Stallions at Burnt Rock (West Texas Sunrise Book #1): A Novel

by Paul Bagdon

  She put her hand on Ben’s forearm. “It’s nothing, Ben—I’m all right. There’s no big problem.”

  “Then what ... ?”

  Lee glanced over at Ben’s desk and the visitor’s chair in front of it. “Can we sit? I’ve had a long ride.”

  Ben looked over her shoulder at Slick standing at the hitching rail. He grinned. “ ’Course, you didn’t take any pleasure in the ride, did you?”

  “Oh, hush, you,” she laughed.

  When they were seated and had cups of Ben’s barely palatable coffee in front of them, he asked, “Why are you here?”

  Lee nodded toward her cup. “I sure didn’t ride here for that,” she said. “You need to learn to make a pot of coffee that doesn’t taste like cactus pulp, Ben.”

  “Maybe I need a lady to make coffee for me,” he answered, looking up at her. She met his gaze, and neither spoke for what turned into an uncomfortably long time.

  “Maybe you do,” she said quietly, barely above a whisper, and then broke eye contact. She picked up her cup, sipped, and grimaced. When she spoke again, her voice was all business.

  “I fired Wade Stuart earlier tonight. He didn’t much like it. I told him he could pick up the pay I owed him here. I’m sorry I dragged you into the middle, but I thought ...”

  “You did the right thing. Don’t apologize.” He waited a moment and then asked, “Why’d you fire him? You’ve told me he’s a good hand with horses and that he’s conditioned Slick perfectly.”

  “Well, it was something he said right after Jonas was killed. Remember that I asked you and Carlos not to say anything about the way Jonas died?”

  Ben nodded.

  “Well, later that day, Wade stopped at my house to offer condolences. Ben—he used the words ‘I’m sorry he got killed.’ But he had no way of knowing how Jonas died. Jonas could’ve died from an illness, for all he knew.”

  Ben whooshed out a breath of air. For several moments, he was silent. “Stuart could have thought an accident of some kind took Jonas. Horse ranches can be dangerous places.” When Lee began to speak, he held up his hand. “Wait—I’m not questioning your feelings here. I don’t like what he said. I’m going to need to talk with him.”

  “Thanks. If you’re not satisfied, can you arrest him?”

  “That depends. Was there anyone else there? Maria? Carlos?”

  Lee shook her head. “We were in my parlor, alone.”

  Ben leaned back in his chair. “Way back when you first hired Stuart, you had some bad feelings about him. I wired to the jurisdictions around here, askin’ if any of the lawmen knew of Stuart or had even heard about him. I came up empty, but that means next to nothin’.”

  Lee shook her head. “Maybe I should have let him go after that blowup with Rafe. I wish I had.”

  “Maybe is a great big word, Lee. You had no way of knowin’ about any of this back then.”

  “I guess. But I feel like I’ve dropped a kettle of trouble in your lap. If Wade turns out to be a gunfighter, he may—”

  Ben reached across the desk and took her hand. He smiled, but his face was grim. “If it wasn’t for kettles of trouble in my lap, I wouldn’t have anything to do. I’m a marshall, remember?”

  “I know that.” She met his eyes. “And I didn’t mean to imply that you can’t do your job if it comes to locking up Wade. It’s just that I hate to be the cause of putting you in danger.”

  She suddenly became aware of the fact that Ben was still holding her hand. She pulled away.

  Ben cleared his throat. “The Harvest Days Festival is comin’ up,” he said. “Have you gotten a rider for Slick yet?”

  “I may have—I’m not quite sure yet. Harley Botts came to talk to me yesterday with some ridiculous story about his being a close friend of Jonas, and how Jonas wanted him to have Pirate. It was lies. All of it. Botts is a snake, and I’m sure that Wade is somehow involved with him.”

  Ben nodded. “That thought crossed my mind too. Botts could have killed—or had somebody else kill—Jonas and then made some sort of a deal with Stuart about the race. Knowing the winner would mean a lot of money to someone crooked enough to set it all up.”

