The Horseman

by Anna Jeffrey

  She looked up with a squint, shading her eyes with her hand. “I had to take a minute. Is it lunchtime yet?”

  “Sure is. Did you bring a lunch?”

  “My sandwich is in one of my saddlebags.”

  “I’m gonna eat dinner in my trailer. Come over and eat with me. I’ve got a comfortable chair you can sit in.”

  What? OhmyGod! She looked up at him, saw the twinkle in his eye, the dimple in his cheek. He was so damn good-looking. He had to be used to women swooning over him. Well, she would not be one of them. Not obviously, anyway. “Really?”

  “Sure.”

  She rose, unstable on her feet after standing all morning. Damn. That last Abilene doctor and that physical therapist might be right. Maybe she shouldn’t stand for long periods of time without taking a timeout. Fuckin’ snakes.

  Troy’s hand clasped her elbow, steadying her.

  “I’m sorry, but could I, uh, ask you for a favor?”

  He continued to hang on to her elbow. “Ask away.”

  “Would you mind going into Louise’s tack room and getting my sandwich out of my saddlebag? I don’t like big barns, especially ones I’m not familiar with.”

  “Sure. Where’s the sandwich?”

  “Thank you so much. It’s in the left saddlebag.”

  “Hold on to Batman.” He handed her his horse’s reins and strode toward the wide barn door. He soon returned carrying the paper sack with her sandwich in it and handed it to her. “I’m gonna put Batman in the corral, then we’ll go eat.”

  He led Batman off toward the corral. Though unable to put weight on her leg without extreme pain, Sarah limped along behind him. After a few steps, the pain lessened in intensity, but the stiffness in her leg never went away. Fuckin’ snakes.

  He came out of the corral and grasped her elbow again. “You sure you’re okay?”

  She nodded. “It takes me a couple of minutes to get going. If you don’t mind, I can’t go fast.”

  “Take all the time you need. Hang on to my arm.” He reached for her sandwich. “Here, let me take this. ... What’s up with your leg?”

  “A snake bit me. On my ankle. I’m limping ’cause I just had a skin graft a little while ago. I haven’t been very good at doing the physical therapy this time around.”

  “Skin graft? Was it a rattlesnake?”

  “Just a plain old regular rattlesnake like you see all over.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “It wasn’t even a very big one, but it sure messed me up.”

  If she told him all that had happened to her health-wise after that fateful snakebite, they would be here a week. She intended to say no more, not wanting to put him into the category of those who wanted to feel sorry for her. She might want a lot of things from and with Troy Rattigan, but pity wasn’t one of them. “Is your horse gonna be okay? What’s his name, Batman?”

  “He’s got water and I gave him a snack. He’ll be fine. He’s used to our routine. He knows we’re partners.”

  At the door to his trailer, a swarthy guy who was bigger than Troy and wearing sunglasses opened the door and held it. She hesitated. Who were the two men who followed Troy around? She had heard somebody say bodyguards. Could that be true? Not one time had she ever met anybody who needed a bodyguard.

  “Here we go.” Troy urged her up the two metal steps, but she stopped on the first step and glanced back over her shoulder for one more look at the big guy. Jesus Christ. She was more nervous than the first time she had gone to church with Bonnie and Jericho.

  “Problem?” Troy asked.

  She turned back and faced the open door. “Uh, no.”

  She stepped inside, into a typical LQ interior. She and Justin used to have a trailer similar to this one. After he hit the ProRodeo circuit, he hauled at least two, sometimes three rope horses, depending on where he went, taking no chance of finding himself without a trained mount in good shape.

  After his death, she had sold all of his horses as well as the trailer. She and Justin hadn’t owned much that was all theirs, but they had owned those horses and equipment. The money from the sale had gone toward his debts. Traveling and hauling horses from one rodeo to another wasn’t cheap.

  On top of the debts he had incurred chasing rodeos, he was a defendant in a personal injury lawsuit resulting from a bar fight in some hole in the wall in Montana. Justin was high-tempered all of the time, but when he was drunk, he was mean, too.

