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Troy left the Hatch Ranch certain he would hear from Hatch or Sarah. At the prospect of having his own horse and learning how to train him and ride him, that little boy had been too thrilled for them to ignore him. Rudy might always be too much horse for a little boy, but he would make a good ranch horse and Troy would see that Wyatt ended up with a horse that fit him.
He thought back on the story he had told Sarah about his childhood and his first horse, Happy. He was only a year younger than Wyatt McFadden when he suddenly found himself responsible for Happy.
Happy was a gray mare Dad had given him that was to be his horse, along with the duty of taking care of her. He had never been around horses, but Happy became his whole life. He spent many summer days, just him and Happy and a cheese sandwich and sometimes a few head of cattle, out on the range together. Sometimes they traveled the whole day without seeing another human being, a testimony to the size of the Double-Barrel Ranch.
Happy was nearly forty years old now and swaybacked. Alongside the brood mares, she grazed the days away.
If Bill Lockhart Junior hadn’t stepped up and assumed responsibility as his natural father, Troy Rattigan would have grown up an orphan and a ward of the state just like Sarah. His future would have been dramatically different from the life of security and ease he had lived. No day went by without his giving that fact the reverence it deserved.
He reached the Roundup city limit and slowed. One glimpse of the rundown town told him Roundup was another small, dying West Texas burg dependent on agriculture. Like in his own hometown of Drinkwell, the highway ran through the center of the town, Victorian-style courthouse on one side, rundown store fronts housing mom-and-pop businesses on the other. He eased along, looking for the grocery store. The place couldn’t have more than one.
He spotted his destination by seeing the bake sale that was set up on the sidewalk in front of it. Three women bundled up in thick coats stood behind a table covered with packages tied with red and green ribbon, the chilled wind whipping the table cloth. They had no customers. A large hand-printed poster was attached to the front of the table: HELP SARAH KAROL.
He parallel-parked beside a pock-marked curb in front of the store. Sal and Dixon parked across the street. As soon as Troy scooted out of his truck, Sal was there beside him.
A short time later, the two of them carried cardboard boxes full of baked goods to Troy’s truck. He had bought all of the small packages of cookies and cupcakes that had been for sale, but $300 wasn’t much money to go toward thousands of dollars in medical bills. He added the $400 he had left in his wallet as a donation.
Laughing, he handed a cardboard box of cookies and cupcakes to Sal. “Here’s lunch, boys.”
He carried another box back to his own truck, climbed behind the wheel and fired the engine. Before resuming his trip home, he checked his phone for text messages. Kate wanted him to verify that he would be home in time for supper with the family. Johnnie Sue was making enchiladas. Yum. He answered his sister’s text with a smiling Emoji and a sí.
Dorinda had sent him a text, too. With a hope that she would finally agree to talk to Blake Rafferty, he keyed into her message: You know B. Rafferty cant talk to me. Duncan knows his boss.
“Bullshit,” Troy mumbled. While some Texas Ranger higher-up might restrain Rafferty from interviewing Dorinda, if she wanted to talk to him, she could find a way to do it. And for sure, she could talk to the arson investigator. Troy had heard nothing about George Mayfield being influenced or intimidated by Dorinda’s husband.
Judging none of the other messages to be urgent, he hooked his phone back onto his belt. As he pulled away from the curb, Sal and Dixon fell in behind him. He tuned SiriusXM to country music and pointed his Dodge dually toward home.
Since he had eaten nothing since breakfast, he munched on homemade chocolate chip cookies and thought about what he had just done. Had he invited Sarah Karol and her grandpa, or whatever he was, to bring Rudy to him for the horse’s sake or had he sub-consciously done it to facilitate another meeting with Sarah? He wasn’t sure.
He reached the Double-Barrel at twilight. Driving through the elaborately decorated wrought iron gateway, he saw one of Redstone Security’s SUVs parked under a huge, ancient oak tree’s canopy. His shoulders sagged and he unlatched his seat belt, suddenly aware that he felt safe. An odd sensation since he had told himself dozens of time he didn’t feel threatened. At the same time, being surrounded by armed men designated as personal security, kept the menace constantly in the forefront of thought.
