Saving Cowboy
Leslie P. Garcia
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.
If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this “stripped book.”
Saving Cowboy
Copyright © 2018 Leslie P. Garcia
All rights reserved.
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Saving Cowboy
Introverted and insecure, Jody Colton would rather not deal with the world, or the betrayals that come with caring too much. But when she sees Cowboy, the horse stolen from her, in a slaughter pen, she’ll stop at nothing to save him.
Joe Roberts was on top of the rodeo world until a bronc named Cowboy ended his career. Appalled that the former Bucking Horse of the Year is in a kill pen, Joe plans to say goodbye to Cowboy and move on—until Jody ropes him into a wild plan to save Cowboy.
Neither Jody nor Joe want commitment. They just want to save Cowboy. But when attraction and desperation morph into stronger feelings, can they risk the one thing they both blame for destroying them—can they risk love?
Other Books by Leslie P. Garcia
Anthologies:
Cowboy Time
Cowboys Forever
Take Me Out
Nashville Nights
Bases Loaded
***
Romance:
Unattainable
Wildflower Redemption
His Temporary Wife
A Love Beyond
***
Legend/horror/crime current issues:
La Llorona (The Wailing Woman)
***
Poetry
Always the Moon
Dedication
The trip was never easy, Cruz, but we took it together for 43 years. No matter what did or didn’t work out, we both were happy to build around our kids and grandkids.
QEPD. Hay nos vemos.
Chapter One
Jody Colton flipped through the paper with little real interest, killing time while she waited for the microwave to announce breakfast. A half-page ad trumpeted “Casting Call for Cowboys,” followed by text about some stupid ‘reality’ show. Jody glanced below the fold. A picture of too many horses stuffed into a corral stopped her eyes cold; any horse would. But a quick glance at the headline caught her breath and sickened her. “Racehorse, Famous Rodeo Bronc Headed to Slaughter.”
She leaned against the edge of the table and unfolded the paper, prepared to make herself read another horrific story about the death of horses being butchered, some for human consumption. But she didn’t have to read—she saw him immediately, in spite of the crush of huge bodies, some already down and being trampled, others frantically seeking escape.
The black head he’d always carried so proudly, the defiance bright in his eyes—defiance she’d managed to turn into confidence and willingness, until others had ruined him. She hadn’t seen him for so long. The bullies had won and the former “Bucking Horse of the Year” had come to this—a slaughter pen. Cowboy. Dammit, no! Not Cowboy, she thought. She hurled the paper to the floor, but her legs buckled. She sank to her knees and retched.
***
The pickup truck door creaked as it swung open. Joe Roberts cursed under his breath as he slid out slowly, still feeling the numbness and pain in his lower body. Ironic, that was his life. He had plenty of money to replace the hard-working truck, but not the want-to. The insane drive to win, to find greatness, was gone. Eight seconds and a bad bronc had done what a nasty divorce and years on the circuit hadn’t been able to—wiped him out.
A quick glance around showed no guard, no one watching the two pens overstuffed with terrified, milling horses. The stench of manure and death hung heavy in the stifling west Texas heat. He took a few steps toward the closest corral; not sure which one would hold the horse he’d come to say goodbye to—if the poor brute hadn’t already been shipped to slaughter. He choked on anger and revulsion as he saw the horses’ condition. Even destined for death, they deserved better than this.
He couldn’t find what he was looking for in the first hell-pit. As he crossed the few yards to the second, he saw a pickup half hidden behind a low, shabby building. The owner must be here then. The deplorable condition of the truck surprised him, however. He would expect someone who made his money this way to use every ill-gotten cent on luxuries.
He thought about looking for the truck’s owner but chose not to. What could he say? You no-brain, no-balls bastard, you should be slaughtered right along with them? Fighting lost causes was stupid, and he’d used up all the stupid one man got in a lifetime. He’d say goodbye and walk off. That’s what he’d come to do.
Eyes that used to read a horse’s mind and gauge every flick of an ear before it happened scanned the crush of horses. They skipped over a thoroughbred—he’d seen mention of a discarded racer in the newspaper—and settled on a sturdy body against the far fence. Midnight Cowboy. The bronc didn’t gleam blue in the sun as he had; the black coat was dull and covered in dust. The horse was thin, too, the impression of muscle more a trick of good conformation and memory than fact.
“Poor critter,” Joe muttered. “Some say I deserved better. You sure as hell did.”
He hesitated, not sure he wanted to go closer and set the horses rushing around the corral and trampling each other in their panic. The heat seemed to have worn them down, though. They seemed calmer than they had moments ago.
He took a wide path, moving out from the pen before targeting the black body still against the farthest fence. As he cut back in toward the corral, a slight figure moved along the corral fence. His stomach knotted and his heart pounded. No, not along—in. Idiot! What kind of stupid—what, kid? Surely a grown man couldn’t be so stupid!
Finally his eyes blinked away enough dust and haze to focus and he stopped dead as she—she—reached out and touched Cowboy’s neck.
