by Anna Jeffrey
Except for fluffy rolls and fresh green beans, Sarah cooked everything just the way the café did. Years back, she had done most of the cooking in one of the foster homes where she lived and she had learned to cook perfect chicken-fried steak. She did’t use lard back then, of course. Only Jericho still cooked with lard.
While potatoes simmered on the stovetop, she made herself concentrate on soaking the pieces of tenderized beef in buttermilk, dipping each one in beaten eggs, dredging each cut in seasoned flour, then carefully placing it in a mixture of oil and melted lard in a hot iron skillet.
She smashed the boiled potatoes with plenty of salt and pepper, a ton of butter and cream, then covered them with foil wrap to keep them warm. After the steaks were fried, she made cream gravy from the drippings and opened a can of green beans. Some of Jericho’s biscuits were left over from breakfast. Wyatt had brought home a few leftover cupcakes from the school’s Christmas party. She set all of it out on the dining table, but before they sat down to eat, she fixed a small paper plate of food to take to Bonnie’s grave tomorrow.
After Jericho said a small prayer of thanks, they ate in silence. Wyatt barely touched his food. Palpable anxiety floated like waves above the dining table.
The question that had hovered in the back of her mind all afternoon was why would somebody like Troy Rattigan do this? She couldn’t accept that he just wanted to do a poor old horse a favor. He had another motive, but what was it? Finally, she could stand the tension no longer. “What do you think, Jericho?”
Jericho kept his eyes on his plate and shook his head.
Sarah rolled her own yes. “Are you saying no? I don’t know? What?...I’m asking you, Jericho, are we really gonna do this?”
His pretty blue eyes shiny, Wyatt looked up at her, as if he had been waiting for her to speak. “Please, Mom, I’ll—”
“Wyatt, shh. We don’t know Mr. Rattigan. We don’t know if he can do what he says he can. We don’t know if he can really turn Rudy into a useable horse.”
“But he can, Mom. I know he can and he’s gonna let me help him.”
No question Rudy had taken to Troy. The man almost had secret communication with the dumb horse. His own horse, Batman, was one of the most well-trained stallions she had ever seen and he was even bigger than Rudy.
A flashback zoomed into her memory—After a freaky goddamn accident, Justin lying on the ground unconscious and never regaining consciousness. A vision came to her of Wyatt with a broken neck or a fractured skull. Her beloved best friend, Jericho’s wife Bonnie had succumbed to a shitty disease for no good reason anybody could think of. Sarah had already lost a lot. She feared losing anything or anyone else.
Her memory swerved to the to-be-slaughtered pen at the horse auction in Big Piney, Wyoming. In her mind’s eye, Rudy, so starved his ribs showed, stood there among the pitiful castoffs, his eyes begging her to save him. She looked at Jericho. “You saw him work with Rudy. Do you, uh...do you still think he’s a bullshitter?”
Jericho focused on his food. “I don’t know.”
“Why would he do this, Jericho? Tiffany’s dad says he doesn’t need the money. Do you think he just goes around the country saving one horse at a time for the hell of it?”
Jericho’s head shook. “I don’t know. I agree with Harvey. I’m sure he doesn’t need the money. He comes from a rich family. I told him we’d haul Rudy over there, so we’ll start with that and see what happens.”
“Am I gonna get to go, Grandpa?” Wyatt’s voice quivered with a plea.
“Not if you don’t eat your supper,” Sarah scolded, though she felt his pain.
“’Course you are,” Jericho said, then added, “If we go.”
That was Jericho being Jericho. When it came to something about which he was dubious, he rarely made a positive statement without a qualifier at the end.
Wyatt’s eyes welled with tears. Jericho looked at him. “Wyatt,” he said gently. “You’re the one we’d be doing this for. If we go, you’ll go with us.”
Sarah let out a breath, but she still had plenty to worry about. “When do you want to go? I mean, it’s a bad time. Christmas is Wednesday.”
Jericho nodded, sopping up gravy with a bite of biscuit. “It probably oughtta wait ’til next week.”
“Oh, please, Grandpa,” Wyatt begged. “Can’t we go tomorrow? You told him in a day or two.”
