by Danni Roan
She couldn’t help but laugh at the crotchety old man, who refused to wait on her but had already helped her three times.
In a few minutes Barbara had the biscuits mixed using fresh water, canned milk and lard with a little sour dough starter. As she cut the dough that she had already patted flat into squares, Dave walked over carrying the big Dutch oven by its bail.
“Reckon you’re ready to put them in,” he said trying to look grouchy.
“You’re a very smart man,” Barbara said offering him a sweet smile as she lifted the biscuits into the hot pan and replaced the lid on top.
“You bring the bacon,” Dave groused returning the oven to the coals and shoveling embers over the lid.
Barbara bit her lip trying not to laugh, but carried the bacon to the fire placing it carefully into the skillet with a long fork and watching it closely so it wouldn’t burn on the hot fire.
“Looks like you at least know your way around a camp fire,” Dave said, watching as she gave the Dutch oven a quarter turn with a heavy hook.
“My uncle used to take me out on drives with him,” Barb said. “I helped with the cooking and learned everything I could. It was a little easier being close to home,” she continued, “but we cooked over an open fire most nights and I learned from the best.”
“Where’d you say your uncle come from?” Dave asked as Barb continued to turn the bacon.
“I didn’t,” she offered back, smiling as the old man harrumphed.
“Something smells good,” Chance called leading two horses to a log and tethering them there, as Russ on his heels, did the same, with two more horses. The two cowboys had strapped on their chaps, and donned warm jackets even as the sun began to lighten the far horizon.
“Oh, you found a saddle for me,” Barb said offering Chance a smile as he approached the fire.
“It’s a breaking saddle, but it should do for you. Just don’t try roping anything; it isn’t heavy enough for that.” Chance said.
Barb pulled her eyes away from the handsome cowboy and focused on breakfast, but the warmth in his eyes had pooled in her heart. This dream was even better than any book she had ever read. It was so real, so tangible, so inviting.
As the sun finally climbed over the horizon washing the day with a russet glow, Barb handed out fluffy biscuits stuffed with crisp fat bacon to the men around her. Beside her she noticed Dave handing out coffee and shot a significant look at Chance who smiled. The old curmudgeon wasn’t going to coddle the woman at all, obviously.
“What’s the plan for the day?” Barb asked as she washed down her second biscuit with a swig of hot coffee.
“We’ll separate the younger stock by age,” Chance said. “There’s a number of two year olds that the studs haven’t driven off yet and then the mares and foals.”
“We’ll need to push the mares into the bigger pen,” Russ said savoring his third biscuit. “I’ll try to get them bachelors into the smaller pen with the bottle neck so we can,” he hesitated looking at Barbara. “So we can um, modify ‘em.”
Barb giggled, she knew what the man meant and found his reluctance to state the business quaint, and then reminded herself of where and when she was. The men’s protective nature was sweet in reality. They wouldn’t exactly tell her she couldn’t do something but at the same time they felt that she should be treated with care and respect.
“I need to get up close to those three stallions,” Barb said. “I think if I can hit them in the muzzle with a blast of my potion it might just do the trick.”
Chance nodded. For some reason he trusted her in this matter. Perhaps people in the future knew a thing or two he didn’t. “I’ll carry you over that way and you see if you can do you thing. If it works we’ll have to move fast.”
Chapter 8
Barb kicked her horse into a canter as they made the swing around the outcropping of rock toward the corral, the sound of vicious squeals and snorts from the other side of the enclosure making her hurry even more.
Chance swung low in the saddle reaching for the heavy rawhide strands that held the gate closed pulling it to and together they entered the canyon to a cacophony of stallion screams.
As Barb spurred her horse forward it was obvious that the battle had gone far beyond the posturing stages where the leaders of the herd pranced and snorted at each other. Two of the three stallions were embroiled in a locked battle. The big bay pinto rose on his hind legs, but the heavy gray lunging, teeth bared at the other horse’s throat raking the spot behind the bay’s ear. The bay lunged forward trying to get away, but the gray’s greater weight tipped the pinto making his knees buckle.
