flying behind her like a flag.
“I think we just got brushed by Hurricane Lucy,” Tom said. “I don’t know how Mike puts up with her—she’d drive me nuts.”
* * *
LUKE DROVE OUT on Thursday with Tom riding shotgun, headed for the next event in Des Moines. Ordinarily they would have driven straight through to arrive for Friday night’s go-round but they had decided to stretch the trip over two days to pamper Tom’s leg.
“Maybe I’ll just watch,” Tom had said, but Jake knew he’d be straddling his bulls, hoping to land on his sound leg and hop to a safe getaway.
Jake headed for the barn after they left. He and Luke had mended the downed fence, but he still needed to check on the line camp at the far edge of their spread. The boys took turns sleeping in the old cabin during the summer break in the bull-riding schedule, keeping an eye on the cow and calf pairs grazing there. Great pasture, but sometimes a cat would come in from the backcountry for a feed of fresh veal. He needed to hire another hand, but it was hard to compete with the better wages and easier hours in the gas fields around Farmington.
He couldn’t find the hammer he might need for repairs on the cabin; maybe it was in his rig. When he rummaged under the driver’s seat, he found a well-chewed rubber dog toy. Must belong to Shelby Doucette’s dog; he’d heard Stranger working at something while they drove. Shelby had no transportation into town for a replacement. He pulled keys from his pocket. The cabin could wait.
When he reached Durango, he stopped at the Farm and Ranch Exchange before heading north to the Norquist ranch. Forty pounds of food wouldn’t last long for a dog Stranger’s size; he’d pick up another bag, just to be neighborly.
Oscar studied him from across the counter at the Exchange. “You don’t look quite so much like you been kicked in the face,” he said. “You here for those fence staples?”
“Yeah, and I’ll take some of that dog food we stopped for on Monday.” He hoped Oscar would remember what Shelby had bought. “Could be Norquist’s trainer is running short for her big mutt.”
“You’re a day late—Gary bought a bag yesterday. Guess he figures to bribe his way into her jeans.”
Jake’s fist balled on the counter. “I knew he’d be trouble.”
“He tried getting cute with my sister’s youngest girl,” Oscar said. “While she was working evenings at Denny’s. Kept coming by around quitting time, sweet-talking about how pretty she is and how he could show her a good time after work.”
“That’s Lorrie? The one who joined the Air Force?”
“That’s her. She’s way too smart to fall for a line like that,” Oscar said, “but he had her spooked. She started asking me or her dad to pick her up after work. One night business was slow and her boss told her to punch out early.”
“So no ride waiting.”
A grin lit Oscar’s face. “I got there just about the time Gary tried to force her into his rig. I lit up the parking lot like Mile High Stadium and leaned on my horn. The manager and half a dozen customers came running out and heard him call her a dirty squaw just before he took a swing at me.”
Oscar inspected his knuckles. “I had to defend myself. One of us ended up needing dental work.”
“Not you, I’d guess.” Jake pulled the dog toy out of his pocket. “Just sell me another one of these. Her dog left it in my rig—they probably get lost pretty easy.”
“Whatever happened to flowers and candy?” Oscar held up a hand. “Just saying, brother.”
Jake shrugged and paid for the rubber KONG. Oscar pulled a sample package of Greenies dog chews from under the counter. “Take these too, pard.”
Jake didn’t try to protest—Oscar knew him too well. They had been best buds since the day they’d fought to a standstill at age nine over a mustang that had eluded both of them.
His speed dropped as he approached the turnoff to Norquist’s spread. He must be nuts, trailing after Shelby Doucette like a lovesick teenager. What did he know about her except she was an able horse trainer?
Okay, she was beautiful and smart about horses, but he’d be stupid to get involved—he had enough headaches with Lucy. How would she react? With anger, seeing her father interested in any woman after her mother? Too much to hope she’d be glad for him—she’d sulked and refused to come along the couple of times he’d taken June Buck and her kids out for a movie and pizza.
He turned in at the ranch road and parked by the barn. Shelby stood outside the steel-pole round pen watching Liz Norquist work the bay mare on a long line. Stranger lay in the sun nearby, chewing on a curl of hoof paring.
