“Right?” Rowan rolled his eyes. “It blows my mind that buyers will go to the sale, drop tens of thousands on a colt, then spend more money getting him gelded. But if he was a gelding in the pen, they wouldn’t pay half the price.” He nodded to Jericho and Colson, “send him through to the keeper pen.”
“Roger that.” Colson swung the gate closed behind the colt, the latch snapping into place with a solidclink.
“Bring in the next one.” Gael flipped the page on the clipboard. “Three more to go before lunch.”
This colt came in at a trot, long-legged and loose-moving. Rowan nudged Gael with his elbow. “This one thinks he’s hotter than shit.” The colt’s ears flicked between the men in the pen, but he didn’t spook or blow up, which counted in his favor. Rowan folded his arms across his chest and watched the colt.
Nice neck.
Decent top line.
Feet are a little clunky.
He’s a little ribby, though.
He’d learned long ago not to judge the end results by the body of the yearling going through the fuggily uglies. This one would fill out in time. “His energy is giving me more bold than smart, and that’s not always a good thing. Which one is he?”
Gael checked the clipboard again. “Colt number seven. Out of Slick Whiskey and a home-bred mare off the Gunsmoke cross.”
“Boom?”
“Yup.”
“She’s a solid little cow pony.” Rowan shifted his weight as the colt turned the far corner. “She throws good hips, and her last two foals have decent minds. I like how this one’s built through the shoulder.”
“He’s got presence,” Gael replied. “The sale barn folks will eat that up. I vote we send him through.”
“I’m leaning that way too.” As much as he hated selling animals, that was the foundation of what a good breeding ranch did.
Hoarding is not part of our business plan.
“We need to see how he handles groundwork before we give final sign-off. Send him to the sale herd.”
Gael scribbled something on the page and tapped the pen once against the clipboard. “Agreed.” He raised his voice. “Move him to the right, boys.”
“On it,” Jericho said, moving to position while Colson shifted wide to pressure the colt toward the gate on the right side of the pen.
“Take a breather,” Rowan yelled the order and climbed over the fence to grab some water from the stash they’d left on the ground earlier. He snagged a couple and tossed one to each of the others.
Theo should’ve pinged by now. Should’ve had something, even if it was a dead end.
He shook off the reminder of what was happening in the house. If he allowed the operator he’d been trained to be to take over, then he wouldn’t keep doing the things that needed doing to keep the ranch afloat. The yearlings needed to be sorted this morning. The two-year-olds were at the top of his list for this afternoon. He unscrewed the top of his bottle and drank deeply,then adjusted the brim of his hat. Excitement at the possibility of a mission tugged at something inside him. He refused to allow it to become the most important thing in his world. If that happened…
Retired.
I’m retired, damn it.
But he knew better than most that missions were one of the few things that kept him wanting to wake to see another sunrise. They were the fire that kept Stronghold alive. They were the reason almost all his ranch hands were operators…
One more mission.
Just one.
Then I’ll call it.
“Hey?” Gael tapped the bill of his ball cap, bringing it down to cover his face. “Where did you go, Ro?”
He swatted at his twin and used it to cover the fact that he didn’t answer right away. The last thing his twin needed was to know he wasn’t quite ready to quit. Not yet…
