The Last Cowboy

by Lindsay McKenna

  “So, how many times a week do I take this circuit?” she asked.

  “Twice a week,” Slade said. “And you’ll take a stopwatch with you. I’ll write down the gait and time. Then, we’ll see where we need to refine and improve Stormy’s performance.”

  “But Stormy did okay for a first time?”

  Slade held her gaze. He focused on her soft, full lips. Jordana never wore makeup that he could see. Her cheeks were ruddy with health and vibrancy. She was strong, confident and truly fearless. “Yes, she did okay.”

  Mustering her courage, Jordana said, “Slade, if we work hard, could we be ready for the Tetons Fifty? I’d really like to enter her in it if you think we’d be ready for it.” Jordana saw the surprise come to his eyes. His mouth thinned for a moment. Brows slashed downward. Oops. Had she spoken too soon? Were her dreams too high? Impossible to reach so soon? Or did he think she was talking hot air?

  “She could be ready, providing the pastern with the scar on it doesn’t give you trouble.” He held up his gloved hand. “But don’t go where I see you going, Jordana. Your mare is new to this. You’ll be lucky to finish in the top fifty of the hundred riders that are coming. And if Stormy does that, it will be enough for a first time.”

  “Phew, I thought you were going to tear into me because I asked.”

  Shaking his head, Slade managed a sour smile. “You have a horse who can do it. And your riding skills are solid. There’s no reason to think that you can’t compete. Just don’t expect to win, is all.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  CURT DOWNING HAPPENED to glance up from where he was standing in the aisle of Andy’s Horse Emporium. He was in here to buy some Absorbine liniment for his endurance stallion, Shah. A woman with shoulder-length black hair and incredibly beautiful turquoise blue eyes entered. The pink T-shirt and jeans outlined her athletic body. She had the warmest smile on her face for Andy, the owner, who greeted her at the counter.

  Who is she? Curious, Curt was always looking for a woman who liked horses. Setting the bottle on the shelf, he eavesdropped on their conversation.

  “Andy, how are you?”

  “Long time, no see, Dr. Lawton. I’m fine.” Andy patted his protruding girth with his hand. “You’ll probably see high cholesterol.”

  Chuckling, Jordana said, “Hey, I’m just here to pick up a few items, not diagnose you or your patrons.”

  Andy nodded his balding head. “Good to know,” he said, laughing in return. “Anything I can help you with?”

  Jordana looked around the large store. Andy had cowboy clothing for men and women, saddles for sale and anything else a horse person might need for themselves or their mount. “No, this is like a candy store for me. You know that. Just got to get a few items that need replacing.”

  “Hey, I heard through the pipeline you’re in training with Slade McPherson. True?”

  Sighing, Jordana leaned against the old, well-worn oak counter that Andy sat behind. “There’s no secrets in this town, is there?” she said with a smile. “Let me guess…Gwen Garner told you?”

  “Yes, she did.” Andy smiled a little. “Actually, my wife, Belinda, was over buying some fabric at Gwen’s store and she heard about it.”

  Jordana’s grin widened. “Ah…the rest of the story. Gwen is careful with the info she hands out. I’m in good hands and don’t mind her spreading the word that Mr. McPherson is my teacher.”

  Andy nodded. “Gwen is never wrong.” And then he learned forward and whispered, “You know McPherson is an ornery cuss?”

  Shrugging, Jordana said, “I manage to get along with him.”

  “You taking that gray mustang mare you bought to him?”

  “I did. He gave her a thumbs-up on her ability to be a top endurance horse and I’m jazzed.”

  “Nobody knows endurance horses better than Slade,” Andy agreed.

  Jordana was about to speak when a shadow of a man came over her. She glanced to her left. A man in his mid-thirties with short, carrot-red hair and pale blue eyes studied her. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation, either. His eyes were almost a colorless blue. It made his black pupils even more intense-looking. There was nothing weak about the man’s face. He was dressed in a white cowboy shirt, jeans and wore a black Stetson on his head.

  “I’m Curt Downing, Dr. Lawton,” he said and held out his large, callused hand toward her. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation that you’re an endurance rider.”

