“What you see is what you get,” she said. “Now let’s talk about the horse.”
“I’m listening.”
“Gibb and Kyle brought Black Jack over about two weeks ago. They said there’d been an accident. Rupert decided he was going to ride Black Jack whether the horse wanted it or not. They saddled him, and Rupert got on.” She watched Johnny’s expression, trying to gauge his feelings, but she couldn’t read him. It was as if a mask had settled over his features.
“Black Jack was quick and vicious and he threw Rupert and then stomped Rupert’s shoulder,” she continued. “Rupert felt that the horse meant to kill him, so he ordered the horse to be shot. While Rupert was in the hospital, Gibb and Kyle brought him here to me. They said Rupert had struck him repeatedly with a club. They believed the horse was merely trying to defend himself.”
Johnny sighed. “I guess he thought he’d beat the horse into submission.”
“Something I’d like to try on Rupert,” Stephanie said darkly.
“So where did Black Jack come from originally?”
“From Nevada. An actor named Jim Diamond had a big cutting horse ranch. He died and his son sold everything. He didn’t care about the ranch or the stock or any of it. He wanted the cash. Black Jack had a reputation for being difficult to handle even then. But Jim Diamond loved him, and the horse was obedient and well-behaved for him.”
“Horses know when people care about them.”
Stephanie nodded. “That’s true. Anyway, Black Jack had a couple of homes before Rupert got him. There were incidents, and people were injured trying to handle the stallion. He acquired a reputation—and not a good one. So Rupert got him for way under value.” In the distance the ranch was visible. She’d be glad to get home.
“And Rupert would rather kill him than let him go to someone who could help him?”
“Rupert has an ego the size of California and a brain smaller than a pea.”
“I didn’t care for what I saw of him.”
“I’d love to bury him in an ant bed and coat his head with honey.”
Johnny’s laughter was rich and deep. “I hope I don’t ever piss you off,” he said.
She glared at him but couldn’t hold it. “See that you don’t.” But then she spoiled the effect by laughing herself.
“Anyway, Black Jack is a descendent of Three Bars and Iron Man. He’s working cattle all the way, and if someone can get through to him, he’ll be one of the fanciest, finest cow horses in the West.”
“We made some progress this morning.”
She flashed him a smile. “I saw that. But don’t let him trick you. He’s smart and he doesn’t trust people. He’ll act fine for several days, and then he’ll snap.”
That put a frown on the cowboy’s face.
“You don’t think he’s unbalanced, do you?” Johnny asked.
Stephanie gave that thought serious consideration. She owed Johnny that much if he was going to put himself at risk by working the stallion. “I don’t think so. I believe he’s terribly smart. And he watches us. But his trust has been undermined. If we can’t teach him to trust again, I don’t know that he’ll ever be reliable.”
“We’ll see what tomorrow brings,” Johnny said. “Race you to the barn.”
He didn’t give her a chance to accept or decline. His gelding spurted forward and Stephanie had no choice but to lean forward into Flicker’s mane or eat his dust.
WHILE THE HUMANS are away, the cat will play. At least this black cat will. Thank goodness it’s a beautiful, sunny day. I need to do some work on the Internet, and reception might be problematic if the atmosphere is cloudy. Way out here in the hinterlands, the only Internet access is by satellite.
It’s a simple matter to check out Johnny Kreel, cowboy extraordinaire. I like it that he’s here to help Miss Cowgirl, but the more I’ve thought about the coincidence of his arrival, the more troubled I’ve become.
Let’s see here. Johnny Kreel, born Oct. 30, 1973. Almost a Halloween baby. Born to Patricia and John Kreel in Enterprise, Alabama.
Attended the University of Alabama and graduated from law school. Interesting.
Not a whole lot of additional information. No service record. Nothing suspicious, and nothing of any real interest. Homogenized work record, and then he sort of vanishes from the Internet. Let me check the rodeo rosters.
Here he is, just where he said he’d been. Followed the rides along Texas, Oklahoma, and into South Dakota. Okay, he checks out so far.
But someone who wanted to create a past could do so without too much trouble. And why am I suspicious? Call it a hunch. Or call it an observation, if that pleases you more. While I’m glad he showed up and rescued Miss Cowgirl, I can’t help but find it odd that he appears out of the clear blue sky—a man who finds his way to a horse ranch at the end of miles of dead-end dirt roads.
Could be simple coincidence or good luck. Could be a higher power at work. Or it could be that Johnny Kreel set out to find Stephanie for some as-yet-unrevealed purpose. I don’t have the answer to that, but my gut has kept me alive more times than I can count.
Speaking of gut, I think it’s dinnertime. And lo and behold, here come the range-riding cowhands. Thank goodness they didn’t invite me to go and mend fences. I was far happier poking around the house. Now let me shut this computer down before they realize I’ve been checking up on things.
AT STEPHANIE’S DIRECTION, Johnny washed his hands at the kitchen sink and took the hand towel she proffered. To his embarrassment, his stomach registered a loud complaint.
“Sounds like you’re hungry,” Stephanie said. “Me, too. Let’s see what kind of grub we can throw together.”
“I can cook.” Johnny spoke before he thought. She slowly faced him, an amused grin reflected in her dancing eyes.
“Oh, really? A cowboy who has a law degree and who cleans up the kitchen and can cook.” She folded the dish towel carefully. “That’s not a combination of talents one normally finds in South Dakota.”
Johnny felt the blood climbing his cheeks. Before he could say anything, she shook her head.
“And one who blushes. My, my.”
“Damn it.” He ran his hand through his hair. “You are one aggravating woman.” To his chagrin, that amused her even more.
“I’ve been called a lot worse,” she said. “That aside, how about some steaks and the fixings?”
“Perfect,” he said.
They worked together and whipped up the meal in short order. When Johnny questioned the third steak, Stephanie pointed at the cat.
“Familiar likes steak.”
She was setting the table when the telephone rang. She picked it up as she searched through a drawer for steak knives. “Running Horse Ranch,” she said.
Johnny pulled two chilled beers from the refrigerator and was putting them on the table when he heard the phone clatter to the floor.
Stephanie was white as a ghost.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She looked as if she were going into shock. He grasped her elbow and supported her while at the same time scooping up the telephone.
“Who