Rough Creek

by Kaki Warner

  “The colt handled himself well, as I knew he would,” he told her. “And it was smart of Cardwell to lend a hand when called on. Big Mike is as fine a helper horse as I’ve ever seen. With him along to keep things calm, your colt and his trainer have earned themselves a high regard among the other trainers. They’ll do well at the Futurity.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Count on it. And count on me being there to see it. Tell your mama hidey.”

  As Raney watched him drive away, she was filled with gratitude for all that the wise old trainer had done to get Dalton and Rosco ready for the trial ahead. In less than two weeks, Dalton would either make his name, Rosco would prove himself a winner, and Whitcomb Four Star would join the ranks of the top breeders of prize-winning cutting horses.

  Or they’d fail.

  No pressure. None at all.

  CHAPTER 24

  The three-week-long, annual fall United States Cutting Horse Association Futurity in Fort Worth was a world-class event. Raney had been to it once, a decade ago with Daddy, but remembered little except the gigantic exhibition hall. It was like Fantasyland for horse lovers, and she was excited to take Uno to see it after they checked in with the USCHA office.

  And that wasn’t all there was to see and do.

  In addition to the various horse competitions and the exhibits, there was also a multimillion-dollar auction during the last ten days of the Futurity, where bids for outstanding mares and studs with impeccable bloodlines ran into the hundreds of thousands of dollars or more. Promising yearlings and two-year-olds, debuting three-year-olds, as well as previous Futurity winners, finalists, and their offspring, all brought top dollar. In the cutting horse industry, breeding always tells, and well-bred horses were constantly in demand. It was serious business, the USCHA Futurity, and through it flowed millions and millions of dollars, all centered around the best quarter horses and cutting horses in the world.

  Raney had planned long in advance for their attendance. Following the same setup as with the pre-works, they took the big horse trailer, although this time, she brought her truck as well, should they need transportation while the rig was parked. She also booked two rooms at a nearby hotel—one for her and Dalton, and the other for Mama should she escape her baby duties and join them. As before, Alejandro and Uno would stay in the trailer to keep an eye on Rosco and Big Mike.

  They arrived late morning on the day the competition began. They already knew that for Rosco’s first go-round, he had drawn number 111, which meant he would compete early on the second day. That gave them plenty of time to unload and ready the stalls that Raney had reserved. After feeding and watering the horses, they all headed out to a popular nearby Tex-Mex restaurant.

  Raney was too excited to eat much. She also thought Dalton and Alejandro were too relaxed, but she supposed that was better than being as anxious as she was. After they ate, Dalton and Alejandro took the horses to one of the exercise areas for a lope and brief post-trailering workout, while Raney and Uno went to the USCHA offices to ensure that all their paperwork was in order and to get instructions about competition procedures. And there were a lot of procedures.

  Each team would consist of the competing rider and horse, and the helper and his horse, whose job would be to help manage the herd while the cutter worked the cows. Each competitor would have two and a half minutes to separate a cow from the herd, hold it, then release it back to the herd before selecting the next cow. They were expected to work two cows and make an attempt on a third during the time allotted. After twelve horses had completed their runs, the cows would be exchanged for fresh stock and the arena would be raked. It was a well-choreographed process, yet it would still take six days to get through all six hundred–plus entrants scheduled in Round One.

  Raney was glad Rosco wouldn’t start until the second day. That would allow him time to settle before his first go, and give him a four-day break before Round Two began—assuming he made it into Round Two, since the competition was single elimination. Easy on the horse, hard on those waiting. During that four-day wait, to minimize stress and give the horses a chance to relax between rounds, Press Amala had graciously arranged for both horses to stay at the Running Bar Ranch just outside of town, unless Mike was needed to help out other riders. He and Alejandro were so good at their job requests were already coming in.

  But today, Raney and Uno had come to explore. Once Raney had finished registering, USCHA officials verified her membership was current and that the three thousand–plus entry fee had been paid, as well as the fees for stalls and time in the practice arena, then she and Uno were finally able to check out the huge exhibition hall.

  It was an amazing place. She got a kick out of watching Uno’s look of awe as they walked past the dozens of exhibits and booths where vendors sold everything from custom saddles, boots, hats, chaps, jewelry, bridles, monogrammed blankets, or anything else having to do with horses. There were also food stalls and an endless supply of event memorabilia, mugs, jackets, caps, shirts, sweatshirts, all with the USCHA Futurity logo. When Raney saw the boy eyeing USCHA baseball caps, she told him to pick one. “And one you think your father would like. I’ll get one each for me and Dalton.”

  From there, they moved on to the belt-maker’s booth, where she fitted Uno for a leather belt and had his name put on the back in silver letters. The boy was so proud he almost strutted.

  Then they continued past booths of training films and videos of studs available for bookings. If Rosco did well enough, he might have his own video before long. But Raney didn’t dwell on it, afraid to jinx his chances.

  “What are those for?” Uno asked, pointing to the darkened monitors posted throughout the hall.