Troy continued on to his house located three miles from the main gate and five miles from the ranch house. At the big barn that housed some of his horses, he pulled up at the entrance. His main man, Sergio Davalos, stood in the wide-open doorway.
Sergio and his wife Tania lived nearby in one of the small houses the ranch had built for a cowhand years back. Free rent was part of their pay. They loved the horses, looked after the ones Troy left behind when he traveled.
Tania or one of her sisters kept the inside of Troy’s house spotlessly clean and in perfect order and sometimes cooked for him when he was home. He could think of no people he liked more than Tania and Sergio.
As Sergio helped him unload Batman and lead him to his stall, Troy looked left and right for snakes. He was instinctively wary, but after seeing Sarah Karol and hearing her story, he might never be able to go into a barn again without worrying about a rattler waiting to be disturbed.
The eleven mares that would foal in January and February lived in the big barn. Sergio had already fed and watered them and brought them into the covered corral and blanketed them. “How’s our mamas?” Troy asked him.
“They’re good.” Sergio helped Troy drag out flakes of hay for Batman.
“Just brush him down for now and put him away,” Troy told him. “Wait until the weather warms up to give him a bath.” He started out of the barn but stopped and turned back. “Sergio, have you seen any snakes lately?”
“No, senor.
“I ran into somebody who got rattlesnake bit and she’s lame. You and your people be sure to wear good gloves and boots when you’re working out here, okay? Tania, too.”
“The snakes are not sleeping?”
“You never know. A stray might not know that’s what he’s supposed to be doing.”
“Sí, senor. We watch.”
Sal walked into the house with him. “You and your compadres ever seen a rattlesnake around here?” Troy asked him.
“Have not.”
“As long as you’ve been hanging out here, I’m surprised. You need to be cautious. You know the girl I ate lunch with that one day during the clinic? The one that limps? She’s crippled from a rattlesnake bite.”
Inside the house, garlands of greenery tied with red ribbon hung along the stair rail leading from the entry to the upstairs rooms. The scent of pine and holiday spices filled the air. Troy glanced into his living room. Poinsettias in pots were placed here and there. More garland draped across the fireplace’s mantel and a decorated green Christmas tree stood in a corner.
The thought that Kate wanted his house to be decorated for the holiday brought a warmth to Troy’s throat. Every day, in spite of his jug-headed thinking over the past couple of years, she showed him how much she cared about him.
Sal busied himself turning on lights, opening and closing doors and looking around the lower floor. “Looks like one of Santa’s elves got loose in here.”
“My sister. She’s a big fan of Christmas. Unless those flowers are phony, she’s gonna expect me to water them. Shit.”
“You can handle it.” Chuckling, Sal jogged upstairs.
Tania came out of the kitchen smiling. “Quieres que limpie la traila?”
Troy listened carefully. Tania wanted to know if he wanted her to clean the trailer. She spoke English but was obviously more articulate in Spanish. Troy liked speaking Spanish with her. He had spoken Spanish before he learned English, but over the years, living in an English-only household, his Spanish had become rusty and he had to work at it.
Tania was as militant as Johnnie Sue about keeping things clean. She always swamped out the trailer ASAP after he brought it home. He answered her in Spanish. “Too cold. It can wait. I’m not going anywhere for a while. Are those flowers real?”
“The flores de Pasuca? Si.” She laughed her jolly laugh. “No tienes que preocuparte. Yo los riego por ti.”
Thank God she had offered to water the flowers. “You’re a gem, Tania. I’d probably kill ’em in a week.”
“¿Quieres cenar?”
He answered her question in Spanish. “I’m gonna eat supper at the ranch house.”
Johnnie Sue would have a meal already on the table and the family was expecting him. Though all had been present at the Finals, they still would be eager to hear a first-hand account of how he and Dandy Little Lady had pulled off winning the NCHA World Finals.
He found a plastic sack in a drawer in the kitchen, bagged a few of the cookies and cupcakes he had bought in Roundup and gave what was left in the box to Tania. Her brother and two sisters lived in Drinkwell, all with spouses and small kids. “You and Sergio call it a day, okay? Go on home.”
She looked into the box, then up at him with a quizzical expression.
