The main trouble was that the Ayers and their daughter Monica were the last to leave. It was long past time for housekeeping to get into the cabin they’d stayed in and prep it for the next guest.
“How’s it going, folks?” he asked as he pulled Gwen’s reins and patted her neck. He leaned forward, his arm on the saddle horn, to make the inquiry casual. “Just about ready to head out?”
“Monica’s gone for one last horse ride,” said Mr. Ayers as he raised his martini glass from the comfort of the wooden rocking chair on the porch.
“She’s been smelling like horse all week,” said Mrs. Ayers, taking a sip of her drink. “But if she’s happy, I’m happy. Do you think she’ll want to come back next summer, dear? We could bring her for her twenty-first birthday.”
Leland waited while they chatted about it between them, drinking their drinks, lollygagging when they should be packed up and ready for their driver, who, even now, was waiting in the parking lot. There were ranch hands standing by to help remove the luggage from the cabin. All the Ayers had to do was get moving. While they were nice enough, rich city folks such as the Ayers travelled on their own schedule. Still, it was time for them to get a move on.
“I’ll just go and fetch her,” Leland said. “That horse deserves its rest in the stable. Then I’ll let her know you folks are ready to go.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tate,” said Mr. Ayers with his usual formality, his voice slurred from the drink in his hand. “I know we spoil her, I know we do.”
With a nod, Leland trotted Gwen back up the road to the barn, enjoying the fresh air, the movement, the steady feel of the horse and the hard saddle beneath him. When Leland arrived at the barn, Brody was holding two new iron horseshoes in his hands. With him was Jasper, blacksmith, and together the two men seemed to be discussing how many of this size they should order, how many of that.
Just on the other side of them, Monica came riding on Old Blue, a blue roan gelding. Monica was giggling with a ranch hand and generally goofing off and certainly not paying attention to the gelding beneath her. Then it happened. The horse gave a sharp buck and Monica shrieked. This startled the horse even more and off it went, first at a canter, and then at a gallop with the bit in his teeth, his head lowered, ears back.
As Old Blue galloped past Leland, he tried to pivot Gwen so he could grab Old Blue’s bridle, but the gelding’s head was too low and he was going too fast. Giving Gwen a kick, Leland urged the horse to catch up, and since they were herd-mates, it wasn’t hard to get Gwen going. The only problem was, Old Blue was galloping full out, and had the jump on Gwen, who had shorter legs.
If he could catch up to the gelding, he could ride alongside and grab his bridle that way. It was obvious Monica was of no use and was too frightened to slow Old Blue down. She was not a horsewoman, just a guest at the ranch, a city girl with a dream in her head of what it was like to be a cowgirl.
Gwen did her best to close the distance as they raced past the dining hall and into the trees. As soon as they crossed the stone bridge, they were on Old Blue’s heels.
Up ahead, the drifter had just opened the gate. If Old Blue went through the gate, he could run for quite a long way. Monica might get thrown, or the horse would hurt itself, and then Mr. and Mrs. Ayers would be very unhappy and might sue the ranch. All of this went through Leland’s head as he leaned forward to get Gwen to go faster.
“Close the gate,” he shouted to the drifter, his breath coming hard, heart hammering. “Close it!”
Everything happened at once, fast, but time seemed to slow down as the drifter looked up, startled, saw the horse and Monica at the same time, and closed the gate, latching it shut. The gelding came up to the gate, and luckily, not being a jumper, dug in his hooves and slid into the metal bars, jangling the gate on its hinges.
Monica was flung from the saddle and, unbelievably, the drifter caught her in his arms as he too banged into the now-closed gate.
Riderless, the gelding danced about, then stopped abruptly and lowered his head, chuffing at the grass and the dust at the edge of the road, as if nothing had happened. That’s how it was with horses sometimes.
As for horses trained at the ranch, they knew nothing truly bad would happen to them, and so were seldom fractious or got out of hand. What had set the gelding off? Leland needed to find out. But first he needed to make sure of Monica.
“Are you all right, miss?” he asked. He eyed Monica clinging to the drifter as he placed her on her feet. There was a green duffle bag in the grass, where the drifter had dropped it.
“Y-yes,” said Monica, sniffing hard as she straightened her fancy, feather-laced cowboy hat, scraping hair back from her face. “But it wasn’t the horse’s fault, okay? It wasn’t. I don’t know what happened. I was just sitting there and—”
“That’s fine,” he said, taking a deep breath. “You need to get back on that horse, now, and gently ride him to the barn. Can you do that for me? Hey, can you help her mount?”
“My name’s Jamie,” said the drifter. He lifted his chin as the wind danced his hair in his eyes, making Leland want to stare for longer than was appropriate. “And sure, I can help.”
As Jamie tried to grab Old Blue’s reins, the gelding skittered away from his outstretched hand, telling Leland in one quick minute that Monica would have a hard time of it with the horse.
Normally, Leland would be very insistent about getting back on the horse after a dismount like that, teaching both yourself and the horse that everything was okay, that nobody was hurt.
It was an important lesson to learn, yet, given the fact Monica and her family were leaving soon and would probably never go riding again, how important was it? Important enough, perhaps, even in this small moment, for him to make sure it happened as it should.
Jamie reached for Old Blue’s reins again, doing his best to approach the gelding, though it was obvious he had no idea how to handle a horse. With a quick, hidden sigh, Leland dismounted from Gwen and handed her reins to Jamie.
“Jamie, can you guide Gwen to the stable while I help Monica with Old Blue?”
“Sure,” said Jamie again, taking the reins. “A horse is like a large dog, right? I can walk a dog. Anybody can walk a dog.”
Ignoring his internal bit of laughter at Jamie’s small joke, Leland grabbed Old Blue’s reins and soothed him and urged Monica to come close. Together they petted Old Blue, making much of the gelding, and quickly Leland discovered a bump just at the edge of the saddle blanket where a wasp had stung the horse.
“He got stung,” he told Monica. “That’s why he ran. It was nothing you did.”
