“Maybe we should give him a chance,” Sandy said slowly, gazing out at the hovering, darting birds.
“Or maybe we should cut our losses and send him to the sale barn right now.” Matt didn’t mean to be harsh, but he made it clear that he and Hadley were the only ones talking sense. “If not, we put the other horses at risk, just like Jitterbug today.”
“And the guests,” Hadley put in. “You put a dude on that bay stallion, he bucks him off, the guy breaks a leg. Then you kiss good-bye to your good name.”
“Good point,” Matt agreed. “Honestly, Mom, it’d be crazy to even try!”
“Hmm.” Sandy went to lean against the doorpost and gaze out across the corral at Red Fox Meadow beyond.
Kirstie followed her. “A couple of days for him to settle down, Mom,” she said quietly. “Please.”
A new moon had appeared over Bear Hunt Overlook; a pale silver circle in a fading blue sky. Across the yard, in the round pen by the tack room, the shadowy figure of Rodeo Rocky could be seen standing absolutely still, ears pricked, listening to the sounds of the mountains.
Sandy glanced down at Kirstie’s earnest face. She lifted a hand to smooth her windblown hair. “OK,” she said softly. “A couple of days. Let’s see how it goes.”
“I don’t know a whole lot of technical stuff about horses,” Charlie admitted when he met up with Kirstie in the round pen early next morning. “Compared with Hadley, I’m a rookie.”
“I don’t care. I’m just glad you want to help.” Feeling sure that she and Charlie were on the same wavelength, Kirstie zipped her red fleece jacket up to the chin and tucked her hair inside the collar. At the far side of the pen, Rodeo Rocky kept his wary distance.
“I reckon you have to stay back and just watch a horse before you try to get to know him,” the young wrangler went on. “Give him a chance to decide you’re OK, and no way are you gonna hurt him.”
“Me, too.” She grinned at Charlie. “See Rocky watching us now. Most people would move right in before he’s ready and start putting a rope around his neck and lunging him. I don’t like that. Not until he’s happy about it.”
Charlie grunted and nodded in Rocky’s direction. “Look at him lift his tail and high step around the pen!”
The stallion had decided to take a look at his two visitors. Instead of keeping the farthest distance from them, he began to trot in a circle that went around behind their backs about five yards from where they stood. As he trotted, he kept one ear pointed forward, but his inside ear was flicked toward Kirstie and Charlie.
“At least he’s OK about us being in the pen with him.” Kirstie let Rocky trot around and around, head up, ear constantly flicking in their direction. “That’s one step up from last night.” She recalled the screams of anger and fright as they’d unloaded Rocky from the trailer, the way he’d lashed out at poor, unsuspecting Jitterbug.
The first rays of the sun caught the horse’s dark bay flanks, giving his coat a coppery sheen.
“What do you reckon, fifteen hands high?” Charlie asked quietly, happy for Rocky to tighten his circle and trot closer in to where they stood.
“Maybe more.” Kirstie didn’t feel a grain of fear as the stallion moved in. She thought it was wonderful the way his coat shone with the metallic gleam. It made him special, let him stand out from other, normal bays. And the black mane and tail gave a contrast. Once they were combed through and the coat was brushed and groomed, Rocky would be the finest-looking horse in the remuda. “It’s amazing!” she sighed. “Twenty-four hours ago, this horse was going through the worst time of his life. Locked up, tied up, shoved, and prodded. You’d think it’d make him hate the sight of us.”
But no. As they stood quiet in the long, cool dawn shadows, Rocky was dipping his head and tightening his circle. What’s this? he was asking them. What do you want?
He came closer, slowing to a walk, still moving in a cautious circle but ready to talk.
Then, across the neighboring corral, the tack room door opened and Hadley stepped out with a heavy saddle. The door flapped and banged against the wall as the old wrangler called out to them. “Charlie, time to fetch the horses in from the meadow!”
As if reacting to an electrical current, the sudden noise made Rocky veer away from his patient observers. He swung out to the edge of the pen, loping at high speed in wide, reckless circles.
Charlie sighed and shrugged. “Sorry.”
