Her Kind Of Cowboy. Pat Warren

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СКАЧАТЬ sure.” Casey shuffled his scuffed boots, still not satisfied. “Okay, so now he knows your scent. What’s next? You going back in there?”

      Turning to study the stallion, Jesse shook his head. “Not right now. Later this afternoon.”

      “Why was it you turned your back on him? He could’ve hurt you bad.”

      Jesse allowed himself a small smile. “I doubt that. Horses are flight animals, not fight animals. They won’t attack unless they’re attacked first. I was just standing there, no threat to him. He was making all the moves.”

      “Yeah, but when you going to do something? I mean how long is this going to take, you think?”

      Jesse shrugged. “That depends on Remus. He’s in charge of the timetable. I’ve got to get him to trust me before I can help him. No one can predict how long that will take.” With his peripheral vision, he’d seen Vern Martin watching for a short time. “Mr. Martin in a hurry for results? Because if he is, you’ve got the wrong trainer.”

      “No, no. I was just wondering.” Casey hoisted up his jeans a notch. “You just take your time, son.” He started walking away, then stopped. “If you need anything, just ask.”

      “I will. Thanks.” With one final glance at Remus, Jesse strolled thoughtfully toward his cabin.

      No matter how many times he’d worked with damaged horses, especially on their owner’s turf, he always had to justify his methods. Everyone expected a quick fix, as if he had a magic wand. This sort of thing took time. Humans didn’t get over a trauma overnight, so why would they think horses would? It wouldn’t be until they began to see results that they’d finally come around. However, he was used to the reaction so he didn’t take it personally.

      At his porch, he heard voices across the wide driveway and turned to see over a dozen children in front of the rainbow-hued schoolhouse playing ring-around-a-rosie in groups of four, led by Abby who was clapping in time to the music from a boom box set under the tree. Jesse sat down on the top step to watch.

      It was obvious that the kids were different ages, from toddlers of around two to six and seven-year-olds. He spotted Grace and Katie, both with braided hair today. With the regular schools on summer vacation, there were probably more kids than usual. Yet they all seemed orderly and well behaved despite a few of the younger ones falling down as they twirled around, giggling. Abby had them well in hand.

      She had on white shorts today and a loose-fitting pink shirt, her golden hair pulled back in its usual ponytail. The years seemed to vanish as Jesse watched her, thinking she hardly looked a day over the nineteen she’d been when he’d first seen her six years ago down by the big cottonwood tree alongside the stream. She’d been dancing at twilight with an imaginary partner, arms stretched as if holding him, humming a slow tune. Her naturalness, her fresh beauty, had blown him away.

      “All fall down!” the children yelled out, then dropped to the ground, laughing. Jesse watched Abby pick up the smallest child—a boy who’d probably barely turned two wearing blue overalls at least a size too big for him—swing him around, then kiss his dark curls before setting him down with the others. She seemed totally at ease with the children, in her element, enjoying them. Jesse felt an unexpected jolt of envy and wondered at its source.

      A young girl who looked to be of high-school age came out of the big house carrying a pitcher of red liquid and paper cups. Probably a local teenager helping Abby for the summer, Jesse thought as they both herded the children into the little house. Squinting, he made out the sign above the door. Miss Abby’s Preschool. It would seem Abby’s dreams had come true.

      He was about to go in when he heard a low, throaty bark, a shuffle of feet followed by a distinctive whine from the direction of the mess hall. Glancing down the walkway, he saw a big old hound dog headed his way, running in that comical way he remembered.

      “Jughead,” Jesse said as the cocoa-brown mixed breed barreled up the steps and into his arms, nearly knocking him over. “How’ve you been, boy?” he asked as the dog proceeded to lick his face.

      He’d forgotten about Jughead, the ranch dog that had been a youngster during Jesse’s first visit. Though he’d been friendly to all, Jughead had had a special affinity for Jesse, following him everywhere, even sleeping near his bunk. Missing his own Border collie back home, he’d spent some of his off hours trying to teach Jug some tricks. Like retrieving sticks thrown, or rolling over on command. He’d never learned any. The silly dog couldn’t even swim, always hanging back at the water’s edge, too scared to go in. But he’d been so loyal, so needy of affection since most of the men thought he was too dumb to bother with, that Jesse had sort of adopted him.

      And now here he was, proving that dogs never forget. Looking around, Jesse wondered if anyone still here from back then would remember Jug’s devotion to Jesse and figure out his identity. “I think I met one of your sons,” he told Jughead, remembering the brown puppy named Spike. With a final fond scratch behind the dog’s ears, Jesse rose to go inside. He opened the cabin door and Jug scooted in before he could stop him. It wasn’t until he turned that he noticed Abby standing in her schoolhouse doorway, watching him with a thoughtful look on her face.

      Resigned to the fact that sooner or later, the truth would come out as it usually did, Jesse followed the dog inside.

      Early afternoon and there were half a dozen men lingering behind the horse barn to watch Jesse work with Remus. The word had spread and curiosity had been aroused. Casey had told everyone to use the other door and he’d warned all who came to watch that they had to be quiet. Curly from the store leaned against the barn wall and shaded his face from the hot sun by tipping his hat lower.

      Even Vern was there, Casey noted. He’d taken the rancher to meet Jesse just before lunch and heard Vern ask the trainer to explain his methods. Lord knows the boy had tried. He’d said things like “silent communication with horses is far stronger than the spoken word,” and “the horse is an intelligent animal and should be in unison with man, not against him,” and finally “man should cause a horse to want to perform to his wishes.” Neither Vern nor Casey had understood half of what he’d said or meant.

      A sudden movement caught Casey’s eye and he noticed Abby slip into the shadows of the barn to watch.

      Now Jesse had the simple cotton line around Remus’s neck and had him circling the pen while he stood in the center holding the rope’s end. Round and round Remus went, slowly at first, up to a trot, then slowing down again. Patient as Job, Jesse held the line and steered him, changing directions now and again. After half an hour or so, the men began drifting away, murmuring their disappointment at a show that didn’t pan out. Soon after, shaking his head, Vern strolled off, too. Only Casey remained.

      And Abby, who stood silently watching from the shadows, sure he couldn’t see her.

      She didn’t know who interested her more, the man or the stallion. She decided there was an uncanny resemblance of this Jesse to the other, but they weren’t the same. This man was infinitely patient, with gentle moves, his gaze focused. The Jesse she’d known had been like a live wire, jumping onto his horse and riding bareback, racing with the wind, eager and enthusiastic. Much like she’d been back then. She doubted that that Jesse could have mellowed this much.

      But her heart wasn’t convinced, reacting to seeing this man as if the two were the same. The beard camouflaged the lower half of his face, but it looked as if Jesse Calder also had a square chin hinting at stubbornness. The other Jesse had worn his thick, black hair longer, down to the collar of the denim shirts he’d preferred. This man also СКАЧАТЬ