“Goodies. Cookies and cupcakes. They’re fresh. I just bought them today. Give them to your nieces and nephews or take them to your church.”
She smiled and nodded. “Sí. Gracias.”
Sal came down from upstairs. “Everything’s okay.” He walked to the front door. “Have a good evening. Dixon will be outside.”
“Fine. Thanks. You have a good evening, too. I’m gonna clean up then I’ll be going up to the ranch house for a while.”
Troy headed upstairs eager for a shower in a stall that was big enough for him to turn around.
***
AFTER SARAH, WYATT and Jericho returned home, disorder and tension reigned in the Hatch house. Sarah and Jericho hadn’t talked. Sarah wanted to talk, but Jericho stalked off to the barn. Wyatt asked her a dozen times in a dozen ways if Rudy was going to be his horse.
With no answers to anything and everything feeling out of control, she threw up her hands and tried to busy herself with cooking supper. Her checkered journey through the labyrinth of “The System” had occasionally taken her to brushing shoulders with psychologists, all of whom had told her she had control issues. She tried to suppress them most of the time, but frustration brought them glaringly to the surface.
She had just whipped a couple of eggs when her phone warbled. Tiffany, of course. Sarah had expected her to call before now. She keyed into the call to hear Tiffany in tears. “Daddy’s so mad at me. He threatened to shoot Rudy. I’m glad I left town.”
Sarah’s stomach made a small lurch. Sarah wasn’t well acquainted with Tiffany’s dad. Would he really shoot Rudy? All she really knew of him was that he usually bought his daughter anything she wanted. She left her whisk in the bowl and focused on the call. “He doesn’t mean that, does he?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a mess. I don’t know what to do.”
Tiffany was starting to get on Sarah’s nerves. She planted a fist on her hip and began to pace the length of the kitchen. “One thing you need to do is take care of this before your dad does something dumb. Did you try to get ahold of Burke like we talked about?”
Silence on the other end. Aargh! Suspicions confirmed. Tiffany knew exactly where Burke was and how to reach him. “Well, did you or didn’t you?”
“You don’t have to yell. I know where he is, but I haven’t called him yet.”
“Come on, Tiffany. If you know how to call him, you need to do it. This could turn out to be the best thing that has ever happened to poor ol’ Rudy. You saw how he was with Troy...uh, Mr. Rattigan. I’ve never him so—”
Just then, Wyatt came into the room. “Mom, am I going to get to have Rudy for my horse?”
“I gotta go, Tiffany. I’ll talk to you later. Do this. And let me know what Burke says.” Disconnecting, Sarah turned to her son. “I don’t know, Son. I don’t want you to get your hopes up. Rudy’s got a long way to go before he can be a little boy’s horse.”
Or even a big boy’s horse.
His eyes glistening with tears, Wyatt lashed out. “I’m not a little boy. I can ride him. I know I can ride him. And Mr. Rattigan’s gonna help me.”
Inside, Sarah sighed. What a pain. Wyatt had become her brave, tough little boy. She hated disappointing him, but she hated seeing him injured worse. Why had Troy gotten his hopes up? Why hadn’t Tiffany gotten in touch with Burke the Jerk? Why didn’t Jericho let Wyatt just have a damn horse, even a plug? Why, why, why?
Talking to herself under her breath, Sarah immersed herself in a methodical task—cooking a chicken-fried steak supper. When they went to Abilene, they always ate at the Cotton Patch Café and they always ordered the same thing: Chicken-fried steak with cream gravy, mashed potatoes with the skins on, fresh-cooked green beans and fluffy rolls. It was their favorite meal.
Except for fluffy rolls and fresh green beans, Sarah cooked everything just the way the café did. Years back, she had done most of the cooking in one of the foster homes where she lived and she had learned to cook perfect chicken-fried steak. She did’t use lard back then, of course. Only Jericho still cooked with lard.
While potatoes simmered on the stovetop, she made herself concentrate on soaking the pieces of tenderized beef in buttermilk, dipping each one in beaten eggs, dredging each cut in seasoned flour, then carefully placing it in a mixture of oil and melted lard in a hot iron skillet.
