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Жанры

Her Kind Of Cowboy
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He parked the Bronco and stepped out. His back hurt like the devil after the hours sitting behind the wheel, a legacy from his accident. He’d been given pain pills, which he didn’t take because they made him fuzzy-headed. A generous shot of Scotch when the pain got really bad helped more than the pills and tasted better.

Jesse removed his sunglasses, hooked them on his shirt pocket and glanced to the left. Two rustic cabins with wide porches running along the front of each sat side by side, just as before. The first one looked empty, but he remembered the second was where Casey lived. Strolling past the cabins, he saw what he’d been looking for adjacent to what looked like a brand new horse barn: a freshly built round pen he’d told Casey he’d need to work with their stallion.

He walked over, propped a booted foot on the lowest rung and leaned onto the white fencing. His practiced eye noticed every detail; the swing gate at one end that opened to the barn’s far door and the patted-down dirt floor, free of grass and stones.

“So, what do you think?” a raspy voice asked from behind him. “That round enough for you?”

Jesse turned. Casey Henderson still looked like a fireplug with his short, stocky body, his ruddy face and the red suspenders he was never without. A black patch covered his left eye, a souvenir from his rodeo days. His right eye searched the younger man’s face intently.

“Yes, sir, the pen’s just fine.” He held out his hand. “Jesse Calder.” For a fleeting instant, he thought he saw a flash of recognition or perhaps just suspicion on the manager’s tanned face.

But Casey’s grip was strong and brief as he introduced himself, then whipped a red kerchief out of the back pocket of his worn jeans. “Still can’t figure why you had to have a round pen.” Removing his black hat, he ran the kerchief over his sweaty, nearly bald pate.

“You’ll see when I start to work with Remus,” Jesse told him.

Casey motioned with his chin toward the large aluminum horse barn gleaming in the hot sun. “Let’s go see him then. You think you can help Remus?” he asked as they walked.

“We’ll find out,” Jesse answered noncommittally as he fell in step with Casey. Working with damaged horses, both with his father and alone, he’d learned that most responded well to their methods, given enough time. But there were a few too badly traumatized to ever be helped. “What happened to him?” On the phone, the ranch manager had been fairly vague.

“Well, it’s a sad story, really.” Casey waved to a group of men strolling to the mess hall across the wide drive from the barn. Beyond that was the bunkhouse for the single men and a couple of small cabins for the married ones.

“Martins’ youngest daughter, Abby, ran across Remus three or four years ago. She teaches a little preschool class and she was picking up one of the kids over on Pickerel Lane. Seems the family across the street from where she stopped had moved away and abandoned Remus. He was wandering around a messy corral, half-starved. Abby’s got a real soft heart so she looked into it. Seems he’d been abused for quite a while.”

At the mention of Abby, Jesse’s interest accelerated. He well remembered how much she’d loved horses. He also wasn’t surprised she was working with children since she’d talked about doing just that all those years ago. She and her husband must live close by.

They reached the barn door where Casey paused, squinting up at the sun. “Naturally, she talked Vern into bringing the stallion here and she nursed him back to health. She tamed him, too. He became real gentle.”

Three or four years ago, Jesse noted. Had Abby and her husband lived here with the Martins back then? He wondered if he dare ask Casey without giving himself away. If they learned who he was, so be it, but he’d hoped to buy a little time first, perhaps get a chance to talk with Abby and explain.

“Then along came that damn fire.” Casey adjusted his big hat that all but engulfed his head, his eyes downcast. “It was my fault. One really cold night last February, I put a space heater in next to Remus’s stall on account of his end of the barn was the original from before the building was redone and there was no heat. Don’t know what happened, but somehow the heater fell over and started a fire. By the time me and the boys saw the blaze, poor Remus was wild, screaming, burns along his left side. We got him sedated, got the vet. He’s pretty much healed now, but he don’t trust no one, not even Abby. Won’t let anyone touch him, much less ride him. Vern wanted to put him down, but Abby wouldn’t let him. Then we read about your work.”

Casey stuffed the kerchief back into his pocket. “I’d be right grateful if you could fix him. And Abby would be, too.”

Jesse had seen the same kind of guilt before and knew it was a heavy load to carry. “I’ll try, but I want you to know I don’t do it for the owner. I do it for the horse. If he won’t let anyone near him, like you say, he’s unhappy and afraid. That’s what needs fixing.”

“Any way you call it, just fix him.” Casey shoved open the heavy sliding door.

Jesse decided to take a chance. “So then Abby lives here and still has an interest in Remus?” When Casey turned and settled his one piercing eye on his face, trying to read him, Jesse shrugged. “I’d heard she married and moved away.”

The older man studied him for a long moment before answering. “She did, but that was a while ago. Her husband died so she came back.” Again Casey aimed his chin in the direction just beyond the big house. “That there’s her schoolhouse for the little ones around here, before they go to regular school. Started out small but she’s got about a dozen of ’em now, coming and going. But she’s still mighty interested in Remus.”

A widow. That was one he hadn’t thought of. Jesse followed Casey into the barn and along the concrete walk with horse stalls on both sides. He noticed that the dividers were in good repair, the hay fresh and the lighting dim. He remembered that the Martins had run a clean operation. Half a dozen workhorses were in their stalls.

“Most of the horses are still out, but they’ll be coming in soon, ’cept for the overnighters,” Casey explained. He greeted two cowboys by name as they walked by.

A partition separated the main building from a much smaller area at the far end. Jesse slowed as he moved within sight of a single stall where a black horse stood perfectly still watching their approach.

“That’s our Remus,” Casey said, standing aside.

The stallion’s right side, Jesse noted, looked perfectly normal. But as he silently stepped closer, he saw the damaged hide that started on his face and ran along his left flank, leaving a large section mottled and scarred. The wound appeared healed. The real trauma was inside Remus’s brain.

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