Cowboy Crazy

by Joanne Kennedy

  Despite the sunshine, Sarah felt a sudden chill. “What problems?”

  The man shrugged his broad shoulders. “Carrigan didn’t know. Somewhere along the way the horse had probably fallen or something. There were no outward signs ’cept for the way he kicked and bucked. Took a lot of tests to find the problem, but Lane doesn’t give up, you know? He wants something, he sticks, like he sticks to a bull.”

  Sarah nodded. Lane was persistent. He’d stuck with her, and she hadn’t made it easy.

  “So what was wrong with him?”

  “Pinched nerve in his neck.” He led the gelding back to his stall and steered him inside, then unbuckled the halter and lifted it off his head. “You wouldn’t have ever guessed it. Most horses would be short-strided, show it in their gate. But it’s instinct for animals to hide their pain, and that horse was strong enough to keep it covered up. Lane had a hell of a time figuring out what was wrong with him, but he wouldn’t give up.” He stroked the horse’s nose with the effortless camaraderie of a true horseman as he exited the stall, latching the gate behind him. “It’s just lucky that animal had a buyer who could afford to fix him,” he said. “By the time they got it figured out, I think Carrigan spent three times what the animal was worth.”

  “What all did he do?”

  The farrier shook his head. “A lot more than most people would have. He hauled that horse all the way down to the vet school at Colorado State, and let me tell you, that was no small feat. Never saw a horse that hated trailers the way that one did.”

  They were both silent for a moment. Sarah didn’t know what the farrier was thinking about, but she was thinking of Flash and the reason for his fear of trailers.

  “So the vet figured out the problem?” she finally asked.

  “After a few thousand dollars in tests. That horse spent almost six months there. Once they figured out what it was, there was surgery, recovery, therapy—for a while they had him swimming every day.”

  Sarah sat down on a bale of hay, her legs weak. “It must have cost a fortune,” she muttered.

  She was talking more to herself than the farrier, but he was a friendly guy and kept on talking. “Sure did. Just figuring it out, let alone fixing it.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the stall door. “Guess the folks that sold him didn’t know. Thought the horse was just difficult, and he ran for ’em anyway. Daughter was a barrel racer. Let me tell you, that animal had heart. To get through the pain he was suffering and make those turns—it must have hurt like hell. That horse was a goddamn hero.”

  Sarah jerked to her feet, swallowing hard as she steadied herself against the wall. “I need to go get Trevor for you. He’ll write you a check or whatever.”

  The farrier waved her away. “No need. Got a contract, so Lane just pays me monthly. Where’s Cinn hanging out today?”

  She wanted to get out of there more than she’d ever wanted out of anywhere. She needed to sit somewhere quiet and process the information about Flash. Lane was no villain. Really, she was the bad guy in this story.

  Because she’d tortured the horse she loved, tortured him every day. She’d thought she was being patient, working through what she and Roy had believed were psychological issues. They’d had him checked, X-rayed, analyzed—nobody had been able to find anything wrong.

  To get through the pain he was suffering and run anyway… that horse was a goddamn hero.

  Lane had been the best thing that ever happened to Flash. He’d saved him. Given him the gift of a few pain-free years at the end of his life.

  She led the farrier out of the cool barn and over to the sunbaked corral where she’d left Cinn. She could see Flash in the glowing red of his coat, the graceful curve of his back, the breadth of his chest and the elegant beauty of his head.

  “How long did Flash live after the surgery?”

  “Couple years. Long enough to enjoy being nothing but a stud for a while.” The farrier laughed. “He got the life he deserved after all, even if it was only for a while. Once he recovered from the surgery, he was a sweetheart. Everybody’s favorite. Cinn’s got the same personality.”

  Sarah watched him slip a halter over the horse’s head and clip on a lead rope. As he led the stallion back to the barn, the world blurred in front of her, the sharp stems of grass blending into patches of yellow light and blue shadow, the sun blurring to a watercolor glow, the corral fences becoming sharp dark strokes against the light. She tripped over a tussock of grass and realized she’d veered off the path.

