My old man is talking to the driver of the truck, his back facing the rest of us. I pass the other wranglers, Tanner and Cruz, and join Otis where he continues to talk some sense into Sawyer.
“Get the round pen ready for the black one,” I snap at the idiot with the death wish.
Sawyer stares at me with deep green eyes, his excitement for new work obvious in his fidgeting limbs. The guy’s been here since I got out of prison on parole eight years ago, yet he still has no sense of self-preservation. Maybe he’s spent too much goddamn time watching me.
He hesitates for a second longer before nodding once and heading toward his tan horse. I wait until he’s in the saddle before looking at Otis.
“Watch him once they’re out of the trailer. The one at the back is mine. Give Sawyer the other one and have him work it in the arena.”
Otis stares at the black one, not arguing with my decision. I leave him and go to my father, not bothering to soften my steps as my boots scuff the pavement.
“How long is it going to take, Jed?”
“You know I don’t give timelines. Knowing what I do about those two, you’re going to be waiting as long as it takes,” Dad says gruffly.
The man across from him rolls his jaw, alerted to my presence. He scrolls his eyes over me quickly, from the black boots to the filthy, old chaps on my legs and the Painted Sky logo on my chest. It’s the curl of his nose as he stares at my tattooed neck that stokes the dying flame of humour trapped inside of me.
“How old’s the black one?” I interrupt.
The man grumbles his answer. “Six.”
“Six? And he looks like that?” My temperature spikes as anger blisters beneath my skin. “He your horse?”
“No. We took him in a couple of weeks back. He’s too dangerous to keep, but too expensive to put down without trying everything to get him back to what they say he used to be. I want him off our books until he’s fixed.”
Fixed.
I grip my hips tight enough to hurt. “Who broke him?”
“Some ranch out East. Nova Scotia, maybe. He was worked too young, chasing cattle. Had a trainer who didn’t know what the hell he was doing and wound up sending them both into the fence. That horse is a cruel son of a bitch with a vengeance that runs deep.”
The mention of that place sends barbs of discomfort through me at a pace that nearly forces me to my knees. I grit my teeth and steady myself, pushing forward.
“We’ll take him. You don’t get a fucking timeline, though. He’s here until I decide he’s fine to go back,” I state, leaving no room for argument.
Dad shifts toward me, his frustration evident in every tight line of his face. “We need to talk about price. I didn’t know you were bringing me one this bad. I’m going to need to keep him away from the others for a while.”
“Name it, Jed. He’ll be worth ten times whatever you ask for by the time Rowe’s done with him.”
I take that as my cue to piss off. Talking money has never been an interest of mine, especially with my father. Everything he does at this place is for profit now, rather than the work we do. It’s why I’ve hated being here so badly.
I’m still trying to figure out if it’s better than the alternative.
4
ROWE
The black horsehas been in the pen all night, snorting and huffing like it’s trying to blow out fucking candles.
I’ve been up for just as long as he has. First, I went to my place and drank enough Jack to settle my no-good thoughts for a few hours, and then I walked right back to the pen. It took me too damn long, and now I’m flirting with sunrise.
I’m close enough to sober now as I approach the fence and notch my foot on the bottom post. The horse notices me right away, his front hoof slashing at the dirt. If he’s trying to scare me off, it won’t work. I ride horses like him for a living and have been since I was eighteen and signed my life away to rodeo.
Folding my arms over the wood, I lean against it and continue to watch, waiting.
The angry bastard paces around the far side of the pen, still making enough noise to let me know he doesn’t want me anywhere close. His ears are flicking, though, not flat. That’s something.
He’s got his tail held still, not thrashing around. Maybe he’s not scared. Just real angry.
