Last Chance Cowboy

by Cathy McDavid

  He didn’t want to think about how cold it got in these mountains at night.

  “What possessed Cassie to take Isa on a ride?” Sage blinked back tears, fighting for composure.

  Gavin didn’t defend his daughter. She knew better, and there was no excuse for taking Isa with her. He recalled Cassie storming off to the house, angry she couldn’t go with them to search for Avaro. He should have taken a moment to talk to her and explain.

  “This isn’t just Cassie’s fault or my dad’s. It’s mine, too. But we can divvy up the blame later, after she and Isa are home.”

  “Does Cassie carry a cell phone?”

  “She lost it last week, and I haven’t replaced it yet. No reason. She hasn’t been off the ranch, what with school on break.”

  Gavin cursed the lousy stroke of luck. Taking out his binoculars, he scanned the distant rises. It was unlikely he’d spot the girls from their position at the base of a large hill. Still, he tried.

  “If I told Isa once, I told her a thousand times not to go anywhere without checking with me first.” Sage rubbed her temple with trembling fingers. “This morning at the testing facility…she was so upset afterward. She might be acting out.”

  He reached over and grasped her hand. It was cold and clammy. Like his. “We’re going to find them, honey. And they’ll be just fine. I promise.” He squeezed her fingers, hoping that the more pressure he applied, the more she’d believe him.

  “Can we go now? Please.”

  He started to put his phone away, only to have it ring again. Thank God he had decent reception.

  “It’s Ethan.” Heart hammering, he answered the call. “Yeah.”

  “I have an idea.” Static on the line made it hard for Gavin to hear everything. “Extra manpower for the search.”

  “Tell me.” He angled the phone in an attempt to improve the connection.

  “Clay Duvall.”

  “Who?” Gavin heard his brother. He just thought he had to be mistaken.

  “Duvall. He’ll help us. And he has a half-dozen men working for him he can recruit.”

  Every nerve in Gavin’s body screamed no. He didn’t want to involve Duvall or have anything to do with the man. Not after his and his father’s betrayal.

  Except that Ethan was right. There was an unspoken code among the cowboys, times when differences were put aside. This was one of them. And Duvall would come through.

  Swallowing his pride and resentment, which was far from easy, Gavin instructed his brother, “Call him.”

  “I already did. He and his men are on their way.”

  Leave it to Ethan to know the right thing to do.

  “Have them check out the northwest rim first.”

  Gavin and Sage continued on the Tom Thumb Trail for another half hour. They encountered only two sets of hikers, neither of which had seen any other riders, much less two children on horseback. In between, Gavin and Sage didn’t talk much. That left each of them to cope with their guilt and anxiety in silence.

  On every rise that afforded them a decent view, they stopped. While Gavin glassed the area with his binoculars, Sage hollered for the girls. Her shaky voice carried, echoing off the sheer rock faces. There was no answer, not that Gavin expected one. He felt certain his father and Javier would locate the girls at the picnic site.

  He hadn’t yet decided on Cassie’s punishment, his mind too filled with thoughts of finding her and Isa. His daughter would no doubt be unhappy with him. Resent him. And she would probably want to return to her mother at Christmastime, if not before.

  At least she would be safe.

  All at once, Gavin saw it. There, to their left, a tiny missile climbing skyward, a column of orange smoke trailing behind it. His relief was so strong, his chest hurt.

  “Look!” he shouted.

  “Thank God,” Sage said from behind him, and burst into tears.

  Noting the southern location of the flare, he pulled out his cell phone to call Ethan. The display registered no signal. He resisted the urge to fling the phone into the ravine below.

  Instead, he said, “Let’s hurry.” They had less than an hour of daylight left.

  “Where are they?” Sage asked as they pushed their horses for more speed up the steep hill.

  “Near the box canyon.” Five miles at least from the picnic site.

  “Do you think they’re all right?”

  He refused to think Cassie and Isa might be in trouble or injured. “I’m sure they are.”

  Only, he wasn’t.

