Seven
Chapter One
Mid-March in southeastern Montana was no time of year for a bucking horse auction. And yet, better than a hundred people had driven as many miles or more, braved ice-covered highways and trudged across acres of gray-brown slush, all in search of a bargain.
Ace Hart among them.
He stood with seven other potential customers, appraising the coal-black stallion and contemplating his finer qualities, which, at first glance, appeared in short supply.
The horse, slightly underweight for his intended use and a bit on the rangy side, had backed himself into the farthest corner of the pen. Ears flat, head stretched forward and nostrils flaring, he stomped a front hoof in the wet, mucky ground, flinging clumps of mud into the air. The customers took the horse’s warning seriously and maintained a respectful distance, some of them scratching notes on the back of their bidding numbers for reference when the auction started.
Normally Ace would pass up a potentially aggressive horse like this one, outstanding bloodlines or not. But the animal’s eyes, alert, inquisitive and highly intelligent, told Ace what he needed to know better than the AQHA registration papers taped to the pen railing.
This was no ordinary horse and no ordinary stallion.
The Midnight Express, or just plain Midnight as he was once known on the rodeo circuit, had been born to buck, his purpose in life to unseat any cowboy with nerve enough to ride him into the arena. Most of those rides had ended with the cowboy eating a face full of dirt.
No more.
If Ace purchased Midnight—make that when, he’d already decided the horse was his—he’d use Midnight exclusively for breeding purposes. Ace wasn’t the kind of business manager or big-animal veterinarian to risk injuring a valuable investment.
“What do you think?” His mother came up beside him, linked an arm through his, then stuck her other hand in the pocket of her sheepskin-lined jacket.
“A little underweight. A little temperamental.”
“But a beauty.”
Indeed. Despite his ragged appearance, Midnight had all the potential Ace and his mother were seeking in a foundation stallion for their bucking horse breeding operation. He mentally calculated the top price they could afford to pay. With luck, the horse’s prickly personality and poor condition would scare off other buyers.
“Howdy, Sarah. Ace.” Earl McKinley, the Harts’ neighbor and competitor in the bucking stock business, approached and fell in beside Ace’s mother.
“Hello, Earl.” She returned the greeting. “I didn’t think you were coming today.”
Neither had Ace. He glanced around, his throat suddenly dry.
Had Flynn accompanied her father to the auction? Told him about her and Ace?
Not likely. If Earl had any idea Ace spent the night with his daughter three weeks ago, he’d have a lot more to say to Ace than “howdy.”
Just when Ace decided Flynn had stayed home, she appeared, casually approaching as if this was just another chance encounter with her neighbors.
“Flynn, good to see you,” Ace’s mother exclaimed.
“Hi, Sarah, how are you?” Flynn acknowledged Ace with a tilt of her head, the epitome of cool, calm and collected.
Not so Ace.
Sweat promptly broke out on his brow—both at the memory of the incredible night they’d spent together and his disgraceful exit the next morning.
What must she think of him?
Her demeanor gave nothing away.
She appeared to be concentrating on the conversation between his mother and her father.
At one time, the Harts and McKinleys had been fierce rivals. That changed to friendly rivals ten years ago when Ace’s father died.
“Rumor has it you might be getting out of the business,” his mother said to Earl.
“I haven’t decided either way. If I can pick up a few head today at a good price, I may end up adding to my string. If not, I’ll probably sell off. It’s been a tough go the last few years, what with this economy.”
“It certainly has.”
“I heard you leased out three thousand acres to a cattle company from Missoula.”
“We did. And sold off most of our cattle. We’re down to three hundred head.”
Earl whistled.
The recent recession and drop in the commodities market was a frequent topic among ranchers. Ace’s mother was counting on the family’s expanded bucking contracting business and reduced cattle operation to stabilize the ranch’s shaky finances.
“I also hear you’re planning to add to your string in a big way,” Earl said.
“We are indeed.” Her face lit up. “That’s what brought us here.”
“You thinking of buying this here fellow?”
All eyes went to the big horse in the pen.
“Considering it,” Ace’s mother answered coyly.
Earl’s bucking string had always been significantly larger than the Harts’ and included a dozen championship bulls and horses. If Earl retired, that would certainly benefit the Harts and their plans.
From the glimmer of interest in Earl’s eyes, he also saw and appreciated Midnight’s
