Longing For Langston (Mavericks of Meeteetse, Novella Book 1: Brody & Liv)

by Renee Vincent

Brody took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow, squinting under the brilliant afternoon sun. Righting his Stetson on his head, he stared at his opponent, tied to the hitching post in front of the corral.

  He was a dandy of a horse, all black with one white sock. At a little over fifteen hands, he stood aloof and motionless, save for the occasional swish of his tail. Despite his big brown eyes and calm disposition, akin to a seasoned ranch mount, this five-year-old gelding—named Psycho—was rumored to be a monstrosity when mounted.

  Jonas McKinley had come by the horse on a dare. The story went that no one, not even the most skilled riders in Texas, could handle the bronc without being kicked or thrown. One such hapless individual ended up in the hospital with a broken nose, a dislocated hip, and a torn rotator.

  Jonas, being a practiced rider himself, claimed he could get the horse on a trailer without injury to himself or the animal. The owner, nearly ready to put the rogue down, told Jonas if he could haul it, he could have it.

  Fast-forward three weeks, and now it was Brody’s job to curry the kinks out. If he was successful, Jonas had mentioned that he could keep the horse.

  Rod said it was foolish, proclaiming that the feral beast wasn’t worth getting hurt. But Brody never backed down from a challenge, especially when it meant proving his brother wrong.

  He tightened the buckle on his chaps and walked over to the horse in a nonthreatening manner. The horse bowed its neck to see who approached and, after making eye contact with Brody, licked its lips.

  Brody breathed easier. From Psycho’s cues, Brody determined that the quarter horse had remembered him from yesterday’s lesson, indicating that perhaps today’s training might go a little smoother. He rewarded the horse with a good neck rub. In turn, Psycho nudged Brody’s chest, enjoying the positive physical contact.

  “All right, buddy,” Brody soothed, scratching its muzzle. “All this week, we’ve worked on your trust level. Now let’s see how you do with a saddle.”

  He led the horse into the corral, and for the next few hours, he worked at getting the gelding accustomed to the tack. Starting with the saddle pad, he rubbed it along the horse’s body, against its flanks, and up its neck. He even took time tossing the pad over its back, all the while demonstrating that the horse had nothing to fear.

  Next came the saddle.

  Again, Brody allowed the horse all the time it needed to get acquainted with the strange-smelling item until he was able to ease it down over its back. The next hurdle was cinching it. Once that obstacle had been surmounted, he spent hours lunging the horse in a wide circle. The stirrups flopped and bounced against Psycho’s ribs, causing the horse to spook at sporadic instances. With only a few minor crow hops to report, Brody thought it time to put some weight in the stirrups.

  Psycho slowed his trot to a walk and then stopped in front of Brody. He stroked the animal, rewarding it for a job well done. However, the most challenging feat had yet to come. With a gentle but firm grip on the rein, Brody bowed the horse’s neck toward its own left shoulder and stepped into the stirrup, slowly lifting his other foot off the ground. Time after time, he pulled himself up—suspending his weight off the side of the horse—and dropped back down. Increasingly, he did so with more vigor and less ginger maneuvering. Eventually, he was able to swing his leg over and mount the horse completely.

  Brody exhaled, feeling full of pride for such an achievement. Despite his brother’s disapproval, he reveled in the feeling of sitting astride a twelve-hundred-pound animal once deemed too crazy to ride. He reached forward and patted the warm hide beneath Psycho’s long black mane. “Thata boy. See? That’s not so bad, is it?”

  “Wow, I’m impressed.”

  Brody flicked only his gaze toward the corral gate, where Jonas stood with one boot on the rail. “It only took all week to get to this point. Now I’m trying to decide if I should press my luck and see if he’ll walk on or call it quits for the night.”

  “Hell, you got him this far,” Jonas pointed out. “I think he’s too tired to give you too much trouble. Urge him forward. See what he does.”

  Brody clicked his tongue, and, with a gentle flick of the reins, Psycho stepped forward, then halted, unsure of the situation. Brody felt the horse quiver beneath him, but encouraged it onward. In a split second, Psycho lunged into a trot, his eyes wide. Brody reined sharply to the left, keeping the horse’s feet moving. In this instance, he hoped to utilize the horse’s thinking side of its brain instead of its reactive side. The last thing he wanted was for Psycho to commence to bucking and send him sailing into the fence rails.

