blond hair and a sly manner Sawyer didn’t like, eyed him up and down, obviously noting his new jeans and boots. “Rough work,” he said. “Wouldn’t want to mess you up.”
Tobias, who was older and had a wiry build, snorted. “Fancy duds.”
Sawyer flinched. They didn’t want him to go with them. Okay, he got that. Once he’d been a pretty fair hand. Now, with rusty skills, he’d only get in their way. He’d likely cut himself on some barbed wire and remember he was overdue for a tetanus shot.
Tobias and Willy mounted up. With a tip of their hats, they ducked low to ride out of the barn, looking more comfortable in their well-worn saddles than they did on two legs. As their horses trotted toward the pasture gate, he heard the two men laughing.
Leaning to open the gate, Willy called back. “Come over to the Wilsons’ later if you want to help. We’re rounding up some missing cattle.” A wedding guest last night had mentioned a trio of rustlers who’d tried to clean Grey Wilson out, but they’d been caught and the local ranchers had offered to help bring the cows home. “Logan’s prob’ly got some old clothes you can borrow. Pickup keys are in the black truck.”
Sawyer watched them go. He was only here to help Sam and get his own head together. After Logan returned from his honeymoon, Sawyer would leave. Yet Grey was an old friend. How could he not drive over to Wilson Cattle, at least offer to pitch in?
But Grey was also Olivia’s brother. What if she was there later, too? He didn’t relish another awkward conversation with her.
He half wished Nick had stayed, a ready excuse for Sawyer to remain at the Circle H all day, not that the kid had exactly taken to him. He’d examined Sawyer with curiosity, confused him at first with Logan, then seemed to dismiss him.
Besides, Nick reminded him of that other child he hadn’t been able to save. The memory of that boy, who like many others had been pulled from the landslide rubble, made him feel guilty all over again. His dreadful mistake had cost a young life, and he couldn’t seem to forgive himself for that, either.
How possibly to atone?
There was no way to bring back that dark-haired, dark-eyed child or to relieve the sorrow Sawyer had seen in his parents’ eyes. He could only guess how that must hurt.
At the age of eight, Sawyer had lost his mother and father in a road accident. They’d been on their way home the day before his and Logan’s birthday. It was Sam who’d raised them, adopted him and Logan, who’d been here all these years like a father to them.
The memory of his parents had saddened him. It seemed that everyone he loved, he lost.
Sawyer drifted down the barn aisle, stopping here and there to say hello to each horse that sidled up to the stall bars and poked out a soft nose. He didn’t realize Sam was in the next stall until Sawyer walked up to peer at the black colt inside.
The horse’s ears flattened against his skull. His eyes rolled, showing the whites. Not a good demonstration of his nature.
Sam lifted his head. “Better keep back.” At the horse’s side, he’d been bent over, picking the colt’s hooves. “He doesn’t like strangers.”
Sawyer obeyed. He didn’t fear the horse, but he wouldn’t agitate him and get Sam into trouble. Moving around in an occupied stall could be dangerous.
He assessed the animal with a cool eye. He had good conformation—beautiful, in fact. His glossy black hide shone in the soft light coming through the stall window that opened onto the barnyard. The colt danced around, reminding Sawyer of another horse years ago, shifting his hindquarters one way, then the other as if he were doing a samba. “He looks like a real handful.”
“Oh, he is,” Sam said but with apparent pride. “Picked him up at a sale. Guy there told me this one’s daddy was a prizewinner—champion barrel racer—but his baby showed no signs of following in his hoofprints. I got him for a song.” Still hunched over, Sam glanced up again. “Cyclone has no manners. And he bites.”
“You love him,” Sawyer murmured. He could see that in Sam’s eyes.
“I will.” He straightened, then lightly swatted Cyclone on his near flank to shift him over. “Once he learns how to behave.”
“Has he had any groundwork?” The horse, which appeared to be a yearling, wouldn’t be ready to ride until he was three, but he needed to learn some of those manners long before that. Sawyer’s hand all but twitched to feel a lunge line in his grasp, with one flick of his wrist to get the colt moving with a fluid, forward gait in the corral.
“Logan offered to work with him,” Sam said, “and so has Grey Wilson, but neither one has gotten around to that, much less breaking him first.”
Sawyer didn’t like the term break. It implied ruining an animal’s spirit. He preferred a gentler touch.
Years ago, he’d not only been a better ranch hand in the making than his twin brother, he’d also trained a few horses. One of them, at an advanced age and probably now in retirement, still lived in the end stall by the barn doors. On his way through, Sawyer had slipped him an apple. Another, Sundance, was Sam’s horse and now Logan’s part of the time. Another...had belonged to Olivia, but that horse wasn’t here or at Wilson Cattle.
“I could give the colt a try,” he said, testing the waters. He wasn’t the only one to remember that other horse. He doubted Sam would trust him with the colt.
Sam blinked. “Been a while since you handled a green one like Cyclone.”
“I’m willing to try, though. While I’m here,” he added.
“He’ll need lots of attention. You plan to stay that long?”
“I don’t know. Depends on what you mean by long.” Yet Sawyer felt his spirits begin to lift. Frankly, this morning he’d been feeling sorry for himself. Regretting his reluctance to take responsibility for Nick’s care. Knowing he wasn’t part of the Circle H anymore, part of anything, really. His partner, Charlie, in the clinic had seemed half-relieved to see him go. Sawyer’s presence was a constant reminder of what had happened there, and he guessed Olivia felt similarly about him. He’d be doing her a favor to keep away from her.
Sam was right. He wouldn’t stay long, didn’t know where to go when he left, much less how to find redemption for his sins. Still...
He reached through the stall bars, taking the chance to stroke the colt’s nose. For his first attempt at friendship, he got a sharp nip that broke the skin on his index finger. Sawyer snatched his hand back.
“Told you.” Sam shoved the horse aside to slide open the door. “Saw him take off the tip of someone’s ear a couple months ago.” He stepped out into the aisle, then threw the bolt, shutting Cyclone inside.
Sawyer looked at the colt for a moment. It seemed suddenly important to establish his temporary niche at the Circle H, give himself something to do while he was here. Maybe with Cyclone he’d do better than he had with a scalpel in his hand in Kedar. By the time he left, the black colt might have the foundation to become a decent horse. If Sawyer didn’t fail again.
“I’ll try anyway,” he told Sam.
* * *
OLIVIA