  “You okay?” the farrier asked.

  “Fine,” she said. “I just need to go, um, up to the hayloft. I left something up there. You got everything you need?”

  He nodded as the horse’s hooves hit the wood of the barn floor. “Sure,” he said. “Take your time.”

  She climbed the rickety ladder to the loft like demons were nipping at her heels. She hadn’t left anything up there. She hadn’t even been up there yet—but she needed to be alone and the loft at her stepfather’s ranch had always been her thinking place. Hoisting herself up from the ladder, she made her way through a narrow space between stacks of hay and straw and finally sat down on a bale positioned near the hay door. Looking out, she could see the drive curving away, the crooked fence line strung beside it. The gigantic house was behind the barn, so from here it looked like any other ranch—a remote outpost on the plains, just one more of the many efforts to fence and tame the West. The grass was scrubby and scattered with sage and rocks, the trees sparse and tortured by the wind. Far beyond the fence posts, a rock outcropping reared up, bronzed by the sun against the darkening sky.

  The familiar scent of hay, straw, and dust carried her back to the past. The day they’d packed up and left, relinquishing the house and empty barn to the bank, she’d gone up and sat in the hayloft. She hadn’t mourned that day. She hadn’t cried. She’d just been angry, cursing in her head over and over the man who’d bought Flash. She’d spent her whole life blaming everything that went wrong on that one man, as if he’d been a seed of trouble that grew roots and shoots that strangled every aspect of her life.

  Her mother’s retreat from life and the way she’d crawled into a bottle and stayed there. Kelsey’s pregnancy and rushed marriage, her outsized determination to build a happy home. Sarah’s own push for safety and security, the years she’d spent at school struggling to master her new world—she’d blamed it all on the buyer. He was like a bogeyman, hiding in every corner, darkening every incident with his ominous shadow.

  And he didn’t exist. Lane was no monster. He hadn’t stolen her horse; he’d saved him.

  She plucked a piece of straw from the bale and stared down at it. Why hadn’t he told her about Flash’s problems?

  She remembered the way he’d cut off the conversation about the horse, turned away, and left. She’d had the sense he was about to say something and then thought better of it—and now she knew he’d let the chance to defend himself pass. The man who always wanted to win had thrown the game rather than tell her that her troubles weren’t the fault of some outside force. There was no one left to hate but herself.

  Lane seemed so rough on the outside, with his jokes and insults, his endless teasing—but somehow, in a very short time, he’d come to understand her like no one else. He’d seen all her flaws, her pride and stubbornness, her determination to hold onto the grudges that defined her past, present, and future, and he’d chosen to walk away and give her time, rather than ripping away the shield she’d carried all these years. He was willing to be the bad guy and bear the blame if it helped her heal from the pain of her past.

  Resting her elbows on her knees, she lowered her head into her hands and let the tears fall.

  Twenty minutes later, the farrier shouted out a good-bye. She answered in a cracked, quavering voice, then waved from the hay door as he climbed into his truck and drove away. She watched until the plume of dust kicked up from the truck faded away, and then she let herself cry some more.
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  Chapter 38

  Lane dug his heels into the side of a black-speckled bull named Dalmatian and tensed to give the nod. Shifting his weight, he tightened the rope wrapped around his riding glove, then reached up and shoved his hat down hard. The arena was clear, the crowd hushed, the clowns and pickup men standing off to the side. If only he could clear his mind and quiet the thoughts whirling through his brain.

  He stared down at the bull’s blunt horns, but all he could see was Sarah. That would be all right if he could see her naked, but the pictures that kept flashing through his mind were surprisingly tame. Her flushed embarrassment after he’d kissed her. Her serious, sedate dance with the horse when she didn’t know he was watching. Her face, bright with fury when she’d confronted him about Flash.

  He worked his fingers deeper into the glove and tugged himself closer to the bull’s broad shoulders. He just didn’t feel right. Maybe if he rewrapped his hand. He unwound the rosined rope and carefully laced it around his hand, tight but not too tight, staring down at the process but still thinking about Flash.