If anybody knew how long waiting for something you desperately wanted could be, Sarah did, but she said to Wyatt, “I doubt if Mr. Rattigan has time this week, Son. He has to get ready for Christmas, too, you know.”
“You can text him and ask him, huh, Mom? You heard him. He said you could text him. He gave you his number.”
Jericho swallowed a sip of tea and reached for a cupcake. “Guess it wouldn’t hurt to send him a message and feel him out.”
Yes! Sarah mentally pumped a fist. “Okay then. I’ll send him a text after supper and see what he says.”
Oh, please, Lord, let this work out.
Chapter 21
Troy hadn’t been to the ranch house since before the start of the Finals in November. He entered through the side door into the long utility room. Once, the long stainless-steel counter had been used for cutting and packaging beef and game. Now, the ranch called a mobile butcher from town.
The aromas of Mexican food seasonings wafted from the kitchen and set his mouth to watering. Country-western music came from a radio. The housekeeper always listened to the radio while she worked.
He set the sack of cookies and cupcakes on the counter and set his hat beside them. He shed his coat and hung it on the steer horn rack on the wall beside the back door then picked up the sack of goodies and carried it into the kitchen.
Johnnie Sue met him with a big grin, a long wooden spoon in one hand and a towel in the other. “Look who’s home. You didn’t knock. I thought for a minute we’d been broke into.”
“Hiya, mama. Since when do I have to knock?” He swept her into a hug and danced her in a circle to the rhythm of the music.
After he released her, laughing, she leaned over the sack and peeked inside. “What’s this?”
He too, looked into the sack, picked up a cupcake with white fluffy icing on top “Dessert. I went to a bake sale.”
“You don’t say. Must’ve been a woman involved.”
The housekeeper’s sarcasm was well known inside the family. “Now, now, Johnnie Sue. Don’t hurt my feelings. For all you know, I spent all-day baking.”
She gave him an arch look. “And what have you ever baked besides canned biscuits?”
Laughing, he walked over to the stove and lifted a lid off a simmering pot. “Hot damn. Borracho beans. Nobody cooks beans better than you do, Johnnie Sue. What else is for supper? Kate said something about enchiladas?”
“Enchiladas, tacos and rice. Cornbread if you want it. Oh, and salad.”
Troy could hardly wait. “Man, oh man. I haven’t eaten anything green in I can’t remember when. Where is everybody?”
“In the den having a little toddy. I don’t know how your daddy’s constitution holds up to it. Pic and Marcus just hauled him home from a three-day toot down by Brownwood. He wrecked his pickup.”
Shooting her a look, Troy held the pot lid suspended. “Was he hurt?”
“Pic said he wasn’t”
Troy carefully placed the lid back on the pot of beans. “Well, you know Dad. He likes to have a good time. Already celebrating the holidays, huh?”
“Must’ve had a real good time. He lost that fancy belt buckle your mother had made for him. Some woman’s prob’ly got it. Or by now, some hock shop.”
A lot of emotion was attached to that belt buckle. Troy turned to face the housekeeper, braced one hand on the counter and the opposite fist on his hip. “Seriously? No idea where it went?”
A timer dinged. Johnnie Sue walked over to the oven and pulled out a large pan of something that looked to be chocolate. “Pic says he’s so upset about Mrs. Lock
hart going to Santa Fe with her boyfriend, he might’ve gave it away. Pic asked around about it, but nobody’s gonna say they got it. It’s worth a lot of money. It had real stones in it.”
“Yeah. Probably buy a lot of drugs du jour. Why’s he so upset about Mom? She went to Santa Fe last year.”
The housekeeper looked up at him, her eyes magnified by thick glasses lenses. “Don’t ask me. I’m just passing on what I hear eavesdropping.”
Whoa! Was she kidding? Then again, maybe she wasn’t. Troy had seen for himself that Pic and Dad were not careful with what they let her overhear. He chuckled, placing his hand on the housekeeper’s shoulder. “You’d better cut that out, Johnnie Sue. If Drake finds out, he’ll have you signing one of his NDAs”
“What’s that?”
“Never mind.” Troy made a mental note to mention her nosiness to Pic.
