Читать книгу Familiar Showdown - Caroline Burnes - Страница 10

October is normally my favorite month. Eleanor, my humanoid, lights the first fire of the season in the library, and I curl up on my favorite green velvet pillow, the one that brings out the color of my eyes. But I’m not in Washington, D.C., where I belong. I’m in South Dakota. At the foot of the Black Hills. On a horse ranch of all things. And these aren’t even nice horses. These are rogues and outlaws.

The only benefit is that I get to hang with one fine-looking woman. While I feel Stephanie Ryan wastes a whole lot of energy on those bad horses, I have to admit that she looks good in tight jeans, boots and even those chaps. With her long, straight chestnut hair and those dark eyes, she could be some cowboy’s fantasy. And she has a special way with horses. Or at least that’s what Eleanor says. She’s a “gentler.” That’s someone who helps troubled horses and makes them safe.

She’s out there right now working with that devil horse, Black Jack. He’s black sure enough—in color and temperament. In the fifteen minutes I’ve been watching, he’s charged at Stephanie and tried to trample her. All she wants him to do is trot the circumference of the round pen. And he knows it. Yet he acts like she’s trying to kill him. That horse has got a screw loose, and someone is going to get hurt if she isn’t careful. If I could vocalize in human language, I’d suggest that she yield the battle and get out of that pen.

Why did Eleanor and Peter leave me here at Running Horse Ranch on the backside of nowhere? They told me to watch out for Stephanie. But who can protect a crazy broad who walks into a small pen with a homicidal equine?

This is going to be a long two weeks. I’m counting the hours until Eleanor returns and takes me back to civilization. It’s not that South Dakota isn’t spectacular. It is. It’s one of the prettiest places I’ve ever been. And the history here, in the heart of the Sioux nation, is fascinating. But it isn’t home. I’m just ready for autumn snuggles with my Clotilde. Ah, the sleek delight of her tricolored calico fur, and the elegant span of her whiskers. They way we spoon together in a sunny window and the way she grooms my face…

Such activities are not to be. I’m here with a raging stallion. Look at that black devil rear. He’s spectacular, in a bad boy kind of way. Flaring nostrils, flying mane and—Duck, Stephanie! He’s trying to kill her! He’s going completely nuts and is trying to strike her with a front hoof.

I’ve got to do something!

STEPHANIE DODGED THE HOOF by a fraction of an inch. She hit the ground and rolled toward the metal panel of the round pen, but there wasn’t enough room for her to slide underneath.

Instinct warned her and she scrabbled to her feet and dove just as Black Jack’s two front feet came down exactly where she’d been lying.

Stephanie had to admit that in the two weeks she’d been working with Black Jack, she hadn’t overcome his hatred of humans by one iota. Rupert Casper had really done a number on the animal. She didn’t want to know the details. She already despised Casper and everything he stood for. Her job was to bring Black Jack around. If she didn’t, Casper would most likely kill him.

But right now wasn’t the time to worry about the distant future. If she didn’t get out of the round pen, she wouldn’t have a future at all.

To her utter amazement, she saw the black cat dart between Black Jack’s back feet. It provided just enough distraction so she could hurl herself across the round pen. She had to get out. But when she was halfway up the metal panel, she saw the horse close the distance.

Ears flat and teeth bared, he bit her shoulder.

Pain shot through her, but she didn’t let go of the metal bars. If she fell under his feet now, he would stomp her to death.

The pain of the bite was so intense that she felt her hands weaken. She’d never seen a horse truly intent on killing a human. She’d heard stories, but hadn’t believed them. Something awful had been done to Black Jack, and it was going to take a lot to overcome it—if she lived that long.

Just when she thought she had to let go, the cat leaped onto the horse’s back, a move that made the stallion wheel and try to bite the cat. Stephanie heaved herself up the panel.

“Hold on.” The stranger came out of nowhere. With one vault, he was in the round pen with her. His arms closed around her hips and he hefted her over the panel and dropped her on the outside.

Before he could get out, the horse turned on him.

Lying in the dirt, heaving to catch her breath, she watched the horse and the man square off. The man made no threatening moves toward the horse, but he didn’t run. He held his ground, using the palm of his hand to indicate to the horse that he should come no closer.