  She had come back to Texas with nothing but Wyatt and what was in her suitcase. What would she have done if Bonnie and Jericho hadn’t welcomed her?

  Troy lifted off his cap and dropped it on a long sofa upholstered in tan leather, then gestured toward the back of the trailer. “Restroom?”

  Heat crawled up her neck. She hesitated, staring down at her boot toes. “Well...”

  Her only choices were to go all the way to Louise Beckman’s house, which was a long walk or use the Porta-Potty Louise had brought in for the clinic. Or squat. Besides being unpleasant, the Porta-Potty was a perfect place for a snake to lurk. No way would she squat outside. A snake could be anywhere in the first place and her leg didn’t like to bend in the second place.

  Well, hell. This was a small space. Silly to be embarrassed by natural bodily functions. “Okay. If you don’t mind.” She limped toward the bathroom door.

  When she returned to the living room, he gestured toward a large reclining chair. “Have a seat. Put your feet up.”

  She walked toward the recliner. “Who’s that guy outside?”

  “Security. His name’s Sal.”

  Was he kidding? Her heartbeat ticked up and a familiar trembling began to shimmy inside her stomach. Panic. An almost uncontrollable urge to break out and run like some wild horse. A long time ago, some psychologist provided by the great state of Texas had told her she had anxiety attacks. Not as often as in the past, but still ...

  That visit from that Barton dude had set her off.

  She stopped and looked at Troy, her brow tugged into a frown. “You need security? You’re in some kind of danger?”

  He shook his head. “No, no. Nothing for you to worry about. It’s a long story. Go ahead and have a seat.” He gestured again toward the recliner.

  She looked around, saw no other seating except a built-in leather sofa. Happy to get off her feet, she eased down to the edge of the chair seat. “But where will you sit?”

  “There.” He pointed to the sofa. His head tilted toward the eating booth, the seats also made of leather. “Or over there.”

  He disappeared into the restroom. She scooted all the way back in the recliner, releasing a huge sigh at the reduced pain. She had been inside a few other trailers, but she had never seen one with a reclining chair.

  He soon returned, picked paper plates and two plastic cups out of a cupboard, followed by dragging a gallon-jug of milk from the refrigerator. He poured the cups full. “Sorry to be in a rush. We’ve got more horses and people than I expected. We ran a little late and I try not to take more than an hour at noon.”

  “Oh, that’s okay.”

  Smiling, he walked over and handed one of the cups of milk to her. She rarely drank milk, but she accepted the cup.

  He went back to the kitchen counter, unwrapped her sandwich and placed it on a paper plate, “How did you manage to get a snakebite? They’ll usually run from you.”

  “There’s some wooden steps off the porch of Jericho’s house and a bush in the corner. It was hiding underneath the bush. I was wearing sneakers with no socks instead of boots like I normally wear. I stepped off the bottom step and started along beside the flower bed and he got me on the ankle. It was dumb.”

  And that’s when the nightmare began, but she couldn’t discuss that without breaking down. That day, she thought she was going to die. Then, a short time later, she thought she would lose her leg. Instead of letting that happen, Jericho had mortgaged his land and bought her the best medical care he could find. She had been treated by two of the best research hosp
itals in Texas and another one back East.

  Troy added some potato chips from a big bag he pulled out of a cabinet. “Bad business, a rattlesnake bite.”

  She nodded. “Yeah. It hasn’t been fun.” He brought the paper plate to her. She dredged up a smile. “This is nice of you.”

  “Just be sure you leave me a big tip.” He grinned and winked.

  Swooning time again.

  He returned to the refrigerator and pulled out packages of ham and cheese and made himself a sandwich, opened a cabinet and brought out a package of Oreos. “My diet is pretty simple when I’m on the road.”

  He smiled again and scooted onto the booth seat with his own sandwich. He opened the package of cookies. “You’re from Roundup?”

  She nodded. “Well ... for now.”

  He leaned across the small area and offered her cookies. “What, you’re going somewhere?”

  If only she knew. She took two cookies. “I’m not planning on it tomorrow, but you never know what’s gonna happen.”