  “It could have been planned out ever since the race was first announced,” Lee said. “Wade could’ve been playing me for a fool. Everyone here in town and for miles around knows what a great job he’s done in bringing Slick into top form. There’ll be lots of money bet on him to beat Pirate. All Wade would have to do is make the race look good, but let Pirate win. Botts would clean up—and so would Wade.”

  “That’s why you need to find a man who can run that race on Slick to beat Pirate fair and square.”

  “I’ve pretty much made up my mind about that. And Slick will beat Pirate.”

  “Who is this rider, then? One of your men from the ranch?”

  Lee smiled and sipped at the dregs of her coffee before answering. “Did I say anything about a man?”

  * * *

  9

  * * *

  Lee was alert and awake when she jogged Slick toward the barn on the Busted Thumb. Although she’d ridden most of the night, what she’d revealed to Ben had lifted her spirits and made her plan seem less harebrained and more real.

  Of course, it wasn’t a woman’s place to ride a stud horse in a twenty-mile race. That was a man’s place—and she knew she’d be accused of impropriety, even by the women of Burnt Rock. She remembered what a bank attorney had said when she’d requested a loan for the purchase of a dozen stallions: It simply isn’t done, madam. She’d heard the same phrase when she purchased the Busted Thumb, began her breeding program, started gelding stallions not to be used for breeding, and ran her operation as she thought it should be run.

  She smiled. She’d never told anyone, but she always felt a surge of excitement, a sort of tingle, when she broke the stuffy rules of the society around her. She didn’t really consider herself rebellious, but there was a bit of ... well ... fun in thumbing her nose at the nonsense that strove to keep women in their “proper” place.

  Perhaps it simply wasn’t done—but she was going to do it. She was going to ride Slick in the contest, and she was going to win.

  When Lee entered the barn, she saw Carlos sitting on a bale of fresh hay he’d placed outside Slick’s stall. He was sipping at a mug of coffee. “I could ’ave ridden to town,” he greeted her. “Such a ride at night by a woman alone ees muy loco.”

  “I needed to talk to Ben,” Lee said. “And if I ran into trouble, who could catch me on Slick?”

  Carlos didn’t respond to her smile. “A prairie dog hole heeden in a shadow could catch you. A bullet fired by one of the scum who are filling up Burnt Rock could catch you, no?”

  “It was important, Carlos—and I was perfectly safe. You worry about me too much.” She added more softly, “And I appreciate it.”

  Carlos exaggerated a sigh of resignation. “Tell me,” he said, “what wass so importante that it couldn’t wait for the sun?”

  It didn’t take more than a few moments to fill in Carlos on her conversation with Wade, her firing of him, and the importance of giving Ben some advance notice on what could be a dangerous situation. As Carlos listened carefully, his posture changed. His mouth tightened and his face rose in color.

  “You believe then that Wade an’ thees other snake—Botts—had much to do with Jonas’s death?”

  “I believe that, yes. I do.”

  “I weel instruct the men to carry guns. I know your feelings about that, but we need to be careful—we need to protect ourselves an’ our horses.”

  “Carlos—”

  “You know thees ees true. Por favor—don’ order me to no arm the men.”

  Lee thought for a moment. One person had already been murdered, and the men were very vulnerable if they weren’t armed.

  “You’re right, Carlos. And I want Slick kept inside from now on. He’ll miss his pasture time, but I’ll be working him daily.”

  “Of course you wee
l,” he said, a smile showing the whiteness of his teeth.

  “What do you mean by ‘of course’?”

  Carlos’s smile grew broader. “You thin’ I’m a silly ol’ man who don’ know how your mind works after all our years? That I can’t add two an’ two together an’ get four? You’ll ride Slick in the race, no?”

  Lee laughed. “Am I that easy to read?”

  “As soon as you tol’ me you fired Wade, I could see you running Slick at the Harvest Festival. You weel win. I know thees.”

  Lee laughed again. “All we need to do is convince everyone else that a lady riding in a race isn’t a heretic or a witch, and we’ll do fine.”

  Lee entered the barn with the first light the next morning, stopping in front of the man Carlos had posted to keep watch over Slick. She nudged his shoulder lightly, and his raucous snoring halted as if the sound had been cut off with a knife. He leaped to his feet, forgetting the rifle he’d rested across his lap.