Barbara laid heels to her mount pulling the canteen close and popping the lid as she plunged into the fray. As the bay pinto staggered trying to regain his feet whipping his head toward the grays face, Barb splashed a wealth of the precious liquid at their muzzles and veered away at a dead run as the black faced gray stallion reached for her with gnashing teeth.
Chance spurred his horse toward Miss Cooper, rope twirling as she broke away from the melee, his heart pounding in his ears at the narrow miss by the heavy gray stallion’s bared teeth. He had no desire to see the woman he had only saved from being trampled to death the day before torn to bits by an ugly prairie stud horse.
“Are you crazy,” he bellowed as Barb cantered toward the other side of the herd pulling her horse in a wide circle then turning back toward the two combatants who were shaking their dripping heads as they staggered apart.
“It’s working!” Barb cried. “Look, look,” she insisted pointing at the gray horse that had lowered his head rubbing it on his pitch black knee.
Chance turned looking toward the horses as he pushed his mount closer to hers, hoping to guard her if one of the stallions charged.
Dave ambled his horse toward Chance keeping his eyes on the former combatants. “What’s happenin’?” he asked, his hand steady on the pistol at his hip.
“She thinks it’s working,” Chance said his voice hushed as if any loud noise might set the horses off again.
Dave and Russ lined up watching the two horses stagger apart still shaking their heads as if they had a bee in their ear.
“Give me a rope,” Barb said raising her hand.
Reluctantly Chance handed her his rope flanking her as she pushed her mount toward the injured bay pinto. “Easy, easy,” she whispered shaking out the loop and dropping it over the horse’s head and kinking it over his nose in a quick twist.
“Remember that saddle ain’t made for heavy use,” Chance said pulling a second rope from his cantle and dropped it over the gray’s neck, side stepping his mount to avoid the beast’s gnashing teeth.
“Now what?” he said creating the same war hackamore Barbara had and locking the horse’s jaw down.
“Get them to separate corrals,” Barbara said half dragging the wobbly pinto with her.
“Did that just happen?” Russ asked Dave as together they watched the young woman pulling a staggering stallion toward another wooden gate.
“What about the third one?” Russ asked pivoting his horse to look at the young Appaloosa crowding the smallest group of mares into a steep sided corner.
“I say let that little woman take care of him,” Dave said. “She seems ta be doing alright with them two.” The old man nodded toward Chance and Barbara. Wheeling his horse and motioning to Russ he swung his mount into the band of sleek sided mares and foals that were now without a defender.
***
“That worked real good,” Chance said as he lashed the gate closed behind the horse he’d led into a small pen. He had knotted the war hackamore off making a kind of halter and left the stallion trailing a rope as it blearily explored the new surroundings.
“Of course it did,” Barb said her blue eyes sparkling. After all it was her dream.
Chance pushed his horse close to hers. “How’d you know how to do that?”
“Back home we have to remove those flowers from our h
orse pastures in case some of the younger horses eat it. We need all of our horses to be alert but calm.”
“Why do you need horses like that on a ranch?” Chance asked. “Give me a lively horse any day I’m on the range, there’s too much work to be done for an old plodder.”
“I don’t work on a ranch anymore,” Barb said. “I work at a facility where we use horses to help people get better after various injuries, traumas, or needs.”
Chance’s mount skidded to a stop as he pulled up short, shocked at her words. “That doesn’t make any sense. Horses don’t make people better from anything.”
Barb stopped her horse and turned to look at the handsome cowboy. “Why?” She tipped her head looking at the man. “Horses are very intuitive. They pick up on your feelings and riding is great physical activity. We have children who can’t walk, but can work muscles and tendons on horseback without pain. They don’t even realize that they’re getting help, they just love being on a horse.”