Jake closed his door softly, not wanting to spook the horse. Stranger lifted his head and stood with a soft woof. Shelby turned, and he thought he caught a flash of welcome, even gladness on her face. Just as quickly it faded, replaced by a polite smile.
He pulled the old toy from his pocket. “Your buddy left this in my rig.”
“You shouldn’t have driven all this way to bring it,” she said. “Mr. Norquist trimmed up the roan mare’s feet, so Stranger’s got plenty to chew on. But thanks.” She turned to the dog. “Thank Mr. Cameron, Stranger.”
Jake hunkered down and presented the toy. “You can call me Jake, Stranger.”
The dog took the KONG from Jake’s hand and offered a paw.
“I thought about picking up more dog food,” Jake said, straightening, “but Oscar said you already had plenty.”
Shelby’s expression turned blank. “Someone from the ranch bought another bag yesterday.” She turned toward the pen. “Come see how the bay is doing.”
The mare’s hide gleamed like mahogany in the spring sunshine; the unkempt mane and forelock had been combed and plucked. “Looks like a different horse,” Jake said. “You’ve got her shed out and trimmed up nice. You starting the roan next?”
Shelby laughed. “No need—she’s just a stray. She’s got what looks like an old rope burn on her off-rear fetlock and a healed fistula on her withers. We’ll handle her just enough to get her used to people again. Liz won’t have any trouble getting her under saddle after she drops her foal.”
Jake peered into the corral where the pregnant mare stood nosing the hay piled beside the fence. “That horse looks familiar. Any idea where she’s from?”
“Some national parkland near here—I forget the name.” She snapped her fingers. “Mesa Verde, I think.”
Jake laughed. “Now I know her. She’s an escape artist from the Ute Reservation—six or seven owners, including Oscar. I helped him doctor that fistula. I doubt he’ll want her back—she’s more trouble than she’s worth. Make sure the gate has a good latch and then chain it, or she’ll take off cross-country with Ross’s whole string behind her.’”
“Thanks for the heads-up,” Shelby said with a rueful laugh. “I hope Liz can hang on to her long enough to get her foal weaned. The bay’s coming right along—we’ll have a saddle on her in a couple more days. Then I’ll start the colt.” She sighed. “Mr. Norquist is right. He’ll need to be gelded, but I’d wait if he were mine. He’s on the smallish side—I’d like to see him get a little more growth.”
“Why don’t you offer to buy him? Ross didn’t want him in the first place.”
“And do what with him? I can’t keep a horse at a post office box.” She turned away. “Stranger and I travel light.”
Jake took a deep breath. “Maybe I could—”
“Well, howdy, Mr. Cameron.” Gary Norquist’s voice made them both jump. “Here to check on the little lady?” He moved closer to Shelby, and she sidestepped toward the fence.
“Pick her up to a lope,” she said to Liz. “Don’t let her cut in on you.”
Liz nodded and flicked the loose end of the rope. The horse flowed around the circular enclosure in a smooth rocking-horse gait, throwing in a flourish of her heels as she passed the observers.
“She tries that under saddle,” Gary said, “I’ll straighten her out pretty quick.”
“Your mom won’t need your help,” Shelby said without turning her head. “She’s doing just fine.”
Jake heard Gary mutter a curse, echoed by a soft growl from Stranger, and resisted the impulse to backhand him. Shelby gave no sign she’d heard him.
“Give her a few more circuits at a walk, Liz, then we’ll quit while she’s still having fun.” Shelby turned back to Jake. “Thanks again for bringing Stranger’s KONG, Mr. Cameron.” He heard dismissal in her voice.
“I picked up an extra at the Exchange,” Jake said, “and Oscar thought Stranger might like these.” He handed her the new toy and the dog treats.
He got a warmer smile, and Stranger put both paws on Jake’s shoulders, almost staggering him and treating him to a wet swipe of the tongue.
“Glad he’s friendly,” Jake said, rumpling the dog’s ears. “I’d hate to have him coming at me in a bad mood.”
“Down, Stranger!” Shelby grasped the dog’s collar. “He knows who he likes.” She didn’t look at Gary.
