Chapter Seven
Adam whistled, rubbing a cloth over Leelia’s glossy coat. She’d earned her keep tonight, barely keeping herself from getting gored at one point. She was fairly new to the Triple T brand, but she was going to be a champion roping horse.
He might even give her to Bri to compete on once she was trained.
Landon was singing somewhere in the back of the arena—Adam could hear the weird sing-songy tones, happy as a fucking bird.
Grinning, he adjusted his tune, humming along. They sounded like some bizarre pair of warblers. Each and every horse was seen to, whether Landon knew them or not. They were admired, sung to, chatted up. Even the meanest, toughest mounts out there loved Landon.
Adam might be a little jealous, in fact. Whether it was of the horses or Landon, he wasn’t sure.
A black-as-night head popped up over the next stall over. “Evenin’, cher.”
“Hey, honey.” Grinning over the gate, Adam nodded. “You working hard?”
“Nope, jus’ lovin’ on the horses. There’s one little mare with a cracked hoof. She been in the mud too long.”
“No shit?” Adam frowned. “She shouldn’t be bucking then.”
Landon nodded. “I done doctored her, but someone best keep her dry for a bit.”
“Tell me where, and I’ll get with the stockman.”
“She’s in the stall by that pretty buckskin. I put all hay down for her to stand on.”
“Good deal.” If she was with Chet Matkin’s stock, then it was just an oversight. The man was good to his horses.
“You want me to finish up here for you?” Landon straddled the wall, Leelia leaning over against him, loving on him.
“Sure. She’s spoiled as all hell—she’ll give you a muscle brushing her out.”
“She did a good job tonight, though.” Landon took the brush, pushing right in with her.
“Hell, yeah. She’s a good ’un, and I bet Bri steals her from me.” He couldn’t resist copping a feel of Landon’s ass when he went by. Tight, firm, hard, his. Fuck—that was sweet. He needed a piece of that again, as soon as possible.
He hunted for Chet, the older cowboy nowhere to be seen. There was a guy he didn’t know, though, in the stalls with that buckskin.
“Hey, man. Did you know this mare here has a cracked hoof?” He pointed to the sweet little girl who could buck like a fiend from hell.
“Huh? No.” Near black eyes appeared over the top of the stall. “Chet’s got himself the flu. Man’s down. I’m just helping out ’til he gets on his feet. Luis.”
One square hand was handed through the slats to shake, then the little banty rooster of a man slipped out. Normally, Adam would have taken his time to admire—the guy was hot. He wasn’t Landon, though.
“Oh, man,” Adam said. “The flu sucks. One of the riders noticed it this morning.” He waved over the stall at the mare. “She’s got a mudfoot.”
“Oh, damn it.” Luis peered in. “Oh, did you put hay down for her? That’s decent of you. I got antibiotics and a boot in my truck.”
“Landon did. Kid’s got a real way with horses.”
“Cajun boy?” At his nod, Luis chuckled. “Kid’s one hell of a roper. Shit bull-rider, though.”
Adam laughed, surprising himself. “That’s where the money is, though, huh?”
“You know it. Me? I’m just a horse guy. I brought in some horses for the hazers.”
“Well, maybe we should chat. My people raise horses. We’re always on the lookout for new bloodlines.”
Luis pulled out a business card, handed it over. “I’m available. I need to deal with Wendy, here, but if you want to get a beer later, holler.”
