Last Chance Cowboy

“Not just because of her coat,” Sage continued, “though it’s pretty unusual.”

“She’d make a nice broodmare.” He was thinking of his own mares, the ones with mustang bloodlines.

Sage shrugged. “Maybe someday. Right now, I’m using her too much and too hard.”

“How long did it take you to break her?”

“Six months.” Sage laughed, her brown eyes filling with memories.

“That long?”

“It was weeks before she let me near her. Another month before I could put a halter on her.”

Gavin considered the information. He’d been hoping to start breeding the mustang stallion right away. Might be difficult if he couldn’t even get a halter on the horse. “Your perseverance paid off.”

“I told you, owning a feral horse isn’t easy.”

“I’m up to the task.”

She studied him with a critical eye. “I believe you are.”

The compliment, if indeed it was one, pleased him.

They started toward the stables with Sage leading Avaro, who observed everything with large intelligent eyes. It was that intelligence that had enabled her to survive by her wits in what had been a harsh and dangerous world. It was a quality he hoped to produce in his foals.

At the entrance to the stables, they heard a familiar rhythmic clinking.

“Do you think your farrier could have a look at Avaro’s right front hoof?” Sage asked. “Her shoe’s a little loose, and I don’t want any problems when we head out into the mountains.”

“That’s my brother, Ethan. As a rule, he only works on our horses, but I’m sure I could ask him to make an exception.”

“If there’s a local farrier—”

“It’s all right. Our regular guy’s usually booked several days out. We may not be able to get him here until after the weekend, and I know you don’t want to wait that long.”

“No, I don’t,” she agreed.

Gavin didn’t explain the reasons his brother only shoed their own horses. Farrier work was physically demanding and hard on Ethan’s prosthetic leg.

Fixing a single loose shoe, however, wasn’t nearly as strenuous. And like Sage, Gavin didn’t want to postpone capturing the wild mustang any longer than necessary. Business tended to slow down during the holidays. He wanted his stud and breeding operation well underway before then.

“You have a great setup,” Sage said appreciatively.

“Thanks.”

“How long has the ranch been here?”

At one time telling the history of his family’s ranch had been a source of pride. No more. Not after the past ten years. But because she was being friendly, he answered her question.

“My great-grandfather Abe Powell built the original house and stables after he moved here from Texas. According to my grandfather, he was evading the law.”

“Is it true?”

“I don’t know. But it makes for a good story.”

“When was that?”

“Right before the turn of the century. Last century. The house wasn’t much more than a shack. The stable consisted of six standing stalls and one box stall.”

“You’ve added on since then.” She smiled.

It was, Gavin observed, a nice smile. Open and honest.

“For thirty years, we had the only cattle operation in the area. Before he died, my great-grandfather was able to build the villa, the barn, the bunkhouse and expand the stables. We have thirty-two box stalls now. No standing stalls. And six pens out back along with three connecting two-acre pastures.”

Gavin stopped at an empty stall not far from where his brother worked on a large gelding. He unlatched the stall door, and Sage led her mare inside.

“My office will reimburse you the cost of boarding Avaro.”

“I’ll draw up an invoice.” He would have liked to tell her not to worry about it. But with six empty stalls, they could use the extra income.

They stood with forearms resting on the stall wall, watching Avaro acquaint herself with her new accommodations.

“With that much cattle, your family must own quite a bit of land.”

“We used to. Six hundred acres. All of Mustang Valley, which is now Mustang Village.”

“Wow!”

He swore he could see the wheels in her head spinning as she mentally calculated the huge chunk of change they must have received when they sold the land.

What she didn’t know was that every dime had been spent on his mother’s heart transplant and medical care. So much money. Sadly, it had bought her only another few months of life before her body rejected the replacement heart, and she died of severe infection. Even if there had been money for a second transplant, the doctors weren’t able to save her.

“We kept about thirty acres.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t move,” Sage said.

“Powell Ranch is my home. My family’s lived here for four generations.” He went to bed every night praying there would be a fifth. “And while most of the land is developed, the ranch is still the heart of this valley.”

She looked at him. Really looked at him. Intently. As if she was trying to read what lay hidden beneath the surface.

Gavin turned away. He didn’t want Sage, or anyone for that matter, seeing how deeply affected he was by his loss.

WITH AVARO SETTLED AND snacking hungrily on some grain, Gavin took Sage over to meet his brother. Two of the ranch’s several dogs lay curled together by the tack room door, their heads resting on their paws and their wagging tails stirring up small dust clouds in the dirt.

Ethan slowly straightened, letting go of the gelding’s hoof he’d had braced between his knees. “Hi, again.” Setting his rasp on top of his toolbox, he removed his gloves and stuffed them in the waistband of his chaps.

“Ethan, this is Sage Navarre,” Gavin said. “She’s with the BLM.”