Three or four years ago, Jesse noted. Had Abby and her husband lived here with the Martins back then? He wondered if he dare ask Casey without giving himself away. If they learned who he was, so be it, but he’d hoped to buy a little time first, perhaps get a chance to talk with Abby and explain.
“Then along came that damn fire.” Casey adjusted his big hat that all but engulfed his head, his eyes downcast. “It was my fault. One really cold night last February, I put a space heater in next to Remus’s stall on account of his end of the barn was the original from before the building was redone and there was no heat. Don’t know what happened, but somehow the heater fell over and started a fire. By the time me and the boys saw the blaze, poor Remus was wild, screaming, burns along his left side. We got him sedated, got the vet. He’s pretty much healed now, but he don’t trust no one, not even Abby. Won’t let anyone touch him, much less ride him. Vern wanted to put him down, but Abby wouldn’t let him. Then we read about your work.”
Casey stuffed the kerchief back into his pocket. “I’d be right grateful if you could fix him. And Abby would be, too.”
Jesse had seen the same kind of guilt before and knew it was a heavy load to carry. “I’ll try, but I want you to know I don’t do it for the owner. I do it for the horse. If he won’t let anyone near him, like you say, he’s unhappy and afraid. That’s what needs fixing.”
“Any way you call it, just fix him.” Casey shoved open the heavy sliding door.
Jesse decided to take a chance. “So then Abby lives here and still has an interest in Remus?” When Casey turned and settled his one piercing eye on his face, trying to read him, Jesse shrugged. “I’d heard she married and moved away.”
The older man studied him for a long moment before answering. “She did, but that was a while ago. Her husband died so she came back.” Again Casey aimed his chin in the direction just beyond the big house. “That there’s her schoolhouse for the little ones around here, before they go to regular school. Started out small but she’s got about a dozen of ’em now, coming and going. But she’s still mighty interested in Remus.”
A widow. That was one he hadn’t thought of. Jesse followed Casey into the barn and along the concrete walk with horse stalls on both sides. He noticed that the dividers were in good repair, the hay fresh and the lighting dim. He remembered that the Martins had run a clean operation. Half a dozen workhorses were in their stalls.
“Most of the horses are still out, but they’ll be coming in soon, ’cept for the overnighters,” Casey explained. He greeted two cowboys by name as they walked by.
A partition separated the main building from a much smaller area at the far end. Jesse slowed as he moved within sight of a single stall where a black horse stood perfectly still watching their approach.
“That’s our Remus,” Casey said, standing aside.
The stallion’s right side, Jesse noted, looked perfectly normal. But as he silently stepped closer, he saw the damaged hide that started on his face and ran along his left flank, leaving a large section mottled and scarred. The wound appeared healed. The real trauma was inside Remus’s brain.
Gauging his mood, Jesse took one step closer and talked to him, his voice low and soothing. The horse’s ears, revealing his emotions, were suddenly split, one forward and one back, displaying concern at this newcomer, trying to figure him out. Again Jesse said a few words, but when he stepped closer, Remus’s ears pinned back in an angry, aggressive response just before he reared up on his back legs, blowing out through his nose, his eyes going wild. Jesse retreated to join Casey who was looking very skeptical.
“See what I mean? Ornery cuss. Doesn’t seem to like you, either.”
“It’s about the reaction I expected, given all he’s been through. I’ll start with him in the morning.”
“You’re not afraid to get in that round pen with all that dangerous horseflesh?” Casey asked as they walked away.
“I have to gain his trust first in order to work with him.”
“Maybe we need to get the vet to give him a shot, calm him down before you start.”
“No, I don’t want him sedated. I’ll just need a light cotton line once you open the door and let him into the pen.”
Casey shook his head as they left the barn. “All right, it’s your funeral.” He turned to close the double doors, then remembered something. “Hold on a minute.” He disappeared inside.
Jesse shoved his hands in his back pockets and glanced toward the huge cattle barn next door, recalling that it was divided into sections for milk cows, the calving stalls, the insemination area. Now in the summer, most of the cattle were out to pasture, the cowboys who watched them drifting in staggered groups to chow down. Through the wide mess hall windows, he saw about half a dozen men seated at long tables. The Martin ranch seemed shorthanded, which was not usual during the busy summer season.
The sound of a horse’s hooves approaching from the range interrupted his thoughts. A sleek chestnut galloped closer, the rider a woman with a blond ponytail, her face flushed as she passed him and smoothly slowed to a stop at the far door to the horse barn. He recognized Abby immediately as she expertly dismounted and moved to the chestnut’s head to stroke the mare with a loving gesture. A tall man with bandy legs came out of the barn and took the mare’s reins from her, probably to cool her down. He said something to Abby and she laughed, the sound carrying to where Jesse stood.
He remembered that laugh, musical and lighthearted. She’d laughed often back then; he wondered if she did now. Seeing her even briefly brought memories of their time together rushing back. Did she remember them with fondness or pain, or at all? How long ago had her husband died and how? From this distance, she looked the same, but maybe, up close, she’d changed as much as he had.
Casey came out, closed the doors and followed Jesse’s gaze. “That’s Abby, the youngest daughter. I’ll let you settle in first, then take you to meet her and Vern tomorrow.” He nodded toward the mess hall. “Hope you’re hungry. Our Carmalita’s the most popular gal on the ranch ’cause she cooks like an angel.” He led the way to the long one-story building.
Tugging his gaze from Abby, Jesse followed.
“Vern had the cabin next to mine near the big house fixed up for you. Figured you might like some privacy, you know.”
“Very thoughtful of him.” Only how would Vern Martin feel if and when he learned of Jesse’s past deception?
Inside, Casey introduced Jesse to the men still eating, explaining why he was there. Several had heard about the Calder methods and expressed curiosity and skepticism, but Jesse didn’t say much, just that they should wait to make up their minds after he had a chance to work with Remus.
But it was when Casey took him over to Carmalita that Jesse had his first nervous moment. Six years ago, he’d spent some time talking with the dark-haired, dark-eyed woman who’d worked as cook for the Martins for twenty years, ever since her husband had been killed in an accident on the ranch. Vern had told her she had a lifetime job and a retirement when she chose to quit, but at fifty, she showed no signs of slowing down.
A dish towel draped over her shoulder, one small hand buried in a pot holder, she stirred something deliciously fragrant in a big pot on the large stove in the back room, her dark eyes looking Jesse over as closely as she might a chicken she was choosing for dinner. He noticed that she still favored peasant blouses with her long black skirt and the large gold hoop earrings he remembered. He met her gaze silently as Casey explained who he was.
Finally, she put down the spoon. “You look familiar. You got a brother?”
“Yes. His name’s Jake and we’re twins.”
“Mm-hmm. It’s the eyes, those blue eyes. He ever been here?”
“I