Page 34 of Catch Me, Cowboy
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The workday tookforever. Les remained silent and distant as they set posts and strung wire and Ty had initially assumed it was because the old guy was angry at him and worried about Shelby. As the day wore on, though, he started to wonder if it was more than that. Every now and again Les would hold onto a post for longer than necessary, as if regaining his balance, or he would stare off into the distance, breathing slowly.
Ty pretended not to notice, but he planned to report to Shelby. Something wasn’t right.
After he and Les got home that afternoon, Les made it very clear Ty was dismissed and not needed again until morning—as in,don’t bother coming to the round pen for the training session with the black gelding.
Fine. Les was protecting his granddaughter in the best way he knew how, so Ty sat on the uncomfortable metal step of his borrowed camp trailer and greased his boots. Les might not want him around Shelby, but Ty imagined he’d be glad to have him around if there was a wreck in the round pen.
Ty waited until he’d heard Shelby successfully catch the gelding and lead him into the pen before he opened the boot grease can and dipped the rag in. The tack shed door opened and closed, bringing Ty’s head up. She was riding?
No. Probably just tacking the horse up. It was standard procedure to work the horse with the tack.
He started massaging the grease into the dry boot leather. Arena dust was hell on boots, hell on hats, hell on the skin. It dried out whatever it touched and heaven knew he’d had enough of the stuff ground into him over the past years. But along with the dust had come silver buckles and some decent cash here and again. Bragging rights.
But more than that, it had given him an identity. He was Ty Harding. Two-time saddle bronc world champion. He had a purpose and a goal and he’d loved pursuing it more than almost anything else in life—to the point he didn’t need the “World Champion” part after his name. Ty Harding, saddle bronc rider, was enough. But Ty Harding, three-time world champion had a nice ring to it.
Which was why he wasn’t yet done.
He put the first boot aside and reached for the other. On the far side of the barn he heard the deep rumble of Les’s voice and Shelby saying something in return, but no sounds of distress. Maybe the black horse had finally calmed down? He’d known horses that were sheer hell until they acclimated to their surroundings. Maybe old Evarado was one of those. He hoped so anyway.
As soon as Shelby was finished with the gelding, he’d tackle the free weights. His shoulder was still weaker than before, despite Les was doing his best to toughen it up with the post hole diggers, and Ty’s bad thigh wasn’t even close to one-hundred percent strength-wise. But if his balance was there, and his reactions quick enough, if he could still read the horse, he could compensate when he rode next week.
No. Hewouldcompensate when he rode. And all his injured parts were getting stronger by the day.
He’d just dipped his rag in the grease can when the sound of a something hitting the rails of the round pen brought him to his feet. He dropped the boot, knocked the grease can into the dirt, and sprinted around the barn, ignoring the sharp pain in his bad thigh as he fought to keep from going down when he hit loose gravel.
When he rounded the corner, he saw Shelby mounted on the gelding, flying around the pen at breakneck speed. When the horse tried to slow, she booted him on. Ty came to a stop beside a pale-faced Les.
“Sonofabitch reared on her before her butt was in the saddle.”
And now Shelby was schooling him. Horses liked to run, but they wanted to stop when they felt like it. This guy wasn’t going to stop for a long, long time. As long as she kept his hind quarters engaged, kept him moving forward, he couldn’t buck. If hewasa bucker. Not all horses were. Some shied, some reared.
Regardless of tactics, a horse with an agenda was a dangerous animal, until he learned who was boss and until he trusted that boss to keep him safe.
Evarado was dripping sweat by the time Shelby allowed him to slow. Then she turned him and made him trot the opposite direction. When he started to bunch up, she kicked him back into the gallop.
“Stubborn,” Ty said.
“Shelby or the horse?” Les muttered.
“She knows what she’s doing.” But Ty had to admit he wasn’t a big fan of her doing it.
Finally, Shelby allowed the gelding to come to a stop and dismounted. Both he and Les knew she had to mount him again before she could call it a day.
Ty started for the gate and Les said nothing.
Shelby gathered the reins and waited. When the horse did nothing but roll his eye at her, she put weight into the stirrup, then stepped back down to the ground. The horse stood still. She repeated that several times before finally easing her leg over the horse and her butt into the saddle. She picked up the reins and the horse did a small jump forward, but he didn’t rear. She allowed him to walk around the round pen, then stopped him in the middle and dismounted again.
Lesson over.
As she walked toward Ty and Les, her features were tight and he could see she was exhausted. But she’d won that round. And the gelding didn’t try his usual bolt for freedom when she let him go in his corral after untacking him.
“I’ll be up as soon as I feed,” she told her grandfather.
“Want help?” he asked.
“No. Put the kettle on and I’ll be up in just a few minutes.”