  And nobody knew that to be true more than she did.

  His mouth tipped up in that cute grin that showed his dimple. “That’s a fact.”

  “Somebody said you do these clinics all the time.”

  He nodded. “I do. Trying to save a few horses from their well-meaning owners. What’s going on with Rudy today?”

  She shrugged. “Nothing much. He stayed at Tiffany’s house last night and Jericho and I picked him up this morning. I wish I’d never gotten involved with him. I wish my boy hadn’t gotten into it. He thinks he’s gonna end up with Rudy as his horse. I’m afraid we’re somehow gonna break his heart.”

  “You’ve got a son?”

  She nodded. “He’s nine.”

  “What if I tell you I won’t let that happen? What if I assure you your boy will end up with a horse?”

  “There’s more to it than that. Jericho doesn’t want any more horses.” She nibbled at her sandwich then swallowed a drink of milk. “This is really nice of you,” she said again. “I haven’t had a glass of milk in ages.”

  “You’re divorced?”

  Over three years had passed since Justin’s death, but she still had a hard time looking into somebody’s eyes and saying flat out that he had died. She hated the word died. “He, um ... passed away.”

  A few beats of silence filled the space. Troy was the one who spoke next. “Oh, I didn’t know. ... I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

  She swallowed the tears that gathered in her throat every time she told someone about Justin and looked up. “I know. ... That’s okay.”

  “How long have you been a widow?”

  She studied the layers of cheese and lunchmeat in her sandwich. “That’s crazy, that word, you know? I never think of myself as a widow. Seems like you oughtta be old if you’re a widow.”

  “Your husband was sick with something?”

  She shook her head. “He was in good health. Great shape. He, uh ... had an accident.” She heaved a great breath. “A ladder fell with him on it. Broke his neck and fractured his skull.” She looked him in the eye. “He was thirty-three years old.”

  Shock registered in Troy’s eyes. Shock was everybody’s reaction if she told them what had happened to Justin. She bit into her sandwich, chewed and swallowed. “Sometimes, if I let myself think about it, it takes my breath. It was so freaky. One minute I was standing there watching him and the next he ... he was on the ground and he was unconscious.”

  A burn rushed to the back of her eyes, but she blinked it away. “He did a lot of things that could have killed him. I mean, he grew up on a ranch and rodeoed for years, but—” She stopped, shook her head again and swallowed a drink of milk.

  “You don’t have to talk about it. ... unless you want to, that is.”

  “I’m getting better at talking about it. I mean, he’s been gone over three years.”

  A frown passed over Troy’s brow. “How old are you?”

  Hah. He was trying to reconcile her age and Wyatt’s age to the fact that she had been a widow for three years. That was what everybody did. “Twenty-six. I know. The numbers don’t make sense.”

  He appeared to think about that for a moment. Then, “I knew you weren’t a tenderfoot. I can tell you’ve been around horses.”

  She nodded. “Once, I thought I was going to be a barrel racer. But I’m not supposed to ride at all right now.”

  “Because of your leg?”

  She looked up. He continued to eat and drink, obviously waiting to hear her answer to his question. “But it’s gonna get better,” she said.

  They went on to discuss the NCHA finals and Troy’s horse. He even showed her pictures. Dandy’s Little Lady was a beautiful horse. She looked like a champion. Talking about her was easier than talking about herself. When they left the trailer, Troy exited first and offered her his hand as she stepped down the two metal steps. The big guy was there again.

  As they started toward the corral, she glanced back over her shoulder at the “security.” Something weird was going on with Troy Rattigan.

  From the corral, Batman watched and waited for them. Before going into the corral, Troy stopped her. “If you need the restroom, feel free to go into my trailer. I told Sal.”

  “Thanks. That’s really nice of you. Guess I’m not as agile as I thought I was.”

  Inside the corral, Troy patted Batman’s neck and talked to him. The horse nuzzled his cheek. The man seemed to have a love affair with every horse that got near him. Bringing Batman’s reins around, he grinned, flashing perfect, straight teeth. “Well, it’s show time.” He gave her a wink and mounted up.

