Читать книгу Kissed by a Cowboy - Pamela Britton - Страница 14

Chapter Five

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.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.”

Wes headed toward the horse, but he leaned toward her and said, “It’s funny how you warn me away from one horse, yet insist I ride an animal that just bucked a man off.”

“It’s not the horse’s fault.”

The man turned back to the horse when they reached him, but the reaction of the sorrel was immediate, scooting backward so fast he almost jerked the reins from the man’s hands.”

“Knock it off, you son of a—”

“Here.” Wes jumped forward and slipped between man and horse. “Let me take those.” He didn’t wait for the owner to respond, just took the two reins and blocked the man from approaching the gelding. “What’s his name?”

With a glance in her direction, one that conveyed the ominous portent of a thundercloud, Bluto said, “Dudley.”

Jillian stepped forward. “His registered name is Dudley Dual Right.”

She loved the name. Honestly, she’d spotted it in the program and known she’d had to see him. Sometimes that happened, too...a feeling. She’d had one about this young colt.

Hopefully he won’t break Wes’s neck.

“Hey there, bud,” she heard Wes say softly, so softly the horse’s ears flicked forward and back as if straining to listen. “It’s okay, son. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Son of a bitch deserved to be whipped.”

And maybe we should beat the crud out of you for being such a poor rider.

The words were on the tip of Jillian’s tongue, but she didn’t dare say them out loud, not when she wanted so badly to buy the horse. That was her plan. If Wes didn’t take the gelding, she would. Natalie would help her purchase him and know what to do with him.

“Come on.” Wes gave the reins a gentle tug. The gelding resisted for a moment, but when he realized Wes wasn’t going to jerk on his mouth or hit him, he obediently followed, Cowboy trailing at their heels.

It’s okay.

The horse’s ears flicked again, and Jillian knew he’d heard her. His head even dropped, not that Wes would notice. Not that he’d believe her even if she pointed it out. Men were just that way.

The activity in the barn area increased the closer they moved toward the main facility. Horses trotted. People called out to one another. Grooms worked to get the best shine on a horse’s coat. She noticed that Wes kept his attention on the animal by his side. He absently stroked a piece of copper-colored mane as he murmured quietly to the gelding. Dual Rey, one of cutting’s all-time leading sires, had been a redhead, too. She had to admit he had sure been trying to cut that cow like Dual Rey. Couldn’t Wes see that? He was a good colt in the wrong hands. By the time they got to the arena, the animal clearly understood Wes wasn’t going to flog him.

“Name’s Gordon.”

Jillian hardly looked at the man; she was too focused on projecting mental images to Dudley of Wes getting on his back. Of a good ride. Of green pastures and warm stalls. Of the life he would have once they bought him.

“Okay, here goes.”

They stood by the entrance of the arena. Cowboy glanced around, spotted her, then came to sit by her feet. Jillian found herself squatting down and stroking the dog’s head while she waited for Wes to mount. He was busy tugging on the girth to make sure it wasn’t loose. Next he checked the length of the stirrups and then glanced at the bridle. After one last pat, he positioned himself to mount.

Jillian’s breath held.

She knew the animal wasn’t bad. Knew he wasn’t the type to intentionally hurt a human. Still. Horses could be like children. Unpredictable.

Wes swung a leg over the horse’s back. Nothing happened. He settled his hat more firmly on his head before standing in the stirrups and shifting from side to side, the girth apparently tight enough to suit his needs, because he gently sat back down again. Still, the horse didn’t move.

“Can you open the gate?”

She wasn’t sure if he spoke to her or Gordon, but Jillian rushed forward to do as asked. Dudley moved forward when Wes lightly tapped his sides. The whole time he spoke softly to the animal, patting his neck.

It was crowded inside the practice arena. Jillian had to lift her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. Dust clouded the air. Spurs clinked. The slobber chains attached to the horses’ bits jangled. In the distance a horse neighed. The metal rail was cold beneath Jillian’s hand as she leaned against it. She admired the way Wes sat on a horse. He didn’t choke up on the reins, something the horse seemed to appreciate. Dudley’s head dropped, his long mane dangling down his neck. He was a young horse—all harsh angles and big head—but one day he would fill out, and Jillian just knew he’d be stunning.

She saw Wes pick up the reins. The gelding instantly tensed, as if he expected a sharp stab of the spurs and a flick of the reins, but Wes merely clucked and squeezed with his whole leg, not with the rowels of his spurs. The animal obediently moved into a trot. Beside her, she felt more than saw the man relax. He’d obviously been expecting a bronc.

