CHAPTER ONE
Jody Colton flipped through the paper with little real interest, killing time while she waited for the microwave to announce breakfast. A half-page ad trumpeted “Casting Call for Cowboys,” followed by text about some stupid ‘reality’ show. Jody glanced below the fold. A picture of too many horses stuffed into a corral stopped her eyes cold; any horse would. But a quick glance at the headline caught her breath and sickened her. “Racehorse, Famous Rodeo Bronc Headed to Slaughter.”
She leaned against the edge of the table and unfolded the paper, prepared to make herself read another horrific story about the death of horses being butchered, some for human consumption. But she didn’t have to read—she saw him immediately, in spite of the sea of huge bodies, some already down and being trampled, others frantically seeking escape.
The black head he’d always carried so proudly, the defiance bright in his eyes—defiance she’d managed to turn into confidence and willingness, until others had ruined him. She hadn’t seen him for so long. The bullies had won and the former “Bucking Horse of the Year” had come to this—a slaughter pen. Cowboy. Dammit, no! Not Cowboy, she thought. She hurled the paper to the floor, but her legs buckled. She sank to her knees and retched.
***
The pickup truck door creaked as it swung open. Joe Roberts cursed under his breath as he slid out slowly, still feeling the numbness and pain in his lower body. Ironic, that was his life. He had plenty of money to replace the hard-working truck, but not the want-to. The insane drive to win, to find greatness, was gone. Eight seconds and a bad bronc had done what a nasty divorce and years on the circuit hadn’t been able to—wiped him out.
A quick glance around showed no guard, no one watching the two pens overstuffed with terrified, milling horses. The stench of manure and death hung heavy in the stifling west Texas heat. He took a few steps toward the closest corral; not sure which one would hold the horse he’d come to say goodbye to—if the poor brute hadn’t already been shipped to slaughter. He choked on anger and revulsion as he saw the horses’ condition. Even destined for death, they deserved better than this.
He couldn’t find what he was looking for in the first hell-pit. As he crossed the few yards to the second, he saw a pickup half hidden behind a low, shabby building. The owner must be here then. The deplorable condition of the truck surprised him, however. He would expect someone who made his money this way to use every ill-gotten cent on luxuries.
He thought about looking for the truck’s owner but chose not to. What could he say? You no-brain, no-balls bastard, you should be slaughtered right along with them? Fighting lost causes was stupid, and he’d used up all the stupid one man got in a lifetime. He’d say goodbye and walk off. That’s what he’d come to do.
Eyes that used to read a horse’s mind and gauge every flick of an ear before it happened scanned the crush of horses. They skipped over a thoroughbred—he’d seen mention of a discarded racer in the newspaper—and settled on a sturdy body against the far fence. Midnight Cowboy. The bronc didn’t gleam blue in the sun as he had; the black coat was dull and covered in dust. The horse was thin, too, the impression of muscle more a trick of good conformation and memory than fact.
“Poor critter,” Joe muttered. “Some say I deserved better. You sure as hell did.”
He hesitated, not sure he wanted to go closer and set the horses rushing around the corral and trampling each other in their panic. The heat seemed to have worn them down, though. They seemed calmer than they had moments ago.
He took a wide path, moving out from the pen before targeting the black body still against the farthest fence. As he cut back in toward the corral, a slight figure moved along the corral fence. His stomach knotted and his heart pounded. No, not along—in. Idiot! What kind of stupid—what, kid? Surely a grown man couldn’t be so stupid!
Finally his eyes blinked away enough dust and haze to focus and he stopped dead as she—she—reached out and touched Cowboy’s neck.
He almost choked on all the expletives she deserved, but he couldn’t let go. Some of the horses on the far side were getting antsy.
At least she seemed to know horses well enough to recognize her situation. She hooked a foot on a rail and pulled herself up.
As she moved toward safety, Cowboy’s ears pricked. And then the horse reached out and gently butted her back, almost propelling her over the fence. She laughed and turned back toward him. And the horse who had trampled Joe into retirement buried his head in her chest while she crooned to him.
He held his breath and stood still, afraid that if anything set the horses off—particularly that horse—she could lose her balance and be crushed beneath all those panicked brutes.
The ache in his lower back and bad leg shrieked for him to move into a more comfortable position and he needed to wipe sweat and grit off his face. But the idiot woman on the corral fence had obviously lost all sense of time.
How did she know Cowboy?
He watched with relief when she finally dragged herself back over the fence and dropped to the ground. She took a few steps toward him, head down, still oblivious to his presence. She’d only gone a few feet when Cowboy’s head came up and he cut loose with the most heartbreaking whinny imaginable. The woman walking toward Joe stopped and lifted her head, but didn’t turn back to the corral.
Instead, her eyes suddenly focused on him and he saw her recoil slightly. “You heartless, worthless bastard!” She whispered, but the words slammed into him, stunning him. Before he could recover enough to answer, she hurled herself at him, pummeling, clawing and kicking.
“Hey, hold on!” She was lightning fast and clearly out of her mind. He made several futile attempts to grasp her arms and get her away from him, but missed every time. “What the hell is wrong with you? Are these your horses? I’m not here to steal them or anything else if that’s why you’re going off on me.”
She froze. Just stopped kicking, squirming, moving. He carefully dropped his own hands and took a step away from her. This crazy woman might think he had attacked her—or at least, she might say that. He flinched a little as he took in the dusty hair and clothing. Tight jeans that were more khaki than blue given the powdery dirt puffing up around them when the wind stirred, or the horses grew restless. And the white tank top that had been pulled to the side somehow, showing way more than cleavage.
She noticed at the same time he did and jerked the top back in place, turning red all the way up to her hairline. She took a deep breath. “So you don’t own these horses?”
“No. I thought you did.”
She tilted her head slightly and stared at him. “Then…why did you come?”
“To say goodbye to a horse. You?”
She dug her booted toe into the loose dirt and looked down. When she lifted her head again, her eyes glistened. “To save a horse. To save Cowboy.”