Saddle Up. Mary Baxter Lynn

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       Prologue

      Jeremiah Davis had once been a proud man—proud of his land, his cattle and his wife. Now, as he rode across an open pasture looking at the fence that would need mending next week, he thought about something his father had told him as a child—pride goeth before a fall.

      And fall he had, as far from upright as the rotting miles of fence posts stretching into the horizon. First, he’d made a bad investment—one that had cost him his financial cushion, leaving him on the edge of disaster. Then, a bad calf crop had devastated any profits for this year. Finally, his wife had been taken from him.

      He was a lonely man now, bereft of everything that had once meant so much to him. Pride. Again he thought about the word.

      The Davis ranch was in southwest Utah. The closest town, Pennington, was comprised of a general mercantile and one filling station with a cold water fountain. Once daily, a train flew through town, causing all the otherwise indolent hounds to howl and show a sudden burst of energy before settling back into the Utah dust.

      Maybe he should call it quits. To hell with ranching. It was all his father had ever done, and what had it gotten him? Jeremiah looked into the horizon toward Hurricane, a town where he could get a real job. But did he truly want a real job? How could he survive in the eight-to-five world of asphalt, suits, choking collars and “Let’s do lunch?”

      The ranch house loomed ahead, a native rock structure that had once glistened with the attention of his mate, someone who’d shared his love for this land. Now, the house reflected his emotions, almost as ramshackle in appearance as his inner turmoil.

      To hell with this, he thought. He could wallow in misery from now on and nothing would be accomplished…but if he didn’t eat something soon, the Davis graveyard would have yet another inhabitant.

      Once inside, he tossed his hat on a nearby chair and strode to the kitchen, popping a skillet onto the range. A couple of eggs cracked into the pan might have worked if he’d added a little bacon drippings, but what did he know? He and Margaret had had an understanding. She didn’t try to run the ranch, and he didn’t try to run the house. Instead, the eggs stuck, turned black, filled the room with smoke and set two dogs to howling.

      Disgusted, he dumped both eggs and the skillet in the garbage and opened his last bag of pork cracklings. Dammit, something had to change.

      The phone interrupted his tantrum, and he answered it with a mouthful of cracklings.

      “Hey, Jeremiah. What’s up?”

      “Same garbage, different day, Nelson.”

      “You sound funny.”

      “It’s my lunch—straight out of the bag.”

      “Sounds like you’re chewing on dried locusts. Listen, if you need a meal, come on over. Sharon—”

      “Thanks, but no thanks. Last time I showed up, you had some heifer from Nevada all lined up for me.

      “Speaking of heifers, that’s what this call’s all about.”

      “Forget it. I’m not interested in another woman. I’ve told you that already. No just has one syllable, so what’s your problem with understanding it?”

      “You need to listen, Davis. What I’m about to ask you is in the best interest of the whole community. Hell, maybe even all of southern Utah.”

      Jeremiah rolled his eyes, knowing Johnny Nelson. His ranching friend was a good man, but persistent as a rash. He would have to hear him out just to get rid of him.

      “Okay, shoot.”

      “We’re going to have an auction, my friend.”

      “I already lost my shirt at one auction this year. Why in hell should I want to go to another one?”

      “No, you’ll love this one.”

      “All right,” Jeremiah said in a resigned voice. “Go on. I’m listening….“