“That’s OK.” Kirstie knew he was paid to take orders from Hadley. At least they’d had a few quiet minutes of making friends with Rocky. She smiled at Charlie as he fixed his pale straw Stetson firmly onto his forehead and went to do his first job of the day.
And things are better than yesterday, she decided. She left the round pen as smoothly and silently as she could. Meanwhile, Rocky loped on, pushed by his instinct to flee at the first sign of danger.
Once through the gate, Kirstie turned to watch him run. Yesterday, Rocky had fought anything that went near him. Today, he’d let her and Charlie stand in the pen. Yesterday, he’d been full of hate. Today, he was curious, questioning, thoughtful.
It was a small step forward. But it was a step all the same.
“How’s it going?” Sandy asked as she crossed paths with Kirstie on her way out to the corral.
“Good!” Her head was up, shoulders back, as she went into the ranch house for a quick breakfast of blueberry muffins and coffee.
5
“How’s the rodeo horse?” Brett Lavin asked Kirstie over lunch, his mouth full of hamburger and fries.
“Good!”
“How’s it going with the bucking bronc?”
“Has he kicked any more horses in the face yet?”
The questions had come thick and fast as ranch guests came out of their cabins, crisscrossed the yard, and rode out on the trails.
Kirstie had spent the morning on the ranch instead of taking Lucky out with one of the trail groups. Her plan was to hang around in the yard and the corral, where Rocky would be able to see her come and go. He would learn to recognize her from a distance, watch her at work, see her riding quietly by on her palomino as she took him to drink at the creek. With the guests out trekking toward Miners’ Ridge or Elk Rock, the place was peaceful, with nothing to disturb the lone stallion in his round pen.
“So how’s it going?” Sandy Scott wanted to know after lunch. She’d just come out of the barn where she’d checked on Jitterbug’s cut nose, and was rushing to head up the afternoon ride through Fat Man’s Squeeze to Deer Lake. But she stopped for a moment outside the tack room to get a real answer about the problem horse out of her noncommittal daughter. “Come on, Kirstie, give me the lowdown!”
“Better than yesterday.” Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Rocky standing by the fence, looking out at the bunch of horses saddled and waiting in the corral. The clink of bridles and squeak of leather as riders mounted had caught his attention, and he stood alert and puzzled.
“Have you tried him on a lunge rope?” Sandy asked.
“Not yet. He needs more time.”
Her mom mounted Johnny Mohawk, a pretty, high-spirited, half-Arabian horse whose black coat shone in the full force of the afternoon sun. She swung her leg easily over the saddle and sat looking down quizzically at Kirstie. “How much time?”
“Couple of days.”
“Sunday? Then, no doubt, a couple more days after that. And before you know it, the horse has been living in the pen a whole week. You realize we need the space for Yukon’s foal as soon as she gives birth.” Sandy reminded her that their six-year-old brown and white mare was in the late stage of pregnancy, and that both mother and baby would take priority in the pen.
“That’s OK. Rocky will be ready to move into Red Fox Meadow by then,” Kirstie assured her, not letting her mom see that this was a pressure she could do without. Behind her cheerful front, Kirstie couldn’t yet see a realistic prospect of letting the wild mustang loose.
And as Sandy
rode the guests off to the lake under the bluest of blue skies, Kirstie chose a firmer approach for the afternoon. She would go into the round pen, she decided, but not with a halter and a lunge rope. They would remind Rocky too much of yesterday’s rodeo. There would just be herself and the horse.
“Good luck!” Charlie passed by on Moose, a big, gray quarter horse, as Kirstie swung open the gate into the round pen. He gave a long look over his shoulder, then loped onto catch up with Sandy’s group.
The gate clicked behind her and she stood, relaxed as she could manage, waiting for Rocky to get used to her entrance into his private ring.
The horse gave her his full attention. His tail swished from side to side, he stamped the ground once.
Kirstie took a couple of steps toward him, then stopped. She looked up at Eagle’s Peak, across at the ranch house; anywhere but in Rocky’s direction. But she could judge where he was by sounds. He’d begun to trot. Around the rim of the pen he came, one ear straight ahead, one ear flicked toward her. He snorted and ducked his head, kept on trotting.