  Out of social habit, Jordana forced herself to shake the man’s hand. He had copper freckles all over his face. What bothered her was his small-set eyes. In fact, to Jordana, Downing’s features sent further alarm through her. In the horse world, a horse with small, close-set eyes was considered mean and unpredictable. She recalled Slade had mentioned Downing in unpleasant terms. As she released his hand, she remembered that Curt’s father had been drunk and killed Slade’s parents.

  “I’m an endurance rider in the making,” she told Downing. She saw his eyes narrow speculatively upon her. Downing stood about six feet tall and probably weighed around one hundred and seventy pounds. He was lean and athletic. Maybe her negative feelings toward him were because Slade disliked him.

  “How long you been here, Doctor?”

  “Two years,” Jordana said. She moved a few feet away from Downing. He was hovering over her like a proverbial vulture ready to clean the bones of some dead animal. Indeed, there was a fierce, hawklike look in Downing’s eyes, and it unsettled her.

  “And you’re just starting endurance riding?”

  “No, I’ve been competitive for two years.”

  “Ah, I see,” Downing murmured. He appraised her body with a sharpness honed from knowing horse conformation. Hills and valleys in all the right places, Curt liked what he saw. “Pity you went to McPherson. Did you know I also run a championship-training facility? I’m the national endurance champion.” He lifted his head a little more proudly than before.

  Disliking his ego, Jordana said, “Yes, I knew about you, Mr. Downing.”

  “Please, call me Curt,” he pleaded with a smile.

  “I prefer to call you Mr. Downing, if you don’t mind.” Jordana added a slight smile to take the sting out of her decision. She saw him frown. Downing was handsome but in a twisted way as far as Jordana was concerned. She glanced over to see Andy scowling, too. What else did Andy know about Downing? That he played dirty tricks out on the endurance rides against other riders and their horses? Jordana knew the gossip pipeline in this cow town was very, very efficient.

  “Listen,” Curt said, ignoring her coolness toward him, “if you get a chance and would like to see my Arabian stallion, Shah, I’d be more than happy to show him to you. No one beats my stud.”

  Andy coughed.

  Jordana eyed Curt and held his arrogant gaze. “Oh, he’s been beaten by Thor, Mr. McPherson’s medicine-hat mustang stallion.”

  “Not often,” Curt laughed. “Arabians always win the endurance contests.”

  Jordana admitted that was true up to a point. “Half Arabians have won them, too, and so have mustangs which have Spanish barb blood in them.”

  Nodding, Curt enjoyed the woman’s unexpected pluck. “Right you are, Dr. Lawton.” She didn’t melt before him. Did she know how rich he was? When women came into his orbit, they were usually attracted by his money. But something told him that Lawton wasn’t like that. He knew doctors were rich in their own right but not a millionaire like he was. A sense of power flowed through him as he absorbed her natural beauty.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Jordana said, starting to move away because she really didn’t like talking to this arrogant man. She took a step toward the aisle.

  “Hey,” Downing said, grabbing her wrist.

  Instantly, Jordana shook off his hand. “I’m done speaking with you, Mr. Downing,” she said coldly, glaring at him for his aggressive action. Her wrist smarted where his strong fingers had wrapped around it. His grip had been hard. Controlling. Jordana was alarm
ed by his boldness. Suddenly, she could see the competitiveness in his eyes. And now, she understood a little better what Slade had said about this man. She didn’t like him. At all.

  “Oh.” Curt laughed. “Sorry. I just find you fascinating. It isn’t often I meet another endurance rider. We’re a pretty rare breed.”

  Ignoring him, Jordana left the area and headed down the aisle looking for a new comb and brush for Stormy. She heard Downing talking amiably with Andy as his purchases were rung up and placed into a bag. Good riddance! She moved down to the endcap as far away as she could get from the rancher. Downing’s ego burned into her. How unlike Slade he was! Watching warily until Downing marched out of the emporium, Jordana gave a sigh of relief. Now, she could relax and shop. This was a treat to come to Andy’s place.

