Leo Harris wasn’t exactly sure how he’d ended up on another leave of absence from work, let alone on this cross-country trip.
The last eighteen months of his life—since returning from Afghanistan—had been a blur, like the images of one Texan ranch after the other flying by the window of Sam Crawford’s truck.
The doctors at Walter Reid had encouraged him to take some time off before jumping back into his everyday life.
Traumas like the one he’d experienced when his medical helicopter had been shot out of the sky took time to get over. Watching those you’ve worked with every day for nearly two years die took time to get over. More so than his broken leg and cracked ribs.
It had been the most absurd thing he’d ever heard, and the Army was damn good at making irrational statements. He didn’t need some psycho-whack doctor to tell him those images would haunt him for months.
Maybe years.
Probably forever.
When he first came home, his injuries were too great for him to go back to the fire department. Good jobs come at a premium in a small town, but everyone had been so understanding. They told Leo his job would be there when he was well enough to return.
Still, he had to make a living.
His parents welcomed him back into their home—insisted on it—while he recovered from his physical injuries, but a man his age couldn’t sponge off Mom and Dad indefinitely.
One day felt too long.
His friends from high school came to visit. They tried to fill those early days, keep his mind busy, but after two weeks he had to get up and do something with himself.
He tried picking up odd jobs at the grain elevator and the marina. He had always believed heavy labor eased the mind, but with his leg in a cast and his ribs cracked, physical work proved difficult. So much so, he’d nearly resigned himself to being stuck in his parent’s house for another couple of months.
Until he’d run into Betty Crawford and her husband Sam at the Front Porch Diner. When he was just a kid, Leo had taken riding lessons from Betty. As he’d grown, football and girls had replaced his initial interest in horses, but whenever he’d seen Betty she’d been warm and genuinely interested in his life.
As most people in town, she seemed well aware of what had happened overseas, and the couple invited him to join them for lunch. While eating, she began to tell Leo about what had become of Sunnydale Farms.
She invited Leo out to have a look at the therapeutic equine facility, and Leo had found the perfect place to work off his mental anguish.
The horses didn’t care that war had changed him from the man he used to be, and watching the troubled and physically challenged children—as well as the numerous typically abled kids—ride helped bring a little joy to what had become a numb existence. Soon, he was helping out there and at Sam’s quarter horse breading facility a few miles away.
Reclaiming his position as a paramedic with the fire department had become an obsession, though. A sign of normal he needed to reach, and six months after being discharged, he reported for duty at the station, ignoring his therapist’s recommendation it was just too soon. They lived in Caseville, Michigan, after all. The small town didn’t see near the number of traumatic injuries big city departments saw.
It only took one to send him reeling back to the incident in Afghanistan. A middle school kid riding his bike home from school had been hit by a slow moving car. In the grand scheme, the injuries were minor—the child’s leg was broken—but the crowd that surrounded the scene ushered in waves of terror in Leo. The hushed murmurs of the onlookers turned to the repetitive clack of machine gun fire. Panic froze his mind. His partner took the lead, and they safely transported the child to the hospital, but the department decided a short leave of six weeks was in order. A little more time to heal, his doctor suggested.
The second return to work only lasted two months before the cycle repeated itself. This time the call came for an elderly man suffering a heart attack. He handled the initial assessment like a rock star, but when they were loaded in the ambulance with sirens blaring, he was transported back to the desert.
Funny how similar the rescue squad’s siren sounded to an air ride siren.
His bosses and doctor conferred and decided another two months might help.
Quitting never crossed Leo’s mind. Soldiers weren’t built that way. He wasn’t built that way.
Besides, the third time would be the charm. Right?
Until the call came to respond to a fatal car crash.
Once again, he’d been given a leave of absence. This time his chief had issued a friendly piece of advice: consider another line of work.
Now he was sitting in Sam Crawford’s pickup truck, just outside of Fort Mavis, Texas.
Why?
He wasn’t sure. Other than the fact Sam had invited him on the journey. Spending this most recent leave in Texas seemed a hell of a lot better than staring at his own four walls.
He couldn’t ask for a better traveling buddy than Sam. He seemed to understand and never minded if Leo went about his job—or spent the last thousand miles or so—without talking. Sam recognized that Leo had very little to say.
Not much in life made sense after what he’d witnessed in the name of war.
****
River Neil recognized the sound of the truck and trailer pulling into the drive of the Cassidy Cattle Ranch. She’d heard it countless times in her life. Most often, the big rigs delivered young steer. Sometimes they carried an occasional quarter horse for her father or one of her brothers to use while handling the three hundred head on the ranch at any given time.
Today it harbored her passion.
Four wild mustangs.
She set the pitchfork against the wall and headed for the front of the barn, ignoring the unsettled feeling twisting her guts into knots. This was her second go-round with the Mustang Project. After gentling the two horses she purchased last spring, she knew it was her life’s calling to work with this misunderstood species.
Her father, Grant Neil—always the businessman—pointed out the venture had barely made a profit. She’d received only a few hundred dollars more than the cost hay and grain for the pair from one of their neighboring cattle ranchers.
Grant had argued when River announced she was going to the fall sale. When she came home with receipts for four horses, he laid down an ultimatum. Find a way to make a profit, or focus her energy on running the business end of the ranch.
She scoffed. It might be her father’s plan for her to use the business management degree—one she’d worked her ass off at Rice University to obtain—to help increase profits on the ranch, but she dreamed of her own path.