Still Kirstie pretended she wasn’t paying attention. She wandered a few steps to her right, then to her left, turned around on the spot, waiting for the moment when curiosity would get the better of the horse.
And sure enough, his circle grew tighter, as it had before breakfast that morning. It was Rocky’s way of asking a question: What do you want?
Nothing. She let him know her answer by turning her head away. No pressure.
So, come on, what do you want? He slowed down, came closer.
Kirstie could feel the heat from his body, his warm breath on her bare arms. He was reading her body language the way she wanted, sensing that, far from being a threat to him, she was here to make friends.
And now he stopped and lowered his head, poking his nose toward her as she stood in the center of the pen. He nudged her arm. Come on, you must have some reason for being here.
Kirstie felt a thrill of excitement. Here was this crazy, untamable horse coming up to her and giving her a friendly shove; the savage horse that only yesterday had kicked and bucked and bitten. Keeping a wide smile on her face, murmuring soft words of encouragement, she reached out her hand to stroke him.
“Wow!” It was Saturday morning, and Lisa had dropped in at Half Moon Ranch with her mother, Bonnie. She was leaning on the fence, watching Kirstie work with Rodeo Rocky.
Less than two days in, and Kirstie felt she was well on the way to winning the horse’s trust. True, he would still sometimes shy away when she walked into the pen. His ears would flatten and he would quickly put the biggest possible distance between them. But mostly he would allow her into the pen, take his time, then wander toward her, head lowered, licking his lips in friendly greeting.
“How do you do that without a lead rope?” Lisa wanted to know as she watched Kirstie rub Rocky’s face and shoulders.
“I don’t know. It kind of happens, I guess.” She’d followed her gut feeling that the horse must not be forced. When he was good and ready, he would come up and talk.
She proved it now by running her fingers down his strong, supple neck and listening to him snort with pleasure. Still she took care not to stare directly at him, knowing that, like all horses, Rocky would take this as a threat. And she’d learned how to move when he was around; slow and smooth, sideways and in circles, never fast and direct.
“How long did it take?” Lisa was obviously impressed. She gestured for Matt to get up from the porch swing where he was reading a book and come and look.
“A lot of hours. And we’re not completely there yet. He thinks he can trust me, but he still has to be sure!” Kirstie showed her friend how she could sometimes drop her hands to her side, walk a few steps away and have Rocky follow her of his own accord.
“What do you think?” Lisa turned excitedly to Kirstie’s brother.
“So far, so good,” he conceded, ready to wander back to his book.
“Isn’t Kirstie cool?” Grabbing his shirt sleeve, Lisa insisted that he stay to watch. She shone a bright smile at dark-haired, good-looking Matt. “Would you believe she could do that so quick?”
Matt shrugged. “Yeah, yeah. But you wait till she tries to put a bit in his mouth and a saddle on his back.”
“Party pooper!” Lisa pulled a face and turned back to Kirstie, who was letting Rocky nuzzle softly at the palm of her hand. The horse was blowing and nibbling, nipping at the hem of her T-shirt, following everywhere she went. “Take no notice of Matt!” Lisa called. “It’s a guy thing!”
“What’s a guy thing?” Kirstie walked slowly toward her friend with Rocky in tow.
Lisa grinned and leaned over the fence to say hello to the stallion. “Matt knows he was wrong about this horse,” she explained. “And guys don’t like that. They like to be right!”
Sunday afternoon. Sandy Scott had seen off the old guests at Denver airport and was driving back to Half Moon Ranch with a bunch of new visitors for the start of a fresh week of trail rides, cookouts, sing-alongs, and quiet evening walks by the side of Five Mile Creek.
Kirstie had stayed behind to work with Rocky because Yukon was expected to foal tonight and that would mean taking the stallion out of the round pen and letting the new mother look after her foal in safety. Yet Kirstie mustn’t let Rocky feel that they were under pressure. The horse had to be willing to leave the pen and join the others in the meadow.
“Get Hadley or Charlie if Yukon shows any signs of going into labor,” Sandy had instructed before she left for the airport, knowing that Kirstie would be the one closest to the barn where the pregnant mare was stabled.