He made his way toward the den, the room Mom had always called a boar’s nest. Kate met him in the hallway before he reached the family gathering and wrapped her arms around him in a big bear hug. “Everybody is so proud of you. Even me. I’ve already hugged Dandy Lady.”
He hugged her back. “Thanks, Little Sister. Couldn’t have done it without you, you know.”
She stepped back, an ear-to-ear grin stretching her mouth. “I know. I’m taking full credit for picking out Dandy Lady’s papa. I expect to receive the usual adulation and gratitude.”
She led the way to the den. Dad, Pic and Mandy and Silas Morgan set down their drinks, got to their feet and greeted him with big smiles and man hugs and back slaps.
“Have you been to your house yet? Did you see how I had it decorated?” Kate asked.
He frowned and tucked back his chin. “Are you responsible for that? Sal told me elves did it.”
She gave his midsection a backhanded slap. Laughing, he bent and clutched his belly. “Ow, ow, ow.”
She glared at him. “You’re impossible.”
He straightened. “I saw it, Sister. Looks great. You didn’t have to do that, you know.”
“Well, you wouldn’t have done it. You would’ve spent Christmas in a house that looked like some smelly old goat’s place. Listen, I’ve got a list of about a million things we need to talk about. I’m thinking about breeding Bluebelle come spring. I want us to discuss it.”
His sister was a goer and a doer. No grass grew under her feet. When she had something on her mind, very little distracted her. He gave her a grin he knew would needle her. “Patience, Sister, patience.”
Pic walked to the bar that was usually hidden behind carved doors beside the fireplace. He poured something amber into a heavy squat glass and handed it to Troy. “Maker’s Mark. One thing about Dad’s bar, he stocks it with good whiskey.”
“Amen.” Troy raised his glass to the group. “Merry Christmas, y’all. It’s good to be home.”
“To Dandy Little Lady,” Pic said, touching Troy’s glass with his. Everyone sipped.
Dad patted his back again. “Good ride, Son. I’m proud of you. And proud of your horse.”
Kate hadn’t stopped grinning since she met him in the hallway. “Dandy Lady is so awesome. I love the way she moves. She’s this fantastic athlete, but at the same time, she’s so graceful.”
“She knows she’s a princess,” Pic added.
“She’s perfect.” Troy turned toward Silas Morgan. “Not only is she an athlete, she has a great personality, doesn’t she, Silas?”
The old wrangler raised his glass and tipped his head. “That she does.”
“She’s still hanging out with Bluebelle,” Kate said. “I check on her every day. So far, so good. No problems.”
“That’s good news.” Troy took a seat on one end of the long leather sofa as Pic whisked his glass away for a refill. “After all we’ve put into producing a winning horse, I’d hate to see anything happen to her. I’ll come over tomorrow morning after it warms up and take a look at her.”
Kate seated herself beside him. “By now, owners of good studs must be burning up your phone.”
Troy shook his head. “Not returning those calls. She’s a baby.”
“You’re talking a lot of money in breeding fees,” Pic said. “Hope you’re not thinking about embryo transfer.”
Unlike with breeding Thoroughbreds, quarterhorse breeding by artificial insemination was sanctioned by the AQHA. Many highbred mares were bred more than once in a season. Then, the embryos were extracted and transplanted in surrogate mares. It was a practice the Lockharts hated.
“No,” Troy answered firmly.
“Good,” Pic said. “I’m glad. I was afraid you might be considering it.”
As Troy sipped from his drink, his phone pinged, but he ignored it. “Wait until you see the big blood-bay stallion I met at the clinic I just did over in Roundup,” he said. “I offered to work with him for free.”
“Really? Is he special?”
“I think he could be, but he’ll be a challenge. I don’t think he’s had any training. I don’t even know if he can be ridden.”
“Oh, I love starting with a wild horse,” Kate said. “He’s a stallion? How old is he?”
“They think he’s four, could be five.”
“Hm. He’s a candidate for the rescue farm?”
“Might be. He’d also make a good addition to the ranch remuda if he can be taught.”
“I’m not that busy right now. I can help you.”