  “How long will it take us to get there?”

  “Forty-five minutes if we haul ass.”

  It was the longest forty-five minutes of Gavin’s life.

  Too soon, the smoke from the flare dissipated, leaving him uncertain as to Ethan’s exact location. Every ten minutes he tried to reach his brother. Always, the infuriating “no service” message flashed on his phone’s display. When they got within a quarter mile of the entrance to the box canyon, he cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted his brother’s name. No one answered.

  Shit.

  “Where are they?” Sage asked. She’d held herself together well during their rough-and-tumble ride. But stress and exhaustion showed on her face and in the weary slump of her shoulders.

  “They can’t be far.”

  “Are you sure the flare was launched around here?”

  “Positive.”

  A shrill whistle came from a ridge some two hundred yards to the east. Gavin swung around in the saddle and immediately identified the three riders.

  “Who are they?” Sage asked.

  “Clay Duvall and two of his men. They must have followed the flare, too.”

  Duvall waved from his position in front, and Gavin raised his hand in reply.

  At that moment, another flare appeared in the sky, not more than a mile away by Gavin’s estimation. He smiled for the first time all day. When he next saw his brother, he was going to give him a big kiss and not care who saw.

  “Isn’t that coming from inside the box canyon?” Sage stood in her stirrups, straining to see.

  “The far end, I’d say.” He could have kicked himself for not thinking of it earlier. “I bet the girls went after the mares and Ethan found them.”

  “Or after the mustang. They did ask to go with us.”

  He grumbled. “When I get hold of Cassie, I’m going to wring—”

  “Hug her. You’re going to hug her.”

  “Yes,” Gavin conceded. “But rest assured, there will be a loss of privileges.”

  They hurried the remaining distance to the canyon with nightfall chasing them the entire way.

  Ethan sat astride his horse about a quarter mile past the entrance.

  “Where are they?” Gavin asked when he and Sage drew near.

  “At the pen. They’re okay.”

  Sage sighed.

  “Is Conner with them?”

  “He’s over there.” Ethan pointed to a spot fifty yards away.

  Conner tipped his hat.

  “Why isn’t one of you with the girls?” Sage demanded.

  “Because we found more than your two daughters.” Ethan’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “Your mare’s tied up at the pen.”

  “Really!” Sage’s anger vanished, replaced by surprise.

  “And something else,” Ethan said, grinning even wider.

  Excitement exploded inside Gavin as the reason for his brother’s exuberance hit him.

  “The mustang’s here.”

  Ethan chuckled. “Looks like we’re having us a wild-horse roundup tonight.”

  SAGE HAD NEVER BEEN ON A HORSE roundup quite like this one. It wasn’t just the lack of helicopters and manpower. The techniques the men used reminded her of another era altogether, when cowboys had only their ropes and their wits at their disposal.

  Clay Duvall, the neighbor whom Gavin held a grudge against, had arrived with his two wranglers. So had Gavin’s father and Javier.

  Sage sta
yed with the girls and watched from their vantage point atop a rocky peak near the mares’ pen. She would have rather been a part of the roundup but conceded she possessed neither the roping skills required, nor the experience. These eight men, even with their differences and dislike of each other, knew what to do without being told. They might have been on a hundred roundups together considering how well they worked as a team.

  “Mama, I’m sorry,” Isa apologized for the third time in a meek voice. She sat huddled beside Sage, hugging her drawn up knees.

  “We’ll talk later, mija.” And they would. But for now, Sage wanted to watch the roundup. What she could see of it. Dusk had already fallen. Complete darkness wasn’t far behind.

  Gavin, Ethan, Conner and Clay Duvall circled the mustang on their horses, having driven him away from the mares and to the farthest corner of the canyon. The remaining men formed a second outer circle. Their job was to stop the mustang if he tried to escape—which he did, every few minutes.

  Avaro whinnied from where she was tied to a branch, agitated by all the horses and activity.

  “Watch out!” Cassie hollered.