Chance set his horse back in motion. “Can’t that be dangerous?
Barb shook her head as the cowboy moved forward. “Not if the horses are well trained. We have people of different ages who have mental weakness, some have had strokes, or were born that way, but the joy they express when you put them on a horse makes your heart swell. We had an eighty year old woman who wouldn’t walk after a stroke but when we put her up on a horse she found her balance again and was soon able to walk with an aid.”
Chance scratched the back of his neck trying to visualize what she was saying. “You have a lot of people like that?”
Barb nodded. “Yes, but I like to work with the wounded soldiers of Horses for Heroes best,” she said quietly. “Some of them are so damaged, inside and out, but when you put them on a horse and you see that connection.” Again she shook her head not sure if she could put the emotions into word. “It’s miraculous. Men who have seen the horrors of war and have lost a limb, or have brain trauma seem to get a new lease on life.”
Chapter 9
Barb eased her horse up alongside Chance. “What about the third one?” she asked looking at the rust colored Appaloosa with the blanket of white across his rump who was busy circling his small herd and eyeing the other horses in the valley.
“I say we leave him to his business for now,” Chance said. “He’s not as fractious as those two,” the cowboy continued. “I’m starting to think he made a break from an Indian outfit somewhere along the way. He’s less flighty when we ride close and stands his ground when we move other animals about.”
Barb studied the beautiful horse as he pranced along an imaginary line separating his brood from the rest of the horses in the large enclosure.
“Miss Cooper how long do you think that drug will work on those two?” Chance asked.
“Not more than a few hours,” Barb confessed, “and I can’t use it often, or it could harm them.”
Chance nodded seriously. “I think if you truly plan on trying to gentle those horses then Dave and I had better fix them first,” he said not looking at her. Talk of gelding horses with a lady was not a conversation his mother would have approved of, but then again his mother had never met a woman quite like Miss Cooper.
“Alright,” Barb agreed. “I’ll help Russ move the mares and younger foals into one of your pens then,” she agreed smiling brightly at his embarrassment before turning her mount toward the largest herd, “but I’ll be working with them tomorrow.”
Chance watched Barbara Cooper kick her horse into a trot headed toward his partner. She sat a horse well, upright and confident, and astride. She was unlike any woman he could have ever dreamed up. Miss Cooper was certainly no shrinking violet, or silly city girl. Her story was just crazy enough for it to be true and for now he had no reason not to trust her.
Chance shook his head again questioning his sanity in believing her story of coming from the future. On top of that he wondered if he’d lost his mind letting her take part in cutting the herd. This was barely fit work for men let alone a woman, but Miss Cooper was unlike any woman he’d ever met.
“You gonna sit there all day?” Dave grumbled as he rode up to Chance, “or are we gonna get this done. I don’t got enough years left to be dawdling all day with a star struck youngster,” he added, his blue eyes snapping as he headed for the corrals.
***
Barb looked up from her work, running the sleeve of her jacket across her forehead to wipe away the sweat. She desperately wished she had a hat and an old pair of dungarees to work in, but she would make do with what she had. Chance and Dave had disappeared into the tall pens while she and Russ started separating the main herd.
She truly hoped she could make this whole thing come together. Her entire life had been a love affair with horses and to be in the middle of the creatures as God intended filled her heart with joy. Even if this were just a dream something made her want it to succeed in the worst kind of way. Perhaps if she could work through this adventure she would be more ready to tackle issues in her own life later.
Maybe if she stayed asleep long enough, she would see how this whole endeavor ended. Already Chance seemed so real, and she couldn’t help but feel as invested in him as she did any hero found between the pages of a good book. She wanted him to succeed, wanted him to make a new start. He was her marvelous Mustanger, and she knew she was already losing her heart.
By the time Dave and Chance returned from tending the stallions, the sun had burnished her cheeks with a healthy glow, and she was sure her nose would peel if she didn’t find something to protect herself from the sun soon.