“Great. Thanks.” He eyed her jeans that were peppered with rhinestones, her wide belt that was studded with solid rows of crystals and an ornate crystal buckle. His little sister liked anything blingy, which was why he called her the rhinestone cowgirl. “But you gotta get rid of those pants. We don’t want to blind him.”
“He’s a boy, isn’t he? Boys like my cute butt in glittery jeans.” She stood and twitched her butt, then walked over to the bar and refilled her glass.
Troy chuckled. Giving her a hard time was fun. He swirled the ice and liquid in his own glass. “I saw one of your old boyfriends before I left the coliseum. He asked about you.”
Kate frowned. “Who?”
“That car dealer from Brenham.”
“Oh, that guy. I haven’t heard from him since I told him my big brother wouldn’t let me go to Colorado and play with him. I hope you told him I died.”
“Katie!” Dad said.
Kate was known to pop off with outrageous remarks. Pic spoke up from his post in front of the fireplace. “Is that the dude you were gonna fly off to Colorado with? I didn’t say you couldn’t go. I just suggested you shouldn’t.”
Mandy spoke up before fireworks could erupt between Kate and Pic. Mandy the Peacemaker. She had been sitting on the far end of the sofa ever since Troy arrived, but hadn’t said a word. But then, she rarely participated in conversation about the horses. “How was your clinic?” she asked. “Did you give away lots of books?”
Ever the English teacher, Mandy supported his writing effort. She was the one who had found him a publisher for his books.
“About a dozen.” As memory took him back to the week-long clinic, his thoughts veered to Sarah Karol and the fact that Mandy and Pic were rodeo fans. “Y’all ever hear of a calf roper named Justin Karol?”
“Big Polish cat from Wyoming,” Pic said. “Helluva tie-down roper. On his way to the top. We heard he got killed in some kind of accident a few years ago.”
“He had this really pretty wife,” Mandy added. “When we saw him at rodeos, she was always with him. I read somewhere that she raced barrels, but we never saw her run.”
Just as Troy thought, Sarah was not a novice horsewoman. If she managed a barrel-racing horse, she knew how to ride. “She was at my clinic over at Roundup.”
Mandy’s eyes widened. “Really? She lives in Texas?” She glanced at Pic. “We thought she was from Wyoming.”
“Wow,” Pic said. “Small world.”
“She’s crippled. Got bit by a rattlesnake.”
Pic’s brow furrowed. “Oh,
shit. And it crippled her?”
“Oh, my God,” Mandy said. “I’ve read stories about that.”
“Rattlesnake bites are bad,” Dad put in. “Not necessarily fatal if people get the right treatment soon enough, but if they don’t...” His words trailed off and he shook his head. “When I was a boy, one of our hands got bit one time. Shorty Matthews. His heart stopped before he could get help. The Double-Barrel is a long way from first aid. It made a big impression on me.”
A moment of silence passed. Finally, to lighten the atmosphere, Troy said, “What’s new with the Lockhart vandals?”
A pointed look came from Pic. “If anybody oughtta know, it’s you, Little Brother. What’s new with your Dallas girlfriend?”
To this day, despite several conversations Troy had with Blake Rafferty and his partner, Jack Dawson, and even Pic and Drake, everybody believed Troy was holding back information that would be important to the investigation of the vandalism that by now was adding up to big numbers.
He didn’t try to temper a sharp reply. “Jesus Christ, Pic, you really want to go there tonight? What is it you think I know?”
“It’s what they think your girlfriend knows, Troy, and why the hell can’t they talk to her?”
Troy glared at him. “She’s not my girlfriend. I already told you and Drake that half a dozen times.”
“That doesn’t mean you don’t know what she’s been doing.”
Troy stabbed the air with his index finger. “You know goddamn well I don’t have girlfriends, but even if she was, I can’t force her to talk to the cops.”
“Boys. Boys. Stop it.” Dad raised his palms. He had never accused Troy of having anything to do with Kate’s barn burning or any of the other vandalism that had taken place. “To answer your question, Troy, if they know anything, they’re keeping it close to their vests.”
“You’re sure you’ve told them everything you know—”
“Pic! Leave him alone!” Mandy said. “He’s already said he told them.”
Thank God for Mandy, his constant defender.