  She gave him a thumbs-up and he rode away. A bond had formed between them, but what did it amount to?

  Janie popped up. Stupido!

  Oh, God, you’re right, Janie. Just don’t let me forget it.

  NO SWIM CLASS TOOK place on Wednesday afternoon. Eager to arrive back at the Double-Barrel before Pic came into the house, Amanda called Chris and told him to pick her up at the end of her English class.

  Thank God he arrived on time. She still hadn't gotten past being embarrassed by a bodyguard dropping her off at the school and picking her up.

  He stood with the SUV’s back door open and she dashed from the warm building. Shivering, she climbed into the backseat’s comfort. Only a few words of greeting passed between them. Amanda appreciated that he seemed to know when she preferred not to talk.

  Soon, they reached the highway and picked up speed. The hum of heavy rig's big engine and the tires against the pavement lulled her. She rested her head against the back of the seat, her eyelids sagged and fluttered closed as she replayed last night's insane fight with Pic.

  After cleaning the kitchen, she couldn’t bring herself to lie in bed beside him. He had crushed her. She went to the den where a low fire still burned in the fireplace. She wrapped herself in an afghan and watched TV through a veil of tears.

  Unlike Betty Lockhart, Amanda found comfort in the den's rustic atmosphere. She liked the wood-paneled walls and coffered ceiling that matched them. A massive white limestone fireplace with a thick solid oak mantel stood on one wall, flanked by a wooden gun and knife cabinet and more cabinetry hiding a mini-bar and bookcases stuffed with books of all kinds. Aubusson rugs mixed with cowhides covered the hardwood floor. In that environment, the heavy leather-upholstered over-size furniture strategically arranged in front of the big-screen TV felt cozy and homey.

  At midnight, she debated stretching out and sleeping on the long sofa, but Johnnie Sue would come to work at four-thirty or five and quiz her about why she was there. She could sleep in one of the guest rooms, but going into her and Pic’s suite for her warm nightshirt might wake him and that could turn out to be more awkward than she wanted to experience.

  Even worse, Johnnie Sue would expect an explanation for her using a guest room. Then the busybody would whip her helpers from town into action changing the sheets and re-cleaning the room so everythin
g would be spotless for guests who might come for Christmas.

  The women who cleaned would go back to town and tell everybody they saw that Pic Lockhart and his wife were “having problems.” Amanda worked at not fueling gossip about the family she had married into. Enough of it traveled the county without her contribution.

  So much activity was a damn waste of time and energy anyway. Without Betty coming, no one would be using the extra rooms. Even if Pic’s grandmother came, someone usually drove to town and picked her up on Christmas Day, then took her home at the end of the day. She hadn’t spent the night in years.

  Amanda finally gave up the idea of sleeping in another room. When she went to her and Pic’s suite, he was sound asleep. Where she slept and what she wore—or not—didn’t matter. She changed into her nightshirt, eased into bed and clung to the edge of the mattress on her side. Pic didn’t know she was there.

  She slept at some point. When she awoke this morning, he was already gone and she hadn’t heard him get up and dress.

  Her thoughts bounced back to today at school. Fragile as a moth’s wings, her emotions had been in a turmoil all day, keeping her on the verge of tears. Half a dozen people asked her if she felt well. I must be picking up a cold, she told them. But the truthful answer was, No, I don’t feel well. I feel like shit.

  She stared out at the passing winter landscape. The mesquite trees had lost their lacy light-green leaves. Their bare branches looked twisted and black. The only green foliage to be seen was the dark green cedar trees and a few scattered live oaks. This part of Texas looked nothing like West Texas where the landscape had a cleanliness about it. Even after so much time had passed, she still had a soft spot in her heart for the arid high plains.

  Missed opportunities that would have taken her back there drifted into her thoughts. Opportunities such as the job as head coach of the girls’ swim team at Odessa High School. Coaching at a large prestigious West Texas school might have been a once-in-a-lifetime chance to become a highly respected coach, a springboard to going on and getting her Masters, followed by coaching in a college. She turned it all down to marry Pic.