  “Miss Morgan! I was ... just kinda ...”

  “You were sleeping is what you were doing, Jesse.”

  The young man kept his eyes on the floor. “Yeah. I was sleepin’. But, see, I’d worked on that string of fence near the front pasture all day yesterday an’ was wore out some. That ain’t light work, Miss Morgan.”

  “Why didn’t you tell Carlos you were too tired to take the night watch without dozing off? There’s no disgrace in that.”

  The man raised his eyes and looked at Lee. “ ’Cause I asked for this job. Slick, he’s a right fine horse—best I ever seen. I was proud to be lookin’ out for him. I was sure I could stay awake. Guess I was wrong.”

  “It’s an important job.”

  “I know it is. Real important. Now you’re gonna get one of the other men, an’ I—”

  “No, I’m not, Jesse,” Lee said. “I want this to be your job until all the danger is gone and things get back to normal. You’ll sleep during the day. And you’ll stay awake at night, right?” She softened her words with a small smile.

  “I sure will, Miss Morgan. I give you my word on that!”

  “Tell Carlos what I’ve said as soon as you see him, and then get some sleep.”

  “You betcha! An’ don’t you worry none ’bout Slick at night!”

  As Jesse hurried out of the barn, Lee shook her head silently and then chastised herself for doing so. Jesse was a good and loyal employee, and he was devoted to Slick’s well-being. What more could I ask of a guard? she thought.

  She continued deeper into the barn. Slick had been moved from his easily accessible front stall to a stall farther back in the building. He was standing to the rear of his windowless space, which wasn’t like him at all. He’d always been a gregarious horse, hanging his head out into the aisle to watch whatever was going on or to greet whoever approached. It was rare that a worker or visitor would pass his stall without scratching his muzzle or stroking his neck. And Slick reveled in the attention.

  But he didn’t greet Lee; in fact, he barely looked at her.

  His posture spoke as loudly as his apathy did. His head hung far lower than normal, and there was a laxness to his spine and stance. He appeared to be very, very tired, or perhaps even ill, although Lee was sure neither was the case. She sighed and stepped into the stall, attaching a lead rope to his halter. She saw that although he had drunk most of his water, his grain and molasses combination had barely been touched. The flake of hay tossed to him the night before hadn’t been disturbed either.

  She walked Slick up and down the length of the barn twice, checking for any sign of discomfort or pain in his legs and hooves. She listened carefully to his breathing and pressed her palm against his chest to check for a rapid heartbeat. As she suspected, there was no discernible physical problem with the stallion. The difficulty with Slick wasn’t with his muscles or his nerves—it was with his heart. The bond he’d shared with Wade had been severed, and the horse was mourning the loss.

  As Lee saddled Slick, Carlos walked into the barn. He stopped and looked at Slick for a moment, then shook his head. “You mus’ ween heem back,” he said. “Thees horse ees too smart to forget a friend. He stands here like a mule in front of a plow, no like the horse he ees.”

  “I know. Look at his eyes. It’s like he no longer lives inside this body.”

  “There’s but one way to bring heem back. Can you afford the time?”

  “I’ll find the time.” She stroked Slick’s neck. “Please have one of the men set up that old army cot for me. I’ll sleep in the stall with Slick for a few nights and then move the cot right outside it.”

  Carlos nodded. “I’ll tell the others that no one ees to feed or water heem or even muck out hees stall.”

  “Good. I’ll get my bookwork done as I can and do all my other work from his back.”

  “You mus’ keep in mind that as smart as he ees, he ees a horse. You will capture his heart queekly. Thees I know. Then Slick weel be back.” He smiled. “Ees it such a terrible theeng to spend all your time with such a grande horse?”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Maybe in your heart you were a leetle jealous of Wade?” Carlos asked.

  Lee considered this for a moment and then felt her face flush. “Well ...”

  Carlos laughed.

  Slick worked smoothly as Lee took him through his exercises, and he responded to cues and commands like the finely trained horse he was. But there was a difference that even a novice rider could notice. Slick didn’t ask to run, and his stride at the gallop was shorter. He ran when Lee asked him to, but his fire was gone. And when Lee checked him after a mile at a gallop, he dropped back to a lope without argument. His stride was clean and even, but it was no longer the go-all-day pace he’d shown all his life.