Jake turned to go, his boots dragging, but he had no excuse to hang around. “Remember, you’ve got a ride coming when your car’s ready,” he said over his shoulder. “Just give me a call.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll keep that in mind.” The gate clanged as she let herself into the round pen with Liz and the bay mare.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_35dbfc5b-1b8d-507e-8a37-b2b408cdd0f9)
SHELBY DIDN’T TURN around until she heard Jake’s truck start up. She’d made a rule long ago never to allow anyone to come too close, just as she never formed an attachment to the horses she trained. Occasionally she ran across one that tempted her, like the gray colt, but she always reminded herself how owning a horse would slow her down when she had to move on.
She opened the gate for Liz to lead the bay into the pen with the roan, slipping Liz a chunk of apple to give the mare. She didn’t hold with handing out treats every time a horse did something right, but training stuck longer with food rewards. The bay had decent lines and no bad habits from previous poor handling; she’d make Liz a good mount.
“I saw you talking to Jake Cameron,” Liz said, hitching the mare to a fence post. “He have some business with Ross?”
Shelby explained Jake’s errand—it sounded pretty lame.
“Maybe he’s got a green horse and wanted to see how you work. Although he’s a pretty fair hand with horses himself from what I’ve heard—breaks them gentle.”
“Old guy like him can’t ride rough stock,” Gary said, leaning his elbows on the fence and peering between the rails. “His son’s my age—me and Tom were the same year in high school.”
“Except Tom graduated,” his mother said with a snort, “unlike some.” She bore down with the currycomb so the mare shifted sideways. “Sorry, sugar.”
“Jake’s a good man,” she said to Shelby. “He went through hell with his wife sick so long and then lost her in spite of everything he could do. His boys were grown and handled it pretty good, but his daughter—”
“Stuck-up little—”
“Take a hitch in it, Gary,” his mother said over her shoulder. “Don’t you even think about Lucy Cameron. Jake’s wearing the boots that can still kick your butt.”
“I ain’t scared of him,” Gary said, “but she’s just a baby. I fancy a real woman.” He turned and swaggered toward the barn.
Liz sighed deeply and resumed her grooming. “He’s my son,” she said, “and I love him, but I don’t much like him. You let me know if he’s bothering you.”
Shelby couldn’t think of anything kind to say. She’d known from the moment her boots hit the ground Gary would be a problem. With luck she could stay out of his way and be gone before he got up the nerve to make his move. Liz and Ross Norquist were good folks; she couldn’t think what they’d done to deserve such a son.
* * *
THREE DAYS LATER, Shelby sat on a bale in the center of the round pen pulling loose handfuls of alfalfa and strewing them around her feet. She didn’t look directly at the gray colt but tracked his movements from the corner of her eye. He’d done a lot of snorting and pawing when she had first entered the pen two hours earlier. Finally he inched closer, ears sharply pricked and nostrils distended.
She gathered hay from the ground and rubbed it between her palms to release its fragrance. The colt extended his neck...
“Want me to drop a loop on him? You’re never gonna catch him that way.”
At the sound of Gary’s voice, the horse snorted and bolted to the far side of the pen. Shelby controlled the urge to leap to her feet swearing.
“No rope.” She managed to keep her voice soft. “Where’s your mother?” She had stationed Liz just inside the stable door to head off any such intrusion.
“Gone into town for a tractor part,” Gary said. “I figured I’d hang around in case you needed some help. Stud colt, you can’t never tell.”
She wanted to tell him he could help by taking himself to the next county or maybe the next state.
Stranger would have warned her of Gary’s approach, but she’d locked him in the tack room so he wouldn’t distract the colt. She stood and slipped through the gate, working her way around the pen at an unhurried pace but never turning her back on Gary.
“I been in the shed working on the tractor,” Gary said. He took a step in her direction.
She willed anger to overshadow fear. A predator like Gary would sense fear—it probably turned him on. She crossed to the barn and picked up the hose to wash the mud from her boots, ready to turn it on him if she had to.
Gary watched from a safe distance, his hat cocked back and his thumbs hooked in his belt. “Guess you don’t need no help today,” he said with a smirk. “Maybe later.”
“I don’t think so.” She kept the hose running until he swaggered out of sight toward the shed.