  The mustang had tried to cut between Gavin and Ethan in a frantic dash for freedom. They quickly stopped him by blocking his escape route. Frustrated, he galloped in a circle, head lowered and hind legs kicking.

  “Why don’t they catch him?” Isa asked.

  “They’re tiring him out so he won’t fight so much and it’ll be easier.”

  “How long will that take? I’m hungry.”

  Sage wanted to tell her daughter she should have thought of food before riding off with Cassie, but didn’t.

  The mustang was stubborn and determined. He was also outnumbered and fast becoming exhausted. Each attempt he made to break loose was immediately thwarted and further depleted his energy.

  Minute by minute, foot by foot, the circle surrounding him closed. Suddenly, Ethan threw his rope at the mustang…and missed. Angry, the mustang let out a high-pitched squeal and ran in the opposite direction, only to be stopped by the men waiting there. Sage lost track of him after that. It was too dark to see more than thirty feet beyond where they sat.

  “Heads-up,” Gavin shouted. “He’s coming your way.”

  In the next instant, the mustang materialized in front of Sage and the girls as if formed from thin air. He seemed as surprised to see them as they were him and pawed the ground menacingly.

  Sage stared, her attention riveted. He was truly a magnificent sight, and her heart swelled with wonder.

  “He’s beautiful,” Cassie whispered.

  Sage started to rise, compelled by an emotion she couldn’t define. It was as if the horse demanded she honor him with a show of respect.

  The rope came from nowhere, sailing through the air to land squarely around the mustang’s neck.

  She barely had time to realize what was happening when another rope flew by, also hitting its mark.

  The mustang summoned the last of his strength and fought his constraints. Thrusting his head from side to side, he reared, came down and reared again, his breathing labored.

  Gavin leaped to the ground. His horse, trained in calf roping, slowly backed up, pulling the rope connected to his saddle horn taut.

  Ethan also dismounted. As the remaining men on horseback closed the circle, he and Gavin approached the mustang.

  “Easy, boy.” Gavin spoke softly, his hand raised in front of him. “It’s going to be all right.”

  The mustang didn’t agree and bared his teeth.

  “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Watch he doesn’t bite you,” Ethan warned.

  Gavin stopped five feet in front of the horse. Sage sensed in him the same wonder she’d felt earlier. She thought for a moment he might dare approach the horse and lay a hand on him. He didn’t, which turned out to be a smart move. The horse reared again, this time slicing the air with his front hooves.

  “He likes you, bro,” Ethan said with a chuckle.

  “It’s mutual.” There was no humor in Gavin’s voice, only admiration.

  They stared at each other, he and the horse. And then something magical happened. The horse stopped fighting. Maybe he was tired. Or maybe he decided he’d met his match. Sage preferred to think the horse and man had come to some kind of understanding.

  Gavin let out a long, satisfied breath. “What do you say we take him home?”

  The trip back to the ranch was arduous. Isa became whiney and cranky halfway there. Probably due to hunger and fatigue and, possibly, fear of what punishment lay ahead of her. The mustang, with both ropes still tied around his neck, and Gavin and Ethan at the end of each one, refused to cooperate. Every step he took was only because he had no choice.

  Sage had always assumed the horse was an escapee from either the Indian reservation or a nearby ranch. Seeing him now, his reaction to his captors, it was clear he’d had little or no human contact for a very long time, if ever.

  Could he be, as Gavin believed, the last descendant of the wild mustangs that once roamed this area?

  No, that was impossible. Right?

  Conner, Javier and Gavin’s dad brought up the rear, each of them leading a mare. Gavin’s two horses carried the remaining equipment and supplies in their hastily loaded pack saddles. Clay Duvall and his wranglers had taken a different trail, one that would lead them back to his place. Before parting, Ethan had thanked his neighbor warmly and shook his hand. Gavin’s father hadn’t been quite so friendly, though his brief conversation with Clay Duvall was civil enough.

  Not Gavin. His entire exchange with the other man consisted of a nod, and a terse one at that.