She brought a hand up to shield her eyes from the early morning sun, while guiding the truck and trailer up to the large paddock just off the barn.
Once parked, the driver hopped out of the truck and offered up a clipboard holding the delivery paperwork. “Do you need help unloading them, little lady?”
“No, thank you. I got this.” After signing, she handed back the form and stepped up on the wheel of the trailer, peaking in the first window.
The horses were in four slanted shoots, tied with quick release knots. They looked relatively calm given their age and the fact they’d been plucked from the plains just a few weeks ago.
She opened the four windows, allowing air to move through the trailer, and the horses each poked their heads out, getting a good look at their new home.
“Give me five minutes, and you’ll be on your way.”
She quickly opened the gates, pulling them into a position that gave a clean, clear aisle into the paddock. She then lifted the locks on the back of the trailer door, dropping the ramp.
Stepping up to the first horse, she approached with caution and slowly reached up to pat its neck as she untied the rope.
The horse scuffled, acting as though it would kick up. She responded with a firm tug accompanied with a gentle—yet assured—voice. “You’re okay. Walk on.”
She led the horse to the bottom of the ramp and on to solid ground. Standing firmly in place as it tried to scoot off to her right. When the horse settled, she released the lead and watched it break out to a full trot. Running to the far side of the grassy field enclosed by a split rail fence.
After repeating the scenario three more times, she closed the paddock and helped the driver close up the trailer.
“Good luck with ’em.” The man said before he climbed into the truck and pulled away.
River spun on her boot heel and went back to the pen. Resting against the fence, she admired her latest purchases, watching them run along the fence line, eyeing the cattle off in the west meadow.
She could hear her father’s pickup headed in from the north fields and knew he was coming up to check out her new investment. He probably had a long list of all the reasons—yet again—why she should try to flip the horses more quickly this time.
The last thing she wanted was for her father to find her standing there admiring the animals. She paced toward the barn and grabbed the hose, dragging it out to the trough and topping it off.
What he didn’t understand was—even if she wanted to finish training the horses in less than ninety days—it was against her agreement with the Wild Mustang Project to sell them any sooner.
As he approached her, the water reached the rim of the metal bin, and she turned the hose off at the nozzle.
“I see they made it.” Grant pointed to the far corner of the paddock where the horses had pushed themselves against the fence rails.
“What do you think?” While she didn’t expect praise, she needed him to say she’d done a good job picking out the animals.
Grant paused, giving his weight to his left heel as he carefully examined the three geldings and one mare. After a long moment, he spoke. “They look to be fine animals. Especially the bay.”
Some might think fine was a less than stellar observation, but River knew it was a pretty high compliment from her levelheaded, unexcitable father. “You’ve always been partial to bays.”
A small grin broke his chiseled features. “I guess that’s right, but he’s also well-built. Looks to be the kind of horse a man could sit all day and neither man nor beast would be worse for wear.”
Her father’s high praise was like a shot of adrenaline. She started coiling the hose as she walked it back toward the barn. “I thought so too.”
Grant trailed close behind her. “But we already learned there’s a cap to what our fellow ranchers are willing to pay for a mount.”
There it was. Her father’s stubborn argument. “This is about so much more than a bottom line.”
“That might be true, sweetheart. Don’t get me wrong, I admire what you did with that pair of chestnuts last spring. You turned them into solid horses. But didn’t that high-priced education teach you there is no room on a ranch for loss?”
“I don’t want to lose money, Dad. I have a solid plan to cut costs and maximize profits. First, I was much pickier this time. These are a higher cut of horse. Second, by investing in four instead of two I can better cover costs—”
Grant lifted his hand, silencing her. “Do you remember your mother’s cousin Betty Crawford?”
She nodded. “The one whose husband got in trouble down near San Antonio a few years ago.”
Her father crossed his arms in front of her chest, giving her one of his most stern glares. “He saved a lot of horses and helped the Justice Department find good homes for them.”
“Didn’t Tony Cartlon consult on that?”
“The two have known each other for years. Sam’s a fine horse trainer. I’ve invited him down to give you a hand. I believe speeding up the training process will help.”
“I don’t need you to call in Crawford, Cartlon, or any other trainer. I can do this!”
“I know you’re capable of getting these horses in shape, but we have to balance business with labors of love. Shorter training time, means less time we’re feeding them.”
“I signed a contract. I can’t sell them for ninety days. I know I’ve told you this.”
Grant’s jaw clenched. He looked at her through squinted eyes. “I don’t think a couple of weeks’ worth of expert guidance from Sam Crawford will hurt anything. He and Betty run a successful horse farm up north. I’m sure he’ll have some good advice for you.”
“They don’t buy and sell horses. They run a therapy facility.”
“Sam and his brother have been breeding quarter horses. From what I hear they’re doing okay.”
She tossed her hands up and shook her head. “I wish you wouldn’t have done this. I wanted to show you and everyone else I can do this.”
“Sometimes being a good businessman is knowing when to call in a little help. That’s all I’m trying to do here: give you a hand.”
“I don’t need it.”
“Regardless, he’ll be here within the hour, and you’ll give him the warm welcome we reserve for family and the respect we show a knowledgeable colleague.”
It was clear Grant had said the last words on the subject. As long as she was living on her father’s ranch, using ranch resources, there was only so much she could argue. “Yes, sir. Just don’t expect me to be happy about it.”