He almost choked on all the expletives she deserved, but he couldn’t let go. Some of the horses on the far side were getting antsy.
At least she seemed to know horses well enough to recognize her situation. She hooked a foot on a rail and pulled herself up.
As she moved toward safety, Cowboy’s ears pricked. And then the horse reached out and gently butted her back, almost propelling her over the fence. She laughed and turned toward him. And the horse who had trampled Joe into retirement buried his head in her chest while she crooned to him.
He held his breath and stood still, afraid that if anything set the horses off—particularly that horse—she could lose her balance and be crushed beneath all those panicked brutes.
The ache in his lower back and bad leg shrieked for him to move into a more comfortable position and he needed to wipe sweat and grit off his face. But the idiot woman on the corral fence had obviously lost all sense of time.
How did she know Cowboy?
He watched with relief when she finally dragged herself back over the fence and dropped to the ground. She took a few steps in his direction, head down, still oblivious to his presence. She’d only gone a few feet when Cowboy cut loose with the most heartbreaking whinny imaginable. The woman wa
lking toward Joe stopped and lifted her head, but didn’t turn back to the corral.
Instead, her eyes suddenly focused on him and he saw her recoil slightly. “You heartless, worthless bastard!” She whispered, but the words slammed into him, stunning him. Before he could recover enough to answer, she hurled herself at him, pummeling, clawing and kicking.
“Hey, hold on!” She was lightning fast and clearly out of her mind. He made several futile attempts to grasp her arms and get her away from him, but missed every time. “What the hell is wrong with you? Are these your horses? I’m not here to steal them or anything if that’s why you’re going off on me.”
She froze. Just stopped kicking, squirming, moving. He carefully dropped his own hands and took a step away from her. This crazy woman might think he had attacked her—or at least, she might say that. He flinched a little as he took in the dusty hair and clothing. Tight jeans that were more khaki than blue given the powdery dirt puffing up around them when the wind stirred, or the horses grew restless. And the white tank top that had been pulled to the side somehow, showing way more than cleavage.
She noticed at the same time he did and jerked the top back in place, turning red all the way up to her hairline. She took a deep breath. “So you don’t own these horses?”
“No. I thought you did.”
She tilted her head slightly and stared at him. “Then…why did you come?”
“To say goodbye to a horse. You?”
She dug her booted toe into the loose dirt and looked down. When she lifted her head again, her eyes glistened. “To save a horse. To save Cowboy.”
Chapter Two
Jody wiped her face with the back of her hand and wished the stranger would quit staring at her as if she were crazy. She could understand why he thought that, but she wished he’d just quit. She felt the symptoms she dealt with daily that so few noticed or understood. The palms of her hands were sweaty and itched. Her stomach churned. Her stepfather Eric always scoffed at her discomfort around people; it was one of the many reasons she’d never been able to love him. In the final years before her death, her mother, too, had become less sympathetic, demanding she “go out in the real world.” Both were trying to reassure her, but being told that her fear of being around people was nonsense hadn’t helped. And this stranger—she’d attacked him. Then she’d shown him a boob for good measure.
Out of habit, she didn’t want to look directly at him, but she couldn’t bear to look back at the horses any longer. Besides, for some reason, he looked vaguely familiar, so she refocused on him, trying to remember.
“Which horse did you come to see? Was he yours?” she prodded, and he shook his head.
“I’d never do this to a horse.” He shifted his weight as if something hurt, then shrugged. “I guess I came to see the same horse you did, though I’m not sure how you know him.” He held out his hand. “I’m—”
“Joe Roberts. The bareback rider.”
He looked surprised that she recognized him. He’d won the bareback bronc title the year he’d ridden Cowboy. The year he’d been trampled. She didn’t know how to tell him that she only knew him because she’d watched the tape over and over, trying to figure out what had happened to the horse she loved—why Cowboy had turned and headed right for Joe when he’d missed his pickup and fallen.
“Don’t most people?” she countered.
He shook his head and smiled wryly. “No. Not most. Maybe a few diehard fans and a few of my compadres do, but not most.”
She looked toward the corral. Cowboy had maneuvered into the space along the fence closest to them. She started to turn away from the bronc rider and go back, but he shook his head.
“The place is posted,” he noted. “I’m not sure we’re ready to face the lowlife who owns these poor brutes.”
“You’re just going to leave? Leave them without food or water?”
“They must be fed or watered at some point. They wouldn’t make it—”
He stopped, but she knew what he’d been going to say. “To slaughter.” Her stomach twisted. She gulped in air and willed herself not to turn and walk away. “We have to do something.”
He looked as uncomfortable as she felt. “Ma’am—”
She forced her name out through dry lips. “Jody.”
“Jody, someone bought these horses. He bought them to ship off to Mexico for a quick buck. It’s hideous, but it’s legal. I told you. I read an article saying Cowboy was here. He was a good, honest bronc and he gave me the points that put me over the top. If I’d known someone was doing this to him sooner…but it’s too late. And I’m no hero.”