  Eventually, the lights of Powell Ranch came into sight. Not long after, they reached the pasture fence.

  “Where should we put him?” Ethan asked.

  Gavin pondered their captive. “I’m thinking the round pen. It has the highest fence on the property.”

  A high fence would probably come in handy, considering what Avaro had done. And the mustang was far more determined to regain his freedom.

  When they reached the stables, everyone dismounted. It was decided that Conner and Javier would unsaddle all the mounts and put them up for the night. The girls went with Gavin’s dad into the house, assigned to helping him throw together a quick supper for everyone.

  Getting the mustang into the round pen proved to be a process. With Gavin pulling him, and Ethan behind guarding his back, they managed to get him through the narrow gate after ten long and exhausting minutes. When they finally shut the gate, both men were sweating and Ethan was limping badly.

  He rubbed his knee and grunted in pain. “I’m surprised he’s got that much energy left after all we put him through.”

  “I’m not.” Gavin stood at the fence.

  The mustang put on a show, trotting back and forth and snorting with frustration. Every few seconds, he would stop and glare angrily at Gavin.

  Sage went to stand beside him. “He won’t be easy to tame. You have your work cut out for you.”

  Gavin smiled with pleasure.

  Conner carried over the galvanized steel tub they’d brought back from the canyon. He pushed it under the bottom railing of the round pen. Uncoiling a nearby hose, he filled the tub with water. From a safe place on the opposite side of the pen, the mustang eyed the hose as if it were a poisonous snake.

  Sage knew from BLM roundups that feral horses seldom drank right away. “By morning,” she said, “he’ll be thirsty.”

  Javier came, too, bringing a thick flake of hay which he pushed under the bottom railing next to the tub.

  The mustang stretched his head forward, his nostrils flaring, but he didn’t move from his spot. No worries. He would also eat by morning, if not sooner.

  “How old do you think he is?” Sage asked.

  “Hard to say without a closer inspection. But my guess is he’s young. Three. Five, maybe.”

  Sage thought so, too.

  When Gavin’s
dad rang the dinner bell fifteen minutes later, everyone was still standing at the railing, transfixed. The mustang had yet to move from his spot.

  “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m hungry.” Ethan clapped Conner on the back. “You, too, Javier.” He dragged the smaller man along. “Eat with us.”

  The three of them strolled to the house, continuing their loud and lively conversation.

  Gavin was slow to move.

  “Come on.” Sage rested a hand on his shoulder. Like everyone else, she was feeling happy. For a day that had started out awful, it had certainly ended on a high note. “We’ve got some celebrating to do.”

  “We do.” He turned toward her. “And I want to start now.”

  His ice-blue eyes, so dark in the moonlight, swept over her face. She had only seconds to prepare before his arm circled her waist, and he drew her flush against him.

  A small gasp escaped her, not of protest but delight—at his actions and her reaction to them. Her instincts told her this kiss would be nothing like their previous one…and infinitely more exciting.

  Her instincts weren’t wrong.

  Even before his mouth came rushing down to claim hers, she tensed in eager anticipation. For an instant, when his lips first met hers, she thought her feet had truly left the ground.

  The impracticality of any romance developing between them became a distant, insignificant concern as his arms secured her more snugly to him and his tongue sought entry. She opened herself to him, sighing softly as he explored her mouth, melting inside and out as the kiss went on and on.

  He was incredibly skilled, demanding but also giving. Oh, yes, giving. The effects of his generosity cascaded through her, lighting tiny sparks at each nerve ending. She could, and did, lose herself. In his masculine scent. In the feel of his muscles bunching beneath her fingers. In the caress of his breath on her cheek as he broke off the kiss, groaned, then returned for more.

  Good, because she wasn’t ready to stop, either.

  He angled her sideway and the next thing she knew, he’d pinned her between him and the round pen. His hands, large and strong, cradled her face, their callused palms stroking her cheeks with a gentleness that touched her as much as it excited her.