But so far, all was quiet. Matt was in San Luis visiting his girlfriend, Lachelle Jordan. Hadley was holed up in his bunkhouse, enjoying the few slack moments that his job allowed, and Charlie was the only one around to watch Kirstie’s afternoon session with the rodeo horse.
“I’m gonna try him with a halter and lead rope,” she decided after half an hour of the friendly stuff that Rocky by now so obviously enjoyed. The horse was happy to let her stroke and pat him from head to toe and had no thought of fleeing or playing up in his handsome head. “We have to get a rope on him to lead him out to the remuda when he has to leave the pen.”
Charlie nodded and went into the tack room. Moments later, he emerged with the rope and harness and quietly handed them over the fence to Kirstie.
“This is your first big test,” she told the horse softly, letting the rope and collar hang unnoticed, as she hoped, from her right hand.
But Rocky had spotted the equipment. He tensed up and backed off, then craned his head to sniff at the rope.
“Trust me, it doesn’t mean we’re gonna tie you and beat you up like Wade Williams’s men,” she promised, swinging the collar toward him to let him get a proper sight of it now. “It’s what we do around here to get a horse from A to B. No pain involved, no problem.”
Charlie grinned. “I sure hope he can understand what you’re saying!”
Kirstie smiled back. “Every word! Can’t you, Rocky?” She offered him the halter to smell and explore. Then after a while she made her move, doing her best to look more confident than she felt. “Now this slips on over your nose, like so.”
The horse blinked as the harness slid over his face. Easy, easy; please don’t fight it! And that was it. The buckle was fastened, nice and easy. For the first time since he arrived at the ranch, Rocky was wearing a head collar.
That night, when the new moon was high, Sandy Scott called Kirstie from her bed to come and watch Yukon’s foal being born.
“Any moment now,” she promised as they crossed the yard and entered the barn. They passed by a row of empty stalls until they came to a well-lit, straw-lined one at the end. The stall was fourteen feet square, giving plenty of room for the brown and white broodmare, while her helpers, Charlie and Hadley, stood outside at the ready.
“How do we know it’s about to happen?” Kirstie whispered from outside the stall. T
he birth of a foal was a rare event on the ranch, since Sandy usually bought three-year-olds from the sale barn, ready to be trained and ridden.
“Yukon’s been restless all day,” her mom explained. “She’s been lying down, getting up, biting her flanks and so on. Then, about an hour ago, her contractions started.”
Rubbing her eyes, which were still prickly from sleep, Kirstie stared.
“This is it,” Hadley murmured. His expert eye had caught sight of the foal presenting itself in the birth canal. He showed Kirstie a pair of small front feet, explained that the foal would be in a diving position. The feet should soon be followed by the nose, neck, and shoulders.
“Don’t we help or something?” she whispered.
“No, she’s doing fine,” her mother told her. “We only step in if there’s a problem.”
Already the foal was slithering onto the hay, safely delivered by the mare. Then it rolled and wriggled inside the birth sac, breaking through and beginning to breathe of its own accord. As it did this, Kirstie found that she let go of her own held breath. She gave a deep sigh of relief.
“Now, the foal will try to get to her feet.” Hadley described the next stage. “The cord should break, and we treat the end with iodine solution. See, she’s having a shot at standing up right now!”
Kirstie nodded. The tiny, fragile creature with its enormous head was wobbling up on skinny legs. Kirstie gasped as the baby fell and lay still.
“Too soon,” Sandy reported. “Give her a few minutes’ rest and she’ll try again.”
Fascinated, Kirstie watched every movement of the newborn creature; the alert flick of her ears, the struggle to rise. Meanwhile, Yukon accepted her foal by licking her clean and nudging her onto her feet.
“When will she start feeding?” Charlie’s eager question broke the soft, warm silence of the barn. It made Kirstie realize that this birth was the first the young wrangler had seen.
“In a couple of hours.” Hadley’s easy, calm reply showed that he’d witnessed it many times. “And come the morning, both broodmare and foal should go out into the round pen for exercise.” He turned questioningly to Sandy Scott.
Rodeo Rocky Page 4