The sun burned down, sapping movement and hope. The horses had gone still in the corrals behind her. Usually she would have walked away from a stranger by now instead of pleading for a favor. For a miracle. She couldn’t move her feet, so she stood her ground.
“I need a hero, though,” she managed, struggling with the words, then shaking her head once emphatically. “Not me. They do.”
She held her breath as she watched him glance back at the corrals.
“He crippled you. Took you out of rodeo, when you were at the top. But you’re here, Mr. Roberts.”
“Just Joe. I said goodbye. I was leaving when I saw you. You can’t stay here. And you can’t save—what, sixty or more beat-up, tossed-away horses.”
She brushed aside the logic and returned to what she wanted to know. “Why would you waste the time and energy to come look at a horse and walk off? You’re not glad that he’s here? You might be bitter toward him.”
He plucked his hat off and fanned his face briefly, then held it out toward her. “You should have something on your head.” She shook her head and he shrugged. “As for Cowboy, I was doing my job. He was doing his. No reason to blame the horse.”
“Everyone said he went after you.” She had watched the event over and over, and couldn’t make up her mind. Or maybe she didn’t want to believe that the horse she’d raised and planned on keeping forever could have turned vicious. Lord knew her folks had predicted catastrophe when the colt’s high spirits were deemed dangerous. She shifted uncomfortably when he didn’t answer and massaged her hip with one of her itchy palms.
“I’ve looked at the films,” he said eventually. “I had a lot of time to dwell on mistakes. I rode him, but he turned unexpectedly, and the pickup horse bumped him just as I made the buzzer. I think that spooked him, and as for the rest—I doubt he even knew what was happening.”
Relief washed through her. She knew in her heart that Cowboy wasn’t a vicious animal. Before they sold him and lied about him dying, her stepfather and the hands at the ranch had bullied the colt, hadn’t had patience with him, and he’d picked up bad habits. But deliberately going after a fallen rider wasn’t one of them.
The sound of approaching cars startled them; she saw him flinch and glance at his truck before he turned to watch the approaching sheriff’s department cruiser and a dark luxury car stirring up the dry dirt as they parked near the first pen.
Her legs wobbled and she drew several deep breaths. She’d been thinking she needed to go to the police, she reminded herself. Well, here they were. It wasn’t like she couldn’t deal with strangers, after all. Just that she always felt on the verge of throwing up whenever she had to talk to people she didn’t know. Or like.
The sheriff was out first and stood by his car, glancing around through mirrored sunglasses. She had no idea what his expression was under those shades and the tilted brim of his hat.
“Hey, there, y’all,” he drawled.
“Hey, Sheriff.” Joe nodded and touched the brim of his own hat, then crossed over to stand beside her. Her attention was divided momentarily between Joe and the sheriff, so she didn’t see the second man until he was uncomfortably close.
“Well. Looks like we got ‘em trespassing, Jim,” he said, leering at them.
The sheriff nodded and moved away from his car, stopping a few feet away, shoulder to shoulder with
the other man. She sensed Joe’s sudden unease and fought a wave of nausea as the newcomer’s sickeningly sweet cologne reached them.
“You two here together?” the sheriff asked.
“No,” she said, just as Joe answered “Yes.”
“Seems like one of you just lied,” the sheriff noted, glancing at his companion, who nodded and fished a handkerchief out to wipe sweat off his face. “So, you want me to run ‘em in, Mr. Benton?”
“One of you want to give me a straight answer? You, sexy lady?” He turned his head as he added in the sheriff’s direction, “Think this is what they mean by a dirty girl? I’ve heard they’re good fun.”
Jody felt the color rage through her, but focused on getting words out. “We met up here. We’d decided we’d go into the sheriff’s office together. We were going to ask who the owner of these horses is.”
“Well, honey, that’d be me. What did you need with me?” The tall, heavyset man crossed his arms across his chest and tilted his head. She suppressed a shudder. Something about his demeanor was just…off. Dangerous, maybe, in a sick way.
“We just wanted to let you know that the horses were out of water,” Joe said easily, catching her hand and squeezing it as if they were really friends. Or lovers. “We saw the article in the paper and thought we recognized one of the horses, that’s all. But since we found you, Mr. Benton, I’m sure you’ll take care of it. And we do need to clean up.” He smiled down at her. “Don’t think your folks would want us to take them to dinner like this.”
The two men looked suspicious, but after a minute Benton shrugged and slapped the sheriff’s shoulder. “Well, they killed two birds with one stone, Jim. Spoke to you and me.” He moved away from the sheriff and his face hardened. “Just so you know, I usually have armed guards with dogs,” he warned. “The sensors and cameras got you, but you came by at a good time—for you. I won’t have any more of those bleeding-heart protesters around.” Then he nodded curtly. “You two go on. The sheriff and me will check the horses over and be sure they get watered.”
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