Temporary Rancher

“I don’t know where most of these cities are buying their stock,” he went on, “but they’re getting ripped off.”

Ethan nodded. They’d talked about this before, but there seemed to be little they could do except deal with the bad apples on a case-by-case basis. “You remember Bob Simmons with the Louisville bunch?”

“Yeah.”

Ethan refilled his glass before answering. “He called me a week ago. He has two Thoroughbreds he wants to put through the program. They were donations. Couldn’t cut it on the race track, I guess.”

Maybe it was the whiskey helping him out, but Quintin felt the heat of his blood kick up a notch. “Donated.” He swore softly in disgust. “It wouldn’t matter if they were Secretariat and Man O’ War. Prima donnas on toothpick legs. These guys are putting their own police officers at risk just to save a little money, and Horse Sense is supposed to fix the troublemakers.”

“Well, it is what keeps Horse Sense in business,” Ethan remarked with a light laugh. “You start supplying them with Warmbloods and I won’t have anything to fix.”

“I can give them good stock, but that doesn’t mean the horse can cut it. At best, it will only make your job a little easier.”

Ethan pursed his lips, seeming to consider. “How many head are you going to run?”

“No more than fifty at first. I want to concentrate on quality, not quantity.”

Ethan pointed north, past the pines and toward the far pastures of the ranch. “You still got your six-pack out there?”

Last year, when Quintin had decided to quit Horse Sense, he’d begun to put his plans for a new career in place, purchasing a gelding and five mares at an auction in Houston. He had needed someplace to put them, and that’s what had led him to Echo Springs.

He nodded. “They’re out there. Getting fat on sweet-grass.”

“I still don’t understand why it had to be here. You know you could have set up temporarily at my place. Granted, we mostly run cattle at the Flying M, but we could handle another small herd of horses. Hell, Cassie’s Arabians would probably love the company.”

“I’m not sure I’d want my herd mixing with those spoiled show ponies your wife insists on breeding.”

Ethan laughed. “She’d cut out your heart if she heard you say that.” He pressed the toe of his boot against one of the raised floorboards on the porch. The house might have a sound foundation, according to the county inspector, but the wraparound porch was a goner. “Why didn’t you get Meredith to show you something in better shape than this old relic? Surely she has enough turn-key operations available, given the economy.”

Instead of answering, Quintin stood and went into the house. From the kitchen table he scooped up a file folder, withdrew a single sheet of paper and returned to the porch.

He handed the paper to his friend. “You know how mineral-poor the land is in this area. Take a look at the report from the Department of Agriculture.”

When Ethan finished reading, he looked up at Quintin, surprise clearly stamped on his features. “Damn, Quint. The soil may be even better than what I’ve got going at the Flying M.”

Quintin nodded. “Nutritional content. Potential carrying capacity for twice as many head as I’ve got planned. The guy who owned this place before me may not have known how to keep a ranch from going belly-up, but he started out right. He made enough improvements to the pastures that it’s nearly perfect for raising stock. Some of the best I’ve ever seen.”

They fell silent as Ethan seemed to be absorbing what he’d said. After a long moment, his former partner turned back to Quintin, eyeing him speculatively. “So what’s keeping you up nights? Why don’t you sound more excited? You get this place up and running, and you’ll be on your way.”

“I would be excited. I am. Except…I’ve run into a little hiccup.” He shook his head. “I think I let my mouth get ahead of my brain.”

“Cassie claims I do that all the time,” Ethan said with a grin. He reached over to fill Quintin’s glass again. “Tell me. I find it gratifying to know I’m not the only one who screws up sometimes.”

Quintin swallowed a large gulp of whiskey. It licked his insides like wildfire. “I told James Goddard I’d be ready for him by October.”

Ethan frowned. “Who’s James Goddard?”

“Head of purchasing for the National Mounted Police Association. Every fall, he and a couple of buyers come down to Houston to negotiate stock contracts. I’ve been making a case with him for better horseflesh for months, and now he’s actually agreed to consider my proposal.”

“So? That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“He wants at least three-dozen horses ready for him to check out by then. More, if I can swing it.”

Ethan frowned. “Ouch. That’s a lot of stock to move and evaluate between now and fall.”

“That’s why I asked Charlie Bigelow to keep an eye out for me. If what I’m looking for passes through East Texas stockyards, he’ll know it.”

Charlie ran one of the largest stock auction houses in Texas. Both Quintin and Ethan had become friends with the man over the years, Quintin slightly more so because Charlie had a fascination for all things Native American, and Quintin could lay claim to being part Arapaho.

“I’m going to do my best to make it happen,” he said. “But if I bring Goddard here, this place has to look like I’m a viable player. The house doesn’t have to be a showplace, but I should at least have decent barns and corrals where he can check out the stock. I want him to take me seriously.”

Ethan looked a little incredulous. “Be reasonable, man. You can’t really believe you can make all this appear respectable by fall.”

“I don’t have a choice. It has to look like a working ranch by then.”

“It’s been a long time since you ran a ranch.”

“You don’t forget how. And I like the idea of watching things take shape here, making the place productive again. I just wish I had more time.”

His friend nodded slowly, considering. “You can’t do it alone.”

“Well, I’ve just signed a contract with a renovation outfit for the house, and I’ll bet Cassie knows someone who would make a good housekeeper.”

Ethan tipped his head toward the outbuildings. “And who’s going to tackle the rest?”

“You’re not making me feel better about all this.”

“Sorry,” Ethan said. “But how are you going to pull this together if you’re out on the road buying stock? Suppose I loaned you a couple of my guys?”

“I appreciate the offer, but I need to do this myself. I can work some of it in between buying trips. I’ve got three hands starting in a few days. And I’ve hired a ranch manager. A guy named Riley Palmer from up near Cooper. Charlie referred him to me.”

Ethan cocked his head. “Palmer,” he mused out loud. “Palmer… Where do I know that name? What did he look like?”

“Hell if I know. We haven’t met. I’m trusting Charlie’s judgment, and a pretty good résumé that Palmer emailed me. I made a conditional offer. Told him if he gets here and we talk, and either one of us doesn’t like the deal, no harm done. Otherwise, he can start immediately.”

“You’re moving pretty fast, aren’t you?”

“I have to. I don’t have a lot of time. The sooner I get someone here, the better.”

“When does he start?”

“He says he can be here tomorrow or the day after.” Quintin grimaced. “Which brings up another problem. I’m taking off later tonight. Charlie called just before you got here. There’s an auction in Dallas that I need to make. Some really nice stock coming through. I’ve emailed and left a voice message on Palmer’s phone, but haven’t heard back. So when he gets here, he’s going to be on his own for a little while. I just hope he doesn’t take one look at the place and hightail it back to Cooper.”

“You want me to come by tomorrow? Get him settled in?”

“Isn’t Cassie planning to kidnap you for your anniversary?”

“Oh, crap, that’s right,” his friend said with a scowl. Then he smiled. “Sorry, pal. No way am I missing that. We’re going to San Antonio, and she’s promised to rock my world. You’re on your own, I’m afraid.”