To her amazement, Black Jack skidded to a halt. He pawed the ground and snorted. His eyes rolled, showing the whites, and he tossed his mane. While he was dangerous, Stephanie had to admit that he was also beautiful. As was the black cat, who’d come over to her and was licking her cheek with a sandpaper tongue.

“Easy, boy,” the stranger said to the horse. His voice was low, almost a whisper. He turned sideways to the horse and the two of them began to walk slowly around the pen, each ignoring the other. To Stephanie, it looked like a choreographed dance, performed by a troupe from some royal academy.

“You okay?” the stranger asked.

“Yeah.” She pushed up to a sitting position, her body feeling every thud she’d taken in the last ten minutes.

“You’re bleeding.” The man continued to pace the small enclosure. He made no attempt to move closer to the horse, but he gave no ground, either.

She looked at her shoulder. He was telling the truth. Blood had soaked through her shirt and was dribbling down her arm. “Doesn’t look life-threatening,” she said.

“Anybody ever tell you that it was stupid to climb in a pen with twelve hundred pounds of bad attitude?”

“Maybe.” She had no intention of explaining her actions to him. His behavior was unusual—she conceded that. But his dress, the worn jeans that hugged his lean body, the dusty boots and the blue chambray shirt that softened his hazel eyes—those things told her he was a cowboy. The one thing she didn’t need was a cowboy tending to her business.

“What’s this fella’s name?” he asked.

“Black Jack.”

“He’s a fine specimen, but his attitude sucks.” In two seconds, the cowboy vaulted out of the pen.

Black Jack stood for a moment as if he were trans-fixed. Then he charged the panel so hard he shook the entire round pen.

“What did you do to him?” she asked.

“That’s exactly the question I wanted to ask you. What the hell did you do to this animal to make him hate you so much?”

Stephanie arched her eyebrows. She wasn’t insulted in the least. It was exactly the question she would have asked had she come upon the same scene. “I don’t know who you are or where you came from, but that’s the right question. And you’ve got a keen sense of timing.” She pushed herself off the ground and stood. Her shoulder was killing her, but she’d never show it. “What’s your name?”

“Johnny Kreel.”

She held out her hand. “Stephanie Ryan.” She looked beyond him toward the barn. Parked beside it was a beat-up truck and horse trailer. She’d been so intent on Black Jack and staying alive that she hadn’t heard the cowboy drive up.

Familiar was at the truck and trailer, scoping it out. Eleanor had told her, and insisted it was true, that the cat was some kind of private detective. He did seem inordinately curious about things. Some would even call his brand of curiosity nosiness.

“I’ve been on the rodeo circuit,” Johnny said. “I saw your barn and wondered if you needed any help. Fence mending, building, things like that. And I can handle horses.”

“I can see that.” Stephanie considered this stranger. She’d been on the ranch alone for the past four months, and she’d come to realize that the spread was more than she could manage. She’d actually been thinking about a hired hand. “What would you expect for wages?”

Johnny looked around. “Say, for the first two weeks, I’d work for food and lodging for me and Tex.” He pointed to the horse trailer. “Tex is my gelding. We’ve been working the stock at the shows, but Tex hurt his leg and I need a place for him to rest up.”

Food and a roof was the best deal Stephanie had heard in a long time. She’d spent everything she had creating Running Horse Ranch. She hadn’t expected to carry the burden of starting the horse-training facility by herself, but fate had been harsh. And she was almost out of money.

“It’s a deal,” she said. “Put Tex in the first stall on the right. His buddy will be Layla, a sweet little mare that gets along with everyone.”

Johnny smiled, and Stephanie took a step back. Johnny was a handsome man, a graceful man with the confidence of a rodeo athlete. After what had happened with Rory Sussex, she had no use for any of that in her life.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Thank me by getting busy.” She was brusque and she knew it. That’s the way it was going to be. Johnny Kreel could work at Running Horse for a few weeks, but she had no desire to be his friend or anything else.

“Yes, ma’am,” he offered.