“He’s going to be a good one,” Gordon said.

She had no doubt, but not with Gordon on his back. Wes had just proved himself ten times the rider the horse’s owner was. He had a relaxed way of sitting in the saddle. Jillian had watched enough show jumping over the years to appreciate the way he pressed his heels down in the stirrups. So many Western riders rode flat-footed, legs kicked out in front of them. They didn’t utilize the center of gravity crucial to expert horsemanship. Wes did. Not only that, but his hands were light with the reins. He spoke to the animal, too, and the sight of his lips moving, the way he patted the animal when he obediently moved into a slow lope, the soft way he sat in the saddle—it all made her smile like a fool. He could ride. Well.

Why did that matter?

She refused to examine the question. Instead, she watched as Wes reversed direction. The longer he rode, the more Dudley relaxed. When Wes pulled the horse to a stop on the other side of the rail, he had a small smile on his face.

“You like him?” Gordon wore a salesman’s grin. “You should. He’s got the bloodlines and the talent to make a name for himself. Reining. Cutting. He’s bred to do it all.”

“If you don’t get dumped on your keister on a regular basis.”

The man’s jowls turned red. “That was just a fluke.”

“Something tells me otherwise, but I still want to see one more thing before I agree to buy him.”

Jillian’s heart leaped. He wasn’t going to let the horse go back to that awful man. Thank the Lord.

“What’s that?” Gordon glanced between the two of them. “I’m not willing to let him go on a trial, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“That’s not it at all.” Wes whistled. Cowboy bolted toward his master. “I just want to ride him out back for a bit.”

Jillian could tell that the man didn’t like the idea. He probably figured Wes hadn’t been bucked off in the arena, but it was a good bet he might be outside of it. She wondered what was going on, too, but she opened the gate nonetheless. Cowboy fell into step beside his master. They headed toward the back of the fairgrounds. The three of them—well, five if one counted Cowboy and Dudley—all walking down a dusty road like compadres at the OK Corral. Around them hundreds of vehicles, most of them trucks, sat parked, half of them pulling horse trailers. Wes took them to a spot far out back, to a large grass field used by the herding-dog people. They held an annual competition the same weekend as the bull-and-gelding sale but it stood empty now.

“Cowboy, go!”

The dog immediately brightened at Wes’s command. He charged toward the pasture as if looking for stray cows. Clearly, that was what Wes wanted, although Jillian still had no idea what Wes was up to.

“Cowboy, down.” The dog hit the ground so hard the movement resembled a canine belly flop.

“Damn.” Gordon crossed his arms and glanced up at Wes. “That’s a well-trained dog.”

“You have no idea,” Wes said, walking into the field and approaching the dog. Jillian knew then what Wes intended to do, although it was mostly the way Cowboy eyed his master that helped her figure it out. The dog stared at Wes and his horse as if a side of beef hung off it.

“Get him,” Wes ordered the dog.

Cowboy lunged, then stopped a few feet in front of the horse, squatting on his front legs and barking as if asking the animal to play. Wes just sat there, but the horse dropped his head and when Cowboy darted right, Wes leaned the reins against the horse’s neck, a silent cue that he should follow the dog. Dudley needed no prompting. It was the funniest thing Jillian had ever seen. Horse and dog faced off against each other, Cowboy’s tail wagging as the horse mirrored his moves. Left. Right. Left again. Cowboy took off at one point, running a few dozen feet, Dudley doing the same thing. When Cowboy stopped, so did the horse.

“I’ll be damned.”

Jillian silently echoed Gordon’s sentiment. Dog and horse played a game of cat and mouse, the horse moving so quickly at times that he left deep furrows in the grass. Cowboy loved it. If canines had grins, his was from cheek to cheek. Dudley did, too. There was no doubt the horse had talent. After his display in the arena trailing the steer up the rail and now this, Jillian knew Wes would be a fool not to buy the horse and at least give him a chance.

“Whoa,” he said softly.

The animal promptly obeyed.

Good boy, she silently told the horse.

“What do you think?” Gordon said.

“Not bad,” Wes replied. “Not bad at all.”

Jillian couldn’t keep the smile from slipping onto her face.

Not bad.

That was an understatement. He knew it and she knew it. The horse might just be pure gold.