  Andy came shuffling up to her. “Jordana, I’m awful sorry about Mr. Downing’s behavior. He shouldn’t have laid a hand on you.”

  She saw the worry in the man’s eyes. “No problem, Andy. I can handle myself around men like him.”

  “Downing thinks every woman is for sale,” Andy muttered apologetically. “I shouldn’t say much more than that. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t upset.”

  Smiling, Jordana said, “Not at all.”

  “You know,” Andy said, a gleam in his brown eyes, “you might go over to the Quilter’s Haven. The owner, Gwen Garner, knows everything about everyone here in Jackson Hole. You should get the rest of the scoop on Downing.”

  “I’d heard Gwen was the go-to gal for honest information on anyone in Jackson Hole,” she admitted.

  “Well, you might amble over there after you leave here.”

  Jordana nodded. “I will. Thanks, Andy.”

  Andy gave a relieved sigh. “Good. I’m glad you’ll do that….”

  JORDANA ENTERED Quilter’s Haven on Friday afternoon. At the counter, she asked for Gwen Garner. The clerk pointed to a section at the rear of the fabric store. For years, she had heard that Gwen, whose son, Cade Garner, was a deputy sheriff for the county, was the person who had the goods on everyone in the town. Andy’s relief that she would talk with Gwen had prompted Jordana to carry through on his advice. She knew the older man who owned the emporium wasn’t given to such reactions, but Downing had certainly triggered something in him.

  “Gwen?” she called, seeing a gray-haired woman with a clipboard in hand. “I’m Dr. Jordana Lawton. Do you have a moment?”

  Gwen looked up to see the young, confident woman walking around the end of the fabric aisle. “Sure,” she said, holding out her hand to her. “Dr. Lawton. I’ve heard plenty of good things about you. It’s nice to finally meet you in person! Are you here for fabric? Quilting patterns? Or something else?”

  Jordana smiled, shook the sixty-year-old woman’s hand and lowered her tone. “Actually, Andy from the Horse Emporium, suggested I come over here to talk with you.”

  Gwen put her pen on the clipboard. “Oh?”

  Jordana told her what had happened at the store. She saw Gwen’s face pinch and her eyes go hard. When she got done telling her the experience, Gwen moved a little closer and lowered her voice.

  “Red Downing owned the Lazy D Ranch that butts up against the McPherson ranch. He was an alcoholic. Sally Downing, his wife, was constantly abused by her husband. And so was the son, Curt. When Red plowed into Bob and Dolly McPherson’s car and killed them, he died, too. That left the ranch to Sally, who had the battered wife’s syndrome. Fellow ranchers gathered around her and her young son to help her. Red had controlled everything and Sally was useless, but she was a victim of violence. Eventually, Sally got the ranch on better financial ground. In the meantime, Curt fell in love with endurance riding and it was his only passion. When Sally died of a heart attack in 1996, Curt was willed the ranch.”

  Gwen looked up to ensure no one was nearby to eavesdrop. The store was pretty much empty, and the few patrons who were shopping were at the front of her store. “Curt Downing won a lot of races, bought a good stallion named Shah and, through smart marketing, made millions. His ranch is now solvent, he owns an endurance-training facility and he also breeds his Arabian stallion to other endurance mares from around the country.”

  “That sounds like a rags-to-riches story,” Jordana said. “As a physician I’ve seen plenty of abused women and children in my E.R. back in New York City, so I know what abuse does to people.”

  Gwen moved to the corner of the store. “Abuse is wrong. But it’s how the person handles it that counts. And that’s why Andy got protective of you today. Curt Downing is known to play rough and dirty on endurance contests. No one has caught him at it—yet. He will do anything to win. When he whips a rider or their horse, or pushes them off a trail and endangers them, these people file complaints to the judges. But without a third witness as proof, or a camera photo, they can’t do anything. So, he continues to get away with it.”

  Nodding, Jordana said in a low tone, “I’m in training with Slade McPherson. He said the same thing about Downing.”

  “Yes, I know you are.” Gwen smiled a little. “We hear everything that goes on in this town.”

