wanting a stud horse,” he said.
“I like to keep all my options open.” Earl’s smile remained fixed, much like his daughter’s.
She stood across from Ace, looking everywhere else but at him.
Well, he deserved her disdain. He’d messed up pretty bad.
That didn’t stop him from missing her and wishing things were different.
“Shame about old Wally,” his mother mused. Like most of the rodeo folk at the auction, she’d been acquainted with the late owner of the stock up for sale today. “He was a good man and will be missed.”
“His kin must be in a hurry for their share of his money.” Earl lifted his foot and examined the muddy water pouring off his galoshes, then stepped sideways to a spot that was only marginally less wet. “Couldn’t they have postponed the sale six weeks till the weather improves?”
“They may have debts to pay off. Wally was sick a long time before he passed.”
“More likely they didn’t want to compete with the Miles City Bucking Horse Sale in May. Those kids of his never gave a flying fig about taking over his string even before he died. A shame, too.” Earl shook his head. “He had some quality stock. Whoever those kids hired to care for these horses should be arrested.”
“True.” Ace’s mother’s gaze went from Midnight to the other horses on the next aisle over. “Some of them are faring rather badly, I’m afraid.”
Earl made a sound of disgust. “I betcha this here horse couldn’t buck off a ten-year-old boy.”
Ace wouldn’t take that bet. Midnight and the rest of Wally’s string may have received less than adequate care in the two years since the old man fell ill, but Midnight possessed the heart of a champion and the spirit of a warrior.
He also had impeccable genes.
Earl knew it, too. He intentionally downplayed his interest in purchasing Midnight by finding fault with him and the other horses. Ace’s mother employed the same tactics with Earl. They’d been doing it for years, with Earl usually coming out ahead.
“You ready, sweetie?” Earl asked Flynn.
“Let’s go.”
“I’ll be seeing you later when the auction starts.” Earl tipped his hat at Ace’s mother, then he and Flynn leapfrogged over wet patches to the double row of pens holding the geldings and mares.
The challenge had been officially issued.
“He’s going to bid against us for Midnight,” Ace’s mother observed.
“He won’t be the only one.”
Ace watched Flynn go, ashamed at his relief. He should apologize to her. He owed her that much, if not more. But after three weeks without any contact, she’d probably refuse to speak to him, and he wouldn’t blame her.
God, he’d been such an idiot.
“Aidan?”
“Yeah.” His mother was one of the few people to call him by his given name.
“Are you going to examine that horse or what?” She inclined her head at the pen.
“I will. Eventually.” He returned his attention to Midnight, forcing thoughts of Flynn from his mind. It wasn’t easy.
It seemed as though the horse ignored everyone else except him. Good. They were of similar minds.
“Too muddy?” his mother asked. “Or is the horse too mean?”
“Unpredictable and wary aren’t the same as mean.” On the ranch and in his veterinarian practice, Ace had examined his share of mean horses. “He’s a stallion standing within fifty feet of twenty mares. His mares. Not to mention the geldings. His competition, in his mind. He’s in a strange environment, surrounded by strange people and hearing strange noises. He’s bound to act a little temperamental.”
“No one’s been in the pen with him that I’ve seen.”
“Are you challenging me?”
Ace’s mother arched a brow at him and smiled. “When have you needed someone to challenge you other than yourself?”
He hadn’t, not since his father died.
Eventually, Ace decided both he and Midnight were ready. He slipped the latch and opened the gate. The horse snorted and pawed the muck again, his way of saying, “You sure about this? Because I have a thousand pounds of solid muscle on you.”
Ace was sure. He stepped inside the pen, shut the gate behind him and waited. When it came to horses, he had an endless supply of patience.
Now, people? Not so much.
“Easy, boy.”
Midnight flicked his ears slightly at the silky smooth tone of Ace’s voice but didn’t budge.
“That’s right.”
Minutes ticked by, Ace wasn’t sure how many. From the corner of his eye he noticed a small crowd had gathered in front of the pen. A few of the louder comments reached his ears.
“Watch this. You ever seen Hart at work?”
“He’s got more nerve than me, climbing in with that brute.”
“What is he? Some kind of horse whisperer or something?”
Not exactly, Ace thought. But he did have a knack for reading animals, horses especially, and for getting them to trust him. Enough to earn himself a reputation around the state.
When he sensed the moment was right, he took a small, slow step forward. Midnight jerked his head, his gaze still fastened on Ace.
“There you go.”
Another small step, this one met with an angry snort and a head toss. No problem. As long as the horse didn’t show signs of charging him, Ace was okay.
“We’ll do this on your terms, buddy.”
Finally, Ace was close enough to touch the horse, though he hesitated.
“Good job,” he murmured softly.
Midnight’s breathing increased as he inhaled Ace’s scent, the fine whiskers of his velvety nose brushing Ace’s jacket sleeve. He was determined that the horse make the next move.
His patience, as usual, paid off.
Midnight sniffed Ace’s hand, drew back and sniffed again.
It was a small but vital victory for Ace. When he reached out to stroke Midnight’s neck, the horse flinched. He didn’t bolt or rear, however, and after several more long moments, allowed Ace to run a hand along his neck and chest, his hide twitching.
Sadness squeezed Ace’s heart.