  “Once the competition is in full swing, those TV monitors will live-stream the events going on in the main arena. There are over six hundred horses competing in the Futurity and it will take days to whittle them down to a single champion. Those screens will be on all day and into the night.”

  “Mr. Dalton and Rosco will be TV stars?”

  Raney laughed. “Your father and Big Mike, too. Because neither Dalton nor Rosco can do their job without their help.”

  “Someday maybe I can help.”

  “You already do. You’ve been a huge help to Dalton. And he appreciates it.”

  The boy grinned and pointed to a mechanical horse and cow. “What is that?”

  “That’s a machine for people to ride if they want to know what it’s like to be on a cutting horse. And no,” she added, anticipating his next question. “You can’t ride it unless your father is with you. You hungry?”

  Foolish question. They’d eaten lunch less than two hours ago. But she’d ceased to be surprised at how much the adolescent boy could eat, so they grabbed a bag of caramel popcorn, then headed back to the stalls.

  That night, Dalton stayed out late, networking with other trainers and talking horses. Raney thought she was too nervous to sleep, but she never heard Dalton come in, and didn’t wake up until after he left the next morning. But she did find a note on the bathroom counter that read, Celebration tonight. Bring whips.

  The second day of Round One dawned clear and cool, but sitting in the indoor arena with Uno, Raney was aware of nothing but the buckskin horse and the handsome, broad-shouldered man riding him through the in gate into the arena. Less than three minutes later it was over and they were riding out the exit gate. It reminded Raney of Thanksgiving dinner—hours to prepare, minutes to devour.

  Nonetheless, she thought they both did well, and the score flashing on the overhead leaderboard was a respectable one. But when she went back to the stall, Dalton seemed to think the colt could do better once he’d settled down. After they’d brushed him and hosed him off, they loaded him into the trailer and took him to Running Bar Ranch for the long, four-day wait until they found out if he’d made it into Round Two. Big Mike would remain behind to help oth
er riders, so Dalton brought the trailer back for Alejandro and Uno to use.

  Then, he and Raney looked over the horses arriving for the auction that would begin later next week. Raney hadn’t brought stock to sell, but she hoped to buy another proven brood mare with solid bloodlines to help build her stable. It wouldn’t be easy. There were hundreds to choose from.

  On the sixth evening after the Futurity began, Dalton and Raney joined the other trainers and owners haunting the hallway outside of the USCHA offices where the final scores for Round One were to be posted.

  “Don’t worry,” she murmured to Dalton, even though she was so nervous she was about to throw up. “You’ve got this.”

  Several minutes later, the official finally came out of the office with the list of those moving on to Round Two. Dalton waited until he’d pinned it to the board, then left Raney’s side and stepped forward.

  A moment later, he walked back, took Raney’s hand, and led her away from the crowd and down the hall. “He made it.”

  Raney almost squealed with joy, but tamped it down to a single, “Holy shit!”

  Heads turned.

  Trying to regain dignity and act casual, she said, “You’re surprised?”

  “Grateful.” Dropping his head so others couldn’t hear, he whispered, “Now I get to sleep with you again, instead of driving back to the ranch.”

  “Will all the trainers who made the cut get to sleep with me, too?”

  “Be nice. Or I won’t let you play with the whips.”

  As soon as they told Alejandro and Uno the news, they rushed back to their hotel room and had a big celebration that lasted well into the night. No whips were involved, but there was a lot of laughing and thrashing around. And a long shower.

  * * *

  * * *

  Early the following morning, an exhausted Raney drove Dalton out to the Running Bar Ranch to load up the rig and bring the colt back for a scheduled workout with cattle later that afternoon. Round Two would take three days, and only sixty horses would move up to the semifinal round. This time, Rosco drew 162, which meant he would again ride on the second day.

  Over the next twenty-four hours pressure built. Interest in Dalton and the colt did, too. But they all tried to ignore it and stay focused, knowing it would only get worse if Rosco made it into the next round. Afraid her nervousness would be contagious, Raney stayed away from the stables and Dalton, and spent the afternoon doing laps around the complex grounds.

  That night, she hardly slept and was up with Dalton and heading to the stables before dawn. While Raney did more laps, he spent the morning with Rosco, or scouting cows with Alejandro from the observation deck above the arena, or talking with other trainers. He seemed confident and at ease. Which amazed Raney.

  By noon, the horses were saddled and ready. An hour later, number 162 was called, and Dalton and Alejandro moved into position at the in gate. Raney sat beside Uno in the stands, her hands clasped so tightly her fingers turned white. She heard Rosco’s name announced, then Dalton’s as the rider, hers as the owner, and finally, the name of the ranch. Then the gate opened.

  It seemed surreal—the noise, the smells, the thundering of her heart as she watched the man she loved pour his heart and soul into a two-and-a-half-minute ride on the horse he’d brought from a gangly colt to a superb cutting horse. He looked magnificent. Unstoppable. Each move fluid and relaxed. Totally in control.