  What had happened to the stallion wasn’t Roy Price’s fault, but it had been a mistake to work the horse like he did. And though Lane managed to keep the animal comfortable, he couldn’t be ridden. His potential never would have paid off. Roy had gone out on a limb buying the horse, and sooner or later, that limb would have come crashing down.

  But it seemed like the one good thing Sarah had held onto all her life was her unshakable belief in her stepfather. She probably had great memories of Flash too, since she’d ridden him successfully on the barrel racing circuit. If he told her what had been wrong with the horse, she’d be horrified to learn she’d put the animal through excruciating pain.

  If hating Lane helped her, he’d let her do it. That way she’d keep believing in her father and in herself. He was doing the right thing.

  It took him a half second to realize he’d nodded his head at the thought and the cowboy by the gate had taken it as a signal. The iron bars swung aside and Dalmatian leapt for the opening, rearing up so high he almost dumped Lane off the back.

  Damn. He wasn’t ready on the rope. He hadn’t settled into his seat. Worst of all, he wasn’t ready mentally. He felt his legs sliding backward. The rope burned his palm as it slid through his grip, twisting away. For a long, suspended second he looked down from the top of his arc and saw the bull kicking up dust, the wide-eyed wonder of the cowboy at the gate watching him fly up and away, and the faces of the crowd, a blur of color and light, tracing his descent.

  The arena fence rose to meet him, the metal bars speeding closer, closer—and then a shuddering clang reverberated through every bone in his body. Stars exploded inside his head and faded to a deep, black darkness and the last thing he knew was pain.

  ***

  By the time she trudged up the wheelchair ramp to the house, Sarah was a mess. Her boots were dusty, her hair flecked with hay. She’d splashed her face over and over with cold water from the spigot in the barn, and though it had washed away the swelling from her tears, it had left her face ruddy and pink.

  She needed to talk to Trevor and find out where Lane was so she could tell him she knew she’d misjudged him. Hell, she’d misjudged her whole life, and she was ready to start over. She’d start by apologizing to Lane.

  Not that it would make much difference. She’d shown her worst side to him. He knew she was angry and stubborn and hopelessly deluded. He knew the image she’d presented to the world was a false front, like a grand facade on the street side of a rickety, tumbledown shack. She’d just as soon never face him again.

  But she needed to bite the bullet and tell him he was right. She hadn’t been giving her true self a chance. If she could, she’d take the job he’d offered, but she could hardly work as a stable hand when she couldn’t bring herself to get on a horse. Her riding days were over. She’d proven that this morning.

  It was a shame, because she’d come to another conclusion during her long, hay-scented crying jag. Lane had been right when he’d said Two Shot made her what she was today. The specter of her past had always urged her on like a trainer with a lunge whip, pushing her to try harder. If she could stay, she could somehow pay the town back, make amends. But with no job, there was no future for her in Two Shot.

  Halfway up the wheelchair ramp to the house, she almost turned around. What if she went back to the barn and tried again? Maybe a different horse would help. But those painful memories and the heart-pounding panic that accompanied them weren’t something she could face again.

  Trevor was just hanging up the phone when she stepped into the kitchen. She’d kicked her boots off on the porch, so he didn’t hear her stocking feet on the hardwood floor.

  “Is he conscious?” he was asking.

  Sarah stopped. His tone was hushed, as different from his usual bantering tone as it could be. Dread coiled in her stomach and she reached out and touched a hand to the counter to keep her balance.

  “Okay,” he said. “Thanks.” He turned and caught sight of Sarah. “I’ll send somebody right over.”

  He clicked the phone shut and set it on the counter, then lowered his head and closed his eyes as if marshaling all his strength.

  “Lane’s hurt,” he said. “Bucked into the fence.”

  Sarah felt heat behind her eyes. “Is he okay?”

  “Dunno.” Trevor’s face flushed and his lips whitened, as if he was holding back emotion. “It’s a head injury. They’re working on him, but he’s unconscious.”