She checked his gray-green eyes to see if he was mocking her, but she saw only sincerity. “I need to get Black Jack into the small barn.” She pointed to a stout structure with an eight-foot fence around the paddock area. She’d had it specially constructed for rank horses—until she could bring them around. “There’s a lead rope at the round pen gate. He was fine when I brought him out, but…”

“I need to tell you up front, Miss Ryan, that I won’t man-handle an animal.” He squinted against the sun in his face. “Some folks get upset when they realize I won’t cut corners when I’m working with one.”

This time Stephanie couldn’t stop the smile that she felt spread across her face. “Glad to hear that, Johnny, because I won’t tolerate such tactics. My grandfather was a horse gentler. His method has been passed down to me. I’ve never seen a horse that couldn’t be gentled.”

Johnny nodded. “Then we’ll get along fine. Now I’d best get to my chores. I’ll move Black Jack and then go take care of that fence over by the pumphouse. By the time I finish with that, I reckon supper should be ready.”

Stephanie stopped short. “That’s a good assumption. And pretty accurate, except for one thing. If you want a hot supper, you might get in the kitchen and cook it. I said I’d provide food. I didn’t say I’d be your chef.” She turned and walked away before Johnny could see the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Sometimes it was too much fun to unsettle the gender expectations of a Wild West man.

She’d hardly gone ten steps when she heard the sound of a vehicle. Her driveway sloped around the gentle swells of the land, disappearing from view and then reappearing on the top of the next hill. She put her hand up to shade her eyes as she spotted the black pickup stirring up a cloud of dust as it headed toward her.

“Damn,” she said softly.

Johnny examined the approaching vehicle. “Someone you know?”

“The guy who owns Black Jack. Rupert Casper is his name, and he’s a real piece of work. His ranch is about two miles as the crow flies, maybe four miles if you take Dry Gulch Road,” she said. Johnny didn’t say anything, but Stephanie saw the muscle in his jaw jump into play.

“You’d better take care of your shoulder,” he said without taking his eyes off the driveway. “I’ll explain to Mr. Casper that you’re indisposed.”

Stephanie shook her head. “I wish it were that easy. Casper’s going to want to know how much progress I’ve made with Black Jack. When he finds out I can’t even lead him to his stall, he’s liable to shoot him on the spot.”

Her words made the muscle in Johnny’s jaw bunch even tighter. “We’ll see about that.”

Stephanie had no use for Rupert Casper, but she put a restraining hand on Johnny’s arm. This wasn’t a fight he could win. Neither could she. “It’s a long story, Johnny. Black Jack is his horse. The horse hurt Casper, and he was going to kill Black Jack but his men brought him over here two weeks ago. I’ve been dreading this moment.”

The pickup stopped not twenty feet from Stephanie. Dust rolled over the top, and a tall man with perfectly trimmed blond hair got out from behind the wheel. His jeans were creased perfection and his boots were polished to a high sheen. The only flaw in his appearance was the white sling that held his left arm. Casper’s gaze swept over her bloody shoulder, torn shirt and dust-covered jeans.

“Stephanie,” Rupert Casper said as he came forward. He looked at Johnny but didn’t acknowledge him. “How’s my horse doing?”

“We’re making progress,” Stephanie said. She noticed that Familiar had left her side and was sniffing the tires on Rupert’s truck like a dog.

“Did Black Jack do that to you?” Casper asked, pointing to her shoulder. He looked past her to the stallion in the round pen. The horse seemed to sense Rupert’s attention. He pinned his ears and snaked his head out, striking the metal panel with his teeth.

“I did it to myself,” Stephanie said. “Black Jack’s a hard case. I won’t deny it. But he’ll come around.”

“He’s a danger. I fired the two men who brought him over here. They disobeyed me when I told them to shoot him.”

Stephanie could see that Casper took pleasure in his power. “They thought they were doing the right thing. They knew how much money you had invested in the horse.”

“It’s my money.” He walked toward the round pen.

Black Jack spun on his hindquarters.

“He’s got a lot of potential,” Stephanie said. “If you’ll give me more time, I can bring him around, and he’ll make a champion cutting horse. He’s got the build and the bloodlines.”