  “Stay with him, stay with him,” he heard Jonas say behind him. “You got this.”

  Brody steered the horse in the opposite direction, following the path of a loose circle until Psycho relented. As a reward, he gave the horse control of its head, and again Psycho bounded forward with a little hop. Brody repeated the cycle of corrective commands until he had the animal trotting smoothly without fail.

  He looked at Jonas and saw him clench and pump his fist in praise. Brody could hardly believe it himself. With a little time and effort, he’d taken an ill-tempered nag no one would dare mount and shaped it into a valuable, worthwhile steed. With a little more training, Psycho had the potential to be a fine cutting horse.

  His cutting horse.

  He wondered if Jonas was serious about letting him keep Psycho. Hoping to find out, he slowed Psycho’s pace and carefully dismounted. Leading him out of the corral, he met Jonas near the water trough.

  “Did you really mean it when you said if I could ride Psycho, I could have him?”

  Jonas patted the horse’s shiny black coat and nodded. “Meant every word.”

  Brody smiled as he watched the horse drink. “Thank you, sir.” When Jonas dismissed his gratitude, he added, “No, I mean it. For everything. You’re the only one in this town who’s really given me a second chance.”

  “Every decent man deserves that, Brody. But realize, once I stretch out my arm for you, it only takes one time to cut it off. You understand?”

  “I do. You have my word I won’t ever let you down.”

  Jonas clasped his shoulder with pride. “Glad to hear that. Now how about you untack this horse and put him in his dedicated stall. There’s not much else to be done tonight except for the watering, if you wouldn’t mind doing that for me. Rod already left for the day, and Ava and I are leaving to go out to dinner.”

  Brody didn’t hear anything past dedicated stall. “I’m not sure I heard you right, boss. Shouldn’t I turn Psycho out to pasture?”

  “Personally, I think he’d be more comfortable in the barn.” Jonas beamed so big, his dimples popped. “Go have a look.”

  “Psycho has his own stall now?”

  “I know it sounds a little presumptuous on my part, but if anyone was going to be able to ride that horse, I knew it would be you. So, consider it a gift. Go on.” He gestured with a nod of his head. “Check it out.”

  Brody didn’t know what to say. He had a fluttery, empty feeling in his stomach that wouldn’t go away. It all seemed too much. And what had he done to deserve it anyhow? Did Rod have something to do with this?

  All these questions and more bounced around in his head as he led Psycho into the barn. He looked at each nameplate on every door as he passed, anxious to see Psycho’s. All around him, horses nickered and snorted. They seemed as curious as he was excited, because the stalls in this part of the barn were saved for the most precious horses, the working ones used by Jonas, Ava, and their staff.

  Finally, at the last door, Brody stopped. Riveted on an upscale wood sign was a shiny metal nameplate with “Psycho” engraved in fancy western script. On either side a five-pointed star inside a circle had been branded with the initials M, c, K, representing the logo of the McKinley ranch. And below all that, held the inscription, OWNER: Brody Galven.

  He took off his hat and swiped his brow in disbelief. He leaned closer and read it again. “Would y
ou look at that,” he said, throwing his arm around Psycho’s neck. “I guess this means it’s official.”

  Eager to see Psycho standing in his very own stall, he slid open the heavy pine door and walked him in. The horse immediately lowered its head and smelled the fresh layer of shavings lining the floor. Knowing the horse might very well roll, Brody immediately lifted its head and removed the bridle. With a few more tugs, he released the cinch and slipped off the saddle. “There you go, buddy. How’s that feel?” he asked, rubbing the horse’s sweaty hide where the pad had sat. “Now you can roll if you want.”

  Like the old saying about leading a horse to water, Brody knew Psycho wouldn’t roll until he was good and ready. As he finished attending to Psycho’s needs, he heard the crunching of gravel from a vehicle outside the barn. Figuring it was Jonas and Ava leaving for dinner, he was glad to know he was by himself. This meant he didn’t have to rush through anything or work up a sweat doing it. He had all night. Given tomorrow was Sunday, a day off for all the ranch staff, he flirted with the idea of driving out on the ridge. Hell, if the stars were out, he might even sleep in the bed of his truck.