She smashed the boiled potatoes with plenty of salt and pepper, a ton of butter and cream, then covered them with foil wrap to keep them warm. After the steaks were fried, she made cream gravy from the drippings and opened a can of green beans. Some of Jericho’s biscuits were left over from breakfast. Wyatt had brought home a few leftover cupcakes from the school’s Christmas party. She set all of it out on the dining table, but before they sat down to eat, she fixed a small paper plate of food to take to Bonnie’s grave tomorrow.
After Jericho said a small prayer of thanks, they ate in silence. Wyatt barely touched his food. Palpable anxiety floated like waves above the dining table.
The question that had hovered in the back of her mind all afternoon was why would somebody like Troy Rattigan do this? She couldn’t accept that he just wanted to do a poor old horse a favor. He had another motive, but what was it? Finally, she could stand the tension no longer. “What do you think, Jericho?”
Jericho kept his eyes on his plate and shook his head.
Sarah rolled her own yes. “Are you saying no? I don’t know? What?...I’m asking you, Jericho, are we really gonna do this?”
His pretty blue eyes shiny, Wyatt looked up at her, as if he had been waiting for her to speak. “Please, Mom, I’ll—”
“Wyatt, shh. We don’t know Mr. Rattigan. We don’t know if he can do what he says he can. We don’t know if he can really turn Rudy into a useable horse.”
“But he can, Mom. I know he can and he’s gonna let me help him.”
No question Rudy had taken to Troy. The man almost had secret communication with the dumb horse. His own horse, Batman, was one of the most well-trained stallions she had ever seen and he was even bigger than Rudy.
A flashback zoomed into her memory—After a freaky goddamn accident, Justin lying on the ground unconscious and never regaining consciousness. A vision came to her of Wyatt with a broken neck or a fractured skull. Her beloved best friend, Jericho’s wife Bonnie had succumbed to a shitty disease for no good reason anybody could think of. Sarah had already lost a lot. She feared losing anything or anyone else.
Her memory swerved to the to-be-slaughtered pen at the horse auction in Big Piney, Wyoming. In her mind’s eye, Rudy, so starved his ribs showed, stood there among the pitiful castoffs, his eyes begging her to save him. She looked at Jericho. “You saw him work with Rudy. Do you, uh...do you still think he’s a bullshitter?”
Jericho focused on his food. “I don’t know.”
“Why would he do this, Jericho? Tiffany’s dad says he doesn’t need the money. Do you think he just goes around the country saving one horse at a time for the hell of it?”
Jericho’s head shook. “I don’t know. I agree with Harvey. I’m sure he doesn’t need the money. He comes from a rich family. I told him we’d haul Rudy over there, so we’ll start with that and see what happens.”
“Am I gonna get to go, Grandpa?” Wyatt’s voice quivered with a plea.
“Not if you don’t eat your supper,” Sarah scolded, though she felt his pain.
“’Course you are,” Jericho said, then added, “If we go.”
That was Jericho being Jericho. When it came to something about which he was dubious, he rarely made a positive statement without a qualifier at the end.
Wyatt’s eyes welled with tears. Jericho looked at him. “Wyatt,” he said gently. “You’re the one we’d be doing this for. If we go, you’ll go with us.”
Sarah let out a breath, but she still had plenty to worry about. “When do you want to go? I mean, it’s a bad time. Christmas is Wednesday.”
Jericho nodded, sopping up gravy with a bite of biscuit. “It probably oughtta wait ’til next week.”
“Oh, please, Grandpa,” Wyatt begged. “Can’t we go tomorrow? You told him in a day or two.”
If anybody knew how long waiting for something you desperately wanted could be, Sarah did, but she said to Wyatt, “I doubt if Mr. Rattigan has time this week, Son. He has to get ready for Christmas, too, you know.”
“You can text him and ask him, huh, Mom? You heard him. He said you could text him. He gave you his number.”
Jericho swallowed a sip of tea and reached for a cupcake. “Guess it wouldn’t hurt to send him a message and feel him out.”
Yes! Sarah mentally pumped a fist. “Okay then. I’ll send him a text after supper and see what he says.”
Oh, please, Lord, let this work out.
