A Cowboy For Clementine. Susan Floyd

got it.” Randy was already starting to unlatch the trailer. Ryan was right behind him, letting the dogs out the side door.

      The dogs barked with enthusiasm and raced up and down the courtyard, releasing hours of pent-up energy.

      “Any preferences where we put the horses?” Ryan asked, leading out a beautiful mahogany horse, obviously not one of Dexter’s.

      Clem shook her head. “Either corral is fine.” She pointed west. “I emptied that stable for all your horses. I hope there’s enough room. If not, you’re welcome to any free space.”

      Dexter looked up at the sky. “A few can stay out. They might prefer it. Give them a chance to get used to the air.”

      A shrill, terrified screech grabbed their attention. The dogs were chasing Frijole, who moved quite swiftly considering her bulk, scrambling under the trailer ramp, only to startle New Horse, who was being led out by Randy.

      “Quince! Bam-Bam! Dell! Come!” Dexter commanded, sharpness in his voice.

      Then a sharp epithet shot out of Randy as he clutched his face. New Horse was free.

      Clem ran toward New Horse, who was intent on trampling Frijole. The cat squalled in defense, teeth bared, her body hunched, prepared to both attack and retreat at the same time. Clem walked with careful purpose toward the brown horse, crooning to him, reassuring him that the cat wouldn’t hurt him. But even though the horse’s ears pricked up at the sound of her voice, his eyes were wild and his hooves were ready to flatten the cat.

      As if in slow motion, Dexter saw New Horse rear again when Clem stepped in to rescue the cat. And he felt raw fear trickle down the back of his neck like sweat.

      What the hell was she doing?

      She was going to be crushed.

      Fear became terror. He was suffocating as he stood there watching her sweep up the cat and duck under New Horse, the horse’s hooves just inches from her head. She stumbled, barely clinging to the cat and her balance. But somehow, she kept her footing.

      “It’s not the horse’s fault,” Dexter heard in a fog as Clem reassured the cat. “He’s just a little spooked. I’d suggest, Frijole, if you want to live out the few lives you have left, you keep clear of the dogs and the horses while they’re here.” With a quick kiss to the furry head, Clem let go of the cat, who sensibly took off for the safety of the bunkhouse. Then she walked up to the frenzied horse and caught his reins.

      Dexter saw her arms strain against the power of the horse, but she kept crooning to him as she moved as close to him as she could.