  With those plans in his brain, Brody removed his chaps and hung them in the tack room before climbing the ladder to the loft above. As he threw down a bale of hay for Psycho, he thought of all the things he’d like to do with his new horse. He couldn’t wait for the day when they could ride out to the ridge together and watch the sun go down. In his mind, there was nothing better than the view from a saddle.

  “Need some help?”

  The familiar female voice took Brody by surprise, and he lost his footing on the second-to-last rung of the ladder as he came down. He caught his fall, but his boot hit the ground quite ungracefully. He looked up, and his heart skipped.

  Liv wore his favorite pair of jeans and a mint-green tank that showed off both the curves of her chest and the light color of her eyes. Her long hair and full breasts bounced with each step she took in her matching green Justin boots.

  “Didn’t mean to scare you, Galven,” she said, almost laughing. “I thought you would’ve heard me pull up.”

  Brody dusted off his jeans, playing it cool. “I heard a vehicle, but I assumed it was Jonas and Ava.”

  She thumbed behind her and bit her lip. “Yeah, they were pulling out as I was pulling in. Do you think they mind that I’m here?”

  “Nah, Jonas and Ava are cool.” He ignored the thumping in his chest, finding it crazy that his heart beat faster with Liv than when he’d mounted Psycho for the first time. He carried the bale of hay over to his stall and flipped it over, knot side up, in front of the door. “Come here and look what Jonas did.”

  Liv walked up beside him and shoved her hands in her back pockets. “What a beautiful nameplate.” Her eyes lit up. “Oh wow! Your name is on here too.”

  Brody grinned as he took out his pocketknife and cut the bale twine. “Pretty cool, huh?”

  “Hell, yeah,” she agreed, peeking through the wrought iron bars at the black horse inside. “Wait. Isn’t Psycho that crazy horse that sent some poor guy to the hospital?”

  Brody nodded an affirmative.

  “That wild horse that no one’s been able to break?” Liv inquired further.

  “No one, until now,” Brody declared proudly.

  “Nah-uh,” Liv said, crossing her arms. “You broke this horse?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” It sounded even better coming from Liv’s mouth. He couldn’t wait until word spread to his brother.

  “What made you decide to do that, Galven?”

  “Well,” he began as he slid open the door and tossed the hay in the rack, “Jonas said if I broke the horse, I could keep him. So, I thought why not?” The stall door made a loud thud when he closed it, which emphasized the importance of what he’d succeeded in doing that no one else had.

  “You could’ve gotten hurt.”

  Brody heard the concern in her voice and was glad. Glad to know someone cared enough about him to worry. Rod fretted over him all the time, but that was different. His concern was over the family name and the hope that Brody wouldn’t tarnish it.

  He leaned against the stall door, crossing his arms and ankles. “But I didn’t.”

  Liv threw a punch at his arm. “You’re such a cocky bastard. It’s no wonder trouble follows you wherever you go.”

  “Is that what you’re calling yourself these days? Trouble?”

  Liv made a face at his jest and turned on her boot heel. She dragged her hand along the bars of the stall as if she were strumming a harp and listened to the soft, muffled sound it made off her fingers. Brody sensed she was dithering but couldn’t quite guess why. He busied himself by putting away the tack, brushes, and combs he used on Psycho, knowing full well she’d be the one to break before he did.

  “You haven’t asked me why I’m here yet,” Liv hinted.

  “On a hunch, I suppose it’s ’cause you’re bored and have nothing to do on a Saturday night.”

  “Close but no cigar.” She bit her lip as she smiled, looking as if she were dying to spill the beans. “Try again.”

  Brody drew the hose from the reel and turned on the water, filling Psycho’s bucket through the bars. “Let’s see…” He thought of the last time he’d seen her and rummaged through those memories for an idea. One popped into his head, and he laughed. “Jethro fired you for walking out on your shift.”

  Liv chuckled with him. “No, he didn’t fire me.” She inched back toward him, her hands crossed behind her. “But I did quit.”

  He stiffened, not expecting that. “You quit? Why?”

  Her smile beamed brighter than ever, which confused the shit out of him. Being jobless was not something to be happy about.

  Liv took the last step forward in a hop and clapped her hands once. “My agent called last night. I’m going to Nashville.”

  Chapter Eight