“He’s a rogue. I think the best thing I could do with him is cut my losses and put him in a dog-food can.” Casper walked back to his truck, opened the passenger-side door and brought out a rifle. “He’s as rank as he was the day he came here. Not even you can work magic on this beast.”

He started walking toward the round pen.

“You can’t shoot him here.” Stephanie looked at Johnny, who was watching the exchange without saying a word.

“I’ll send one of the boys with a backhoe to bury him tomorrow.”

“Rupert, you misunderstand me. I’m telling you that you can not shoot him on my property.” She stepped in front of Casper. “I won’t allow it.”

Casper shifted the gun and a look of astonishment was quickly replaced by anger.

Stephanie noticed that Johnny moved forward so quickly and with such grace that he was beside Rupert Casper in no time. Johnny was a good man to have on her side in a pinch.

“Before you do anything, let me show you the progress we’ve made with Black Jack,” Johnny said softly.

Rupert turned to him as if he’d just become aware of the other man’s presence. “Who the hell are you?”

“Johnny Kreel.” He didn’t hold out his hand, and he didn’t say anything else. He went to the round pen, climbed over the panel and walked toward Black Jack without any hesitation.

The stallion blew twice, his eyes rolling for a moment before Johnny caught his halter and snapped on the lead rope that he’d picked up. Without a wasted movement, he opened the gate, led the stallion out and away from Rupert and Stephanie.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Casper said. “No one’s ever been able to lead that horse.”

Though she’d been leading Black Jack for the past two weeks, the horse wasn’t reliable. He’d be fine, and then he’d blow up, as he’d done earlier that day. Stephanie was amazed that Johnny had been able to handle him, but she was smart enough to keep it to herself.

“We are making progress,” she said. “If you don’t want to keep Black Jack, I’ll buy him.” She’d offered more than once, though she had no idea where she’d get the money to pay for the horse. She’d figure something out.

“He’s my horse,” Casper said. “If I can’t ride him, no one is going to.”

That was typical of a man like Rupert Casper. Everything was a possession. It was ego, pride and vanity. “If you’ll give me some time, you’ll be riding him and taking blue ribbons in the cutting competitions.”

Casper stared at the horse until Black Jack disappeared into the barn. “I’ll be back in a couple of days. We’ll see how much progress you’ve made.”

Stephanie clamped her mouth shut, even though she wanted to shred Rupert Casper with her tongue. Casper was the kind of man who took his anger out on helpless creatures. Black Jack would suffer.

When she turned away from the round pen, she saw the cat jump out the window of Casper’s truck. Rupert opened his truck door and swung in.

“Son of a gun!” He jumped out of the truck as if the seats were on fire. To Stephanie’s amusement, she saw a dark circle of dampness on the butt of his creased jeans.

“That cat peed in my truck!” Casper’s face was scarlet with anger. “I saw that black cat hanging around here. Where is he?” He still held the rifle and he swung around looking for the cat.

Stephanie was loving every second of it. “Are you sure it’s cat urine?” She stepped over to the truck and caught the distinctive smell. “Pe-ew! It’s cat urine all right.” It took all of her restraint not to laugh out loud. And there was no sign of the cat. It was almost as if he knew what he’d done and skedaddled. Eleanor insisted that Familiar was highly intelligent, but Stephanie hadn’t believed her. At least not one hundred percent.

“I’ll never be able to get that smell out of my truck,” Casper said angrily.

“I’m sorry, Rupert. As I told you, I don’t have any cats. Maybe it happened somewhere else and you—”

“If I see that black son of a—he’s dead.”

Stephanie shrugged. “I don’t know what to say.”

Casper got into the truck and slammed the door as hard as he could. He swung wide and made a U-turn in the middle of her yard. She watched him drive away.

She was still standing there when the cat sauntered out from behind a watering trough. He rubbed against her legs and purred.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” she asked, bending to stroke him. There was something special about Familiar, something uncanny.

“Me-ow.” He looked up at her and slowly nodded his head.

“Holy cow,” she said, kneeling so that she could scratch under his chin. “Eleanor wasn’t kidding.” She picked him up and kissed him. “And I’m proud of you. But we’d both better stay out of Rupert Casper’s way as much as we can.”