“Here,” a crotchety voice said as Dave rode up rummaging in his battered saddle bags. “You can wear my spare hat,” he said thrusting a mangled looking lump of brown felt into her hands.
“Thank you,” Barb said to the man’s retreating form.
The old round domed, flat brimmed hat was riddled with holes, but when she unfurled it, the flopping sides covered her face, and the dented dome let air circulate above her brow. A chin strap meant it would stay in place as she worked as well.
By lunchtime they had most of the mares with this year’s foals separated from the eligible riding stock, and they stopped for a cold meal of leftover biscuits and bacon while changing out mounts.
“Got some nice stock there,” Russ mused as he swallowed down the coffee they had brewed. “We should get top dollar if we break ‘em good enough. That fella up Yuma way said he was traipsing round with a bunch of tin horns who want to see the desert. This lot should suit him to his toes.”
“Seems folks from back east are all the time comin’ out here to see what it’s like. Don’t they got nothin’ to see back there?” Dave grumbled.
“I’m glad they’re coming,” Chance said. “It’s good for business.”
“I can hardly believe I’m here,” Barb said. “I’ve always dreamed of seeing the Mustangs of the Salt River in Arizona, but never got down this way. I’ve been so busy with my job in New York that I just never found the time.” She looked around her at her three companions. “You should be glad these dandies’s want to trot all over your territory,” she said looking at Dave. “Some day these wide open spaces will be few and far between. People who learn to appreciate it now will protect it for the future.”
Chance smiled at her tipping his head curiously. “Salt River Mustangs?” he asked. “What are they?”
“Yes, Salt River Mustangs,” she hesitated a moment when Dave and Russ looked up. “People where I’m from have heard of them. It appears despite the best efforts of some to be rid of them, they keep hanging on.”
“Hangin’ on?” Dave said his eyes wide. “Seems to me they’s multiplyin’ something terrible.”
“I for one am glad they are,” Barb said. “Someday people will appreciate the wildness of the horses that roam this area. They’ll recognize them as part of this nation’s heritage. Something untamed and free.”
“Them’s fine words,” Russ said dumping the r
est of his coffee on the ground and heading to his horse. “Fine words that don’t get the job done,” he finished swinging up and riding back toward the corrals.
The day wore on in a mêlée of sun, dust, and horse sweat and as the sun crept toward the western horizon painting the high desert in shades of gold and rose, Chance rode up to Barbara. “Why don’t you head back to camp,” he suggested. “You can put on the coffee and have a rest.”
Barb smiled. She was weary through and through, and the ideas chasing themselves through her brain were almost dizzying. It would be nice to have time to get organized, prep for dinner, and sort out her ideas.
“Thanks,” she said smiling as she turned her weary horse toward camp. She was never so grateful that she’d put the pot of beef and beans in the fire that morning. She might even have enough energy to whip up a batch of corn bread to go with it. Everyone had worked hard throughout the day, and they deserved a good meal.
Dismounting and letting her horse graze while she stoked up the fire, Barbara prepped the pans and mixed the cornbread. Once it was in the fire she returned to her horse.
Stripping the saddle from her horse Barb dropped it near the fire then pulled a rag from the saddle bags and walked to the pool. She should have just enough time to clean up before the men locked down the last of the mustangs.
Barb pulled her dusty coat off laying it over a rock then unbuttoned the first few buttons on her white shirt. Dipping the rag into the water she bathed her face and neck with the cool water.
Chance walked his horse around the outcropping looking up to see Miss Cooper kneeling by the spring in only her white shirt. A warm breeze tugged at her long braid and loose tendrils of hair danced around her face. The golden glow of the dying sun cast a halo around her turning her hair to warm honey, and the droplets of water on her face to diamond shards. She was beyond beautiful.
Barb turned catching Chance staring at her and their eyes collided stopping the world mid turn.
Barb felt her breath catch in her throat and the warmth of the sun seemed to kindle in her belly.