people drove from all over the continent to bring him horses.
They brought him the rank horses, the ones that no amount of training or abuse could break. Stephanie had never seen him agitated for a single moment. He studied each animal and learned the horse’s secret wounds. Then he began the process of listening and building trust.
Stephanie had spent her summers following behind him like the most loyal of dogs. His days had been long, but Stephanie was never bored. She watched him work, listening to him talk about this horse’s spirit or that horse’s past experiences.
Not one single time had she ever complained of tiredness or hunger. Grandfather Running Horse and the privilege of sharing his work was all she needed.
Until she turned thirteen. Her life had unraveled then. The grandfather she adored was killed in a farming accident.
Stephanie’s parents, both more interested in humanitarian efforts than money, couldn’t afford to keep up the ranch, so it had been sold. Five years later, they died in a cholera epidemic in Africa. The tradition of horse gentling had almost died with Running Horse—until Stephanie decided to try her hand at it.
As Stephanie walked across the yard to the barn, she felt her grandfather’s presence with her. She often felt him close by. In the long days since her fiancé had disappeared into the Central American jungles in a tragic plane crash, her grandfather’s spirit had sustained her.
And he was with her now.
She heard the sound of hoofbeats and hurried into the barn. Tex and Layla peeked out of their stalls. Each gave a throaty greeting.
“In a minute,” she said as she walked by. First she had to see who was running, and why. Concern drove her to pick up speed.
She burst out of the barn and stopped in her tracks. In the round pen, Black Jack was moving at an extended trot. Muscles rippled beneath his glossy hide, and she was struck by the sheer beauty of the horse’s movement. His grace and balance were exquisite.
In the center of the round pen was Johnny Kreel. He held a soft cotton rope in his hand, sometimes slapping it lightly against his leg when Black Jack slowed.
Stepping forward, he turned a shoulder to the horse and Black Jack stopped. His flowing mane settled on his neck and he snorted, a wary eye on Johnny’s every move.
“Reverse,” Johnny said crisply. He stepped forward, shifting his position again. The horse did an about-face and began to trot around the edge of the round pen in the opposite direction. Johnny moved back to the center and continued shifting so that he constantly faced the horse.
It all went as smooth as clockwork.
Stephanie walked to the round pen and put her boot on the rail. “Well done,” she said softly. She didn’t want to distract Johnny from his total focus on Black Jack.
“He understands what I tell him.”
“I’ve never doubted his intelligence,” Stephanie said. “I just wonder if he can overcome the way Rupert Casper handled him. From the stories I heard, it was pretty brutal.”
“He can leave it behind,” Johnny said. “That’s our job—to see that he does.”
She’d tried to block out Black Jack’s future, but now she confronted it. “And once we straighten him out, he’ll go back to Rupert Casper.”
Johnny signaled the horse to whoa. Black Jack slowed to a walk and then stopped. He stood perfectly still as Johnny walked to Stephanie.
“Maybe not. Life is peculiar. Sometimes a horse ends up where he needs to be.”
Stephanie wished that were true. “I can’t afford to buy Black Jack, even if Rupert would consider selling him, which he won’t. Black Jack is a high-dollar horse.”
“He’s not worth much if Rupert Casper can’t ride him,” Johnny pointed out as he vaulted over the rail and stood beside her.
“You heard Rupert. He’ll see the horse dead before he lets anyone else ride him. That’s the kind of man he is.”
Johnny wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Let’s see how far we get with Black Jack before we predict the future. Or maybe, as the folks in town say, you’ve got a crystal ball in the house. And a boiling kettle and a broom that flies.”
Stephanie couldn’t stop the frown. “Folks in town been talking about me, have they?”
“Folks don’t mean harm,” Johnny said. “Their lives are boring and they think yours isn’t.”
“I think they should mind their own business. But for your information, I don’t practice witchcraft or black magic. Now I’ve got to feed the horses and you should see what you can do with Moon Stinger and Dolly’s Rocker. They’re both in the barn and both need some work.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he said.
She left him at the round pen and continued with her morning barn chores. Feeding the horses was always a pleasure. She loved the snuffling noise they made as they cleaned up their oats.
When she started back to the house, she passed Johnny’s rig parked beside the barn. The trailer was in excellent shape, and the truck was well maintained for a rodeo man.
She glanced at the interior as she walked by. Just beneath the edge of the front seat was a gun. Not a rifle, which a lot of ranchers carried, but a handgun. Something that looked modern and dangerous.
She kept walking, unsure how the weapon made her feel. Guns were a part of life for many men. Somehow, though, she hadn’t expected it with Johnny. He was different. He communicated with the horses. Folks like him normally didn’t care to carry a deadly firearm.
Then again, she didn’t know him. She couldn’t forget that, no matter how much she admired his technique when he worked with the horses. He was an unknown entity, and chances were he wouldn’t remain around Running Horse Ranch long enough for her to figure out who he was deep down.
THE DAY IS OFF to an excellent start. Cowboy Johnny is dealing with the devil horse, and Miss Cowgirl found the gun in the cab of Johnny’s truck. Now, I’m not a gun aficionado, but I’ve seen a lot of weapons in my day. That is an expensive weapon. And one with some firepower. A Glock, one of the preferred weapons of law enforcement agencies and the Feds.
Which makes me wonder about a couple of things. How did Johnny find the Running Horse Ranch? We’re miles off the beaten path. He had to drive here specifically. And he shows up with a skill set that just happens to be what Stephanie needs.
I’ve always been told not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but what if it’s the Trojan horse? When something is too good to be true, it usually is. So now it’s up to me to do a bit of sleuthing.
Is Johnny Kreel just a drifting cowboy, or is there more to this package than meets the eye? Stephanie has a computer. I can start there. With my private investigator knowledge, I can check a few Web sites and start a background check on this guy.
But first some breakfast. I catch the aroma of bacon. While I’m normally a seafood kind of cat, I can be swayed by other dishes. A nice bacon and cheese omelet would do wonders for my hungry tummy.