  She pictured him in an ambulance and felt her lungs squeeze shut. The thought brought back the pictures she’d been trying to avoid—a man killed by an animal. Roy in the driveway, Roy in the ambulance, his ruddy skin gray and lifeless.

  No. Lane Carrigan was upright and vital and most of all, strong. He couldn’t end up that way. She couldn’t let the fate that had taken away Roy steal the only other man she’d ever—loved?

  That couldn’t be right. Hell, she wasn’t even capable of love. Lane had given her every reason to love and trust him, and she’d still blamed him for her reception in Two Shot. Blamed him for what had happened to her family.

  “Oh, God,” she said to Trevor. “When he left—I said terrible things to him. I need to get to him. I need to tell him I didn’t mean it.”

  She hated herself even as she said the words. Trevor was losing his best friend, and all she could think of was herself. But she couldn’t stop replaying their parting in her head. She’d told Lane to hit the road and he’d walked away without defending himself, sparing her the pain of knowing the truth.

  She needed to tell him she knew about Flash, and that she was sorry. Picturing him lying in the dirt of the arena, hurt and helpless, she knew there was one more truth she needed to face. One more puzzle piece in her future she needed to slide into place.

  She loved Lane Carrigan. He couldn’t possibly love her back—not after how she’d behaved. Even a good man had his limits. But she needed to tell him.

  “Where is he?” she asked.

  “Casper,” he said.

  “Casper? Where was the rodeo?”

  “Humboldt.”

  “But…” She paused, stunned. “He said he was going away. Staying somewhere else.”

  “Yeah, he said he was going to stay in the trailer, then leave for Amarillo tomorrow or the next day.”

  So he’d had nowhere to go. He could have stayed at the ranch.

  “Why?”

  The minute she asked the question, she prayed Trevor didn’t know the answer. Hopefully Lane hadn’t told Trev she was a basket case, that she was delusional, that she blamed him for all her problems and he was afraid to be alone in the house with a crazy woman. Because that was the only reason he would have stayed in the cramped trailer instead of his own cozy Love Nest.

  “Dunno.” Trevor shrugged and spun the chair away from the counter.

  Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. One thing about rodeo cowboys—they were not g
iven to introspection. It was a quality she’d often criticized, but right now she was grateful for it.

  “Can you drive the van?” Trevor held up his hand. It was shaking like an aspen leaf in a high breeze.

  “Sure.” She was shaking a little herself, but Trevor didn’t need to know that.

  Lane did, though. Lane needed to know everything.

  She was through with keeping secrets.

  Chapter 39

  Lane blinked, squinting his eyes against a glaring white light. He’d expected to wake up in the arena, possibly to an enormous hoof descending on his head or a high-speed view of the crowd flashing by as he hurtled through the air. But all he saw was light shimmering around him, plus occasional shadows, blurred at the edges, that came and went.

  The light. He’d heard about that. It meant he was dying. How the hell had that happened? He pondered that question a while, remembering the bull, the flight through the air, and the metal fence post. Oh, yeah.

  He was supposed to go toward the light, right? But he couldn’t even move. Come to think of it, most people couldn’t move when they were dying, so how the hell were you supposed to go toward anything? He tensed his muscles, but all that did was make his ribs hurt. It got the shadows moving, though. They flashed in and out of sight, making a constant and incomprehensible noise, like quacking ducks.

  If heaven was full of ducks, he was in trouble. About his only contact with a duck had been shooting one on a hunting trip in 1998. He’d fed some once too, when he was a kid, but he doubted a few chunks of bread tossed into a scummy pond would offset cold-blooded duck murder. If ducks controlled the pearly gates, he was out of luck and headed for hell.

  Oh, well. He’d never really expected to make the cut for heaven anyway. Too much carousing. Too many women.

  Still, he’d done a few good things in his life. He’d done his best to help Trevor after his accident. He’d insulted the guy the entire time, but that was just to make everybody feel more comfortable.