  Smiling faintly, Jordana said, “I feel like Downing is stalking me. It’s my gut feeling. When he put his hand on me like that, I wanted to run away.”

  “And run you should,” Gwen said. “He goes through women like water from a faucet. And he carries on his abuse. He’s beat up his other women and they’ve all left sooner or later. And he made a move on you at the Horse Emporium. My advice is stay clear of this guy. He’s no good. Further, there’s plenty of his students that come in here and talk about how he uses the whip and spurs on the endurance horses they own. They don’t like it. He might have a state-of-the-art facility, but he continually loses students who don’t abide using those instruments to make their horses run faster to win a race.”

  “He sounds amoral,” Jordana said. Sighing, she said, “Slade doesn’t like him. Now, I see why.”

  “Oh,” Gwen said, “it goes a lot deeper than that. Slade hates Curt Downing for Red killing his parents. It wasn’t Curt’s fault, but he’s done nothing to heal that wound between them, either. These men are the top two champions in the U.S. when it comes to endurance riding. Curt wants to win to pat his ego. Slade has to win to keep his ranch from falling into foreclosure.”

  Eyes narrowing, Jordana said, “I didn’t know that.”

  “Slade’s a proud man. He busts his butt to make ends meet. The bank isn’t working with him.” She shook her head. “The banker, Frank Halbert, is in bed with Curt Downing. Slade went several times to get his loan readjusted, but Halbert, I think, has been paid off by Downing not to do it.”

  “Why?”

  “Five years ago, when Slade was making his mark as an endurance champion, Curt was threatened. He offered Slade ten million for his ranch. The way Curt figured it, if he could get the Tetons Ranch, then he’d have a much larger ranch and he could expand his training facility. Of course, Slade turned him down and that’s when everything went to hell in a handbasket. Curt has made sure the bank won’t remortgage Slade’s ranch.”

  “But can’t Slade go to another bank?”

  “No. Money is so tight now and they won’t loan hardly anyone anything. We’re in a Depression, pure and simple. Everyone is belt tightening. Slade teeters between foreclosure and keeping his family ranch every month. It’s that bad.”

  Jordana sighed. “I didn’t know that, Gwen. That’s awful. He’s such a good person. And he’s a wonderful trainer for me and Stormy.”

  “The man’s got a heart of gold, but few can see it. He’s a loner. He sticks to himself. And he’s got just as much pride as any Wyoming rancher. All he does is buckle down and work harder and longer hours to make ends meet.”

  Jordana said, “I hurt for him. He’s wonderful with horses.”

  “Oh,” Gwen said, “no question there. Slade is known as the horse whisperer here in the valley. And Curt hates him for that. Plus, Slade beats him in the
endurance contests.”

  “Bad blood,” Jordana agreed. “I knew some of the past history between them.”

  Wagging her finger at Jordana, Gwen warned, “You watch Downing. Chances are he already knew you were a student of Slade’s. I wouldn’t put it past him to squeeze information out of you about Slade and his ranch. If he tries, clam up.”

  “Not to worry,” Jordana promised, “I disliked Downing the moment I saw him. He has small, close-set eyes. That was enough to put me on guard.”

  Chuckling, Gwen nodded. “And he’s just like a small-eyed horse—meaner than the dickens. You’d do well to stay as far away from him as you can. My sense tells me he’s up to no good. No one will talk about Slade to him. He’s angry at everyone because we protect Slade from him.”

  “He must think the town is against him.”

  Laughing softly, Gwen said, “We are. Downing has no morals or values. We know he plays dirty tricks on other endurance riders. And the locals around here who sign up to ride the Tetons endurance contest know him too well. The judges might not have the proof that he’s using his whip on another rider or horse or that he’s shoved a rider off a horse, but we know he’s done it.”

  Shaking her head, Jordana said, “Slade’s a hero, then.”

  “Oh, he is. And ranchers stick together like fleas on a dog. They help one another out. And Slade has done the same for others. He’s a good man in a bad position. He’s got to win the Tetons ride this September. There’s a ten-thousand-dollar award for the winner. With that win, Slade can give the mortgage a breather.”