  Lee refused to allow her horse’s mood to influence her own; that wouldn’t do either of them any good. She chatted at Slick, keeping a high pitch to her voice. She praised him lavishly, even when his performance was lackadaisical. And when she returned him to his stall a half dozen hours later, she broke one of her own rules: She treated him to a couple of chunks of sugar from her sugar bowl. This was a gift Slick couldn’t refuse, but as soon as he’d swallowed, his head lowered and he looked away from her.

  Later that night as she entered the barn, she decided that there were many worse places to sleep. The army cot was as unyielding as a block of marble, and sleeping in her clothes took some getting used to, but all her senses were in tune with the atmosphere. The aroma of the fresh straw and the clean scent of Slick’s brushed coat, the sounds of the barn, the small movements of sleeping horses carried Lee back to her uncle’s ranch in Virginia. She’d always felt very grown-up when she’d spent the night in a stall with a pregnant mare or an injured and frightened foal. She remembered one almost-due mare that had awakened her several times with the sensation of light, warm breath on her cheek. Lee wondered now who had been looking after whom.

  When Lee awoke in Slick’s stall the next morning, that thought was in her mind. Had Slick checked on her during the night? Had he brought his muzzle close to her? Or was she just dreaming? She had no way of knowing.

  Carlos brought coffee and two warm rolls slathered with sweet butter and honey to Lee before the sun had chased away the darkness. Together they sipped coffee and ate their rolls in a companionable silence, listening to the barn awakening. An impatient mare whinnied, and another horse answered her. Carlos wiped crumbs from his mouth with his sleeve and said quietly, “Sometimes a man, he wonders.”

  “Hmmm?”

  “What good ees money an’ property an’ power when we ’ave thees?”

  Lee felt a quick tug at her heart. “You’re a good man, Carlos,” she said.

  Carlos grunted, and Lee grinned at his embarrassment.

  “After you ride, I’ll work over Slick with the brushes an’ you can wash up,” he said, as much to draw attention from himself, she suspected, as to convey information. “You weel eat with Maria an’ me at lunch
an’ supper?”

  “I’d love to. After lunch I want to check on the mares in the south pasture.”

  Carlos laughed quietly.

  “What? What are you laughing at?”

  “Seems strange that anything you do on Slick is always as far away as possible, an’ takes the longest ride. No?”

  That morning Slick performed as he had the day before—almost flawlessly but with no more life or enthusiasm than a pack animal doing his job. Lee ran him in large figure eights on a half-acre flat atop a low rise, checking his leads and the flying change required at the center of each eight. Slick took his cues and was as smooth as the mechanism of a fine watch—and every bit as indifferent. Lee praised him for an exercise he’d mastered as a yearling, almost without training, but the horse didn’t acknowledge his rider’s pleasure.

  The next several days passed with a depressing monotony, at least in terms of Slick’s progress. Even though Lee’s heart went out to her horse, frustration clutched at her each time he offered nothing but a sulking, halfhearted performance. He’d begun eating again and didn’t appear to have dropped any weight. Still, he was a stranger to Lee—an animal she didn’t know and couldn’t quite understand. She twisted about on the army cot at night, wondering if Slick really possessed the blood she wanted to help establish her ranch horse breed. Cowboys come and go on most cattle operations, she knew, but the horses stayed. Would Slick’s progeny pine over each saddle tramp who worked a few seasons and then drifted on to the next place?

  When Lee returned to the Busted Thumb after yet another disappointing few hours on Slick, Ben’s horse, Snorty, was tied to the hitching rail at her house. She reined over to Carlos and Maria’s home and found Ben and Carlos drinking coffee on the small porch. Ben waved and walked out to her as she swung down from Slick’s back. As he approached, she noticed how haggard he looked—dark sacs hung under his eyes and his face was more angular than she’d ever seen it.

  “Good to see you,” she said. “What brings you out here?”

  “This time it’s good news, Lee—good news and the fact that I had to get out of Burnt Rock for a few hours.”