  Then suddenly, it was over. The next rider was announced, and Rosco’s score flashed on the overhead screen. 216. Raney blinked. Looked again. Even with the highest and lowest scores from the five judges thrown out, Rosco still scored 216!

  She cried.

  Dalton laughed.

  Uno did an intricate dance across the stable floor.

  Too nervous to sit around and wait for the other scores of the day to come in, Raney walked back to their hotel and called Press.

  When he didn’t answer, she left a voice mail, telling him Rosco’s score for the first two rounds and thanking him for setting up the break at the ranch. Then she texted Mama the score, afraid if she called, she’d be stuck on the phone for hours, then took a long, hot soak.

  “He’s going to make it!” Dalton told Raney when he barged into the room after waiting for the day’s scores. “There are still horses left to compete tomorrow, but after the first two days, he’s in the top ten!” Laughing, he swept Raney up in his arms, swung her around, then tossed her onto the bed and began unbuckling his belt. “He’s going to the semis, sweetheart! And if he does, he’ll earn back triple the entry fee in his first competition—” He froze, shirt half-off, staring at her sprawled across the bed where he’d thrown her. “You’re naked.”

  “I am.”

  “You didn’t start without me, did you?”

  “Do I need to?”

  “Hell, no.” And laughing, he fell on top of her, horse-stink, boots, and all.

  “Mama would be scandalized,” she said later, drawing circles in the sweaty hair on his chest while he struggled to catch his breath. “I’ve never done that before.”

  “We did it in the shower yesterday.”

  “Not with your boots on.”

  “Boots?” He looked down, shocked to see his jeans around his ankles and the toes of his boots showing. “Damn. No wonder the bed feels gritty.”

  “Maybe next time you can wear chaps, too. For modesty’s sake.” She drew a circle with dots. It felt like a happy face, but Dalton didn’t look.

  “How many will Rosco be competing against if he makes the semis?”

  “Sixty. That tickles.”

  “How many of those go to the finals?”

  “Twenty. I need a shower. You do, too. This bed smells like horse.”

  “I wonder why.”

  The next evening, while the rankings for Round Two were being tabulated to see who would move on to the semifinals, the crowd outside of the USCHA office grew. Raney was too nervous to wait and had gone back to the hotel. But Dalton was there, trying to pretend to the other trainers this was just another day. Being on the list of the sixty top three-year-old cutting horses in the country was a huge accomplishment. And Dalton felt sure Rosco had a chance. But when they posted the list and he saw Rosco’s name in the upper half, Dalton’s heart felt like it would kick its way out of his chest. They’d done it! Semifinals, here we come!

  As soon as he ended the call after giving Raney the news, he headed over to the stables. Even though it was late, Alejandro and Uno were still up, leaning against Rosco’s stall door, waiting. As soon as they saw Dalton’s face, Alejandro started grinning and Uno did a hopping shuffle across the hay-strewn aisleway.

  “What is his draw?” Alejandro asked when Dalton stopped before him.

  “Number 26.”

  “¿Es bueno?” Uno asked, pausing in his dance.

  “It’s muy bueno.” Dalton clapped the boy’s shoulder. “It means we have time to give the horses a morning practice run in the exercise arena before his go.”

  They decided on a time to have the horses fed, brushed, saddled, skid boots and rear boots on, ready for the workout, leaving no more than an hour’s wait time before they had to line up at the gate into the arena. This round, all sixty horses would compete on the same day. Tomorrow, in fact. So, Dalton urged Alejandro and Uno to get some sleep, then headed back to the hotel and Raney.

  And another celebration.

  * * *

  * * *

  “Text me when you get to the hotel,” Raney was saying into her cell phone when Dalton walked into the hotel room. “Tell Joss hi and give Lyric kisses.”

  “Mama?” he asked, settling on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots.

  “Assuming she can get out by seven, she should be here by noon tomorrow.”

  “We won’t know if he made the finals until tomorrow evening.” />
  “She’ll come anyway. She’s desperate to get away from Babyville.”

  Fifteen minutes later, after a thorough scrubbing—apparently, from his careful attention to every inch of her skin, Dalton thought she needed help with that—they stepped out of the shower just as his phone buzzed in the bedroom.

  He ignored it and continued to dry her off. A moment later, Raney’s cell buzzed. “It might be important,” she said. “We should answer.”

  She got to her phone just before it went to voice mail. The caller ID said it was Clovis Cardwell. “Hello, Mrs. Cardwell,” she said, giving Dalton a puzzled glance.

  He had pulled on his jeans and was now frowning as he checked his calls.

  “Is Dalton there?” his mother asked Raney. “I need to talk to him.”

  “Of course.” Raney handed her phone to Dalton, dread circling in her mind.

  It was a short conversation: “When? How bad? Are you there now? I’ll talk to Raney and call you back.” He tossed her cell on the bed and pulled on a T-shirt. “Timmy’s had an accident. They’re at University Medical in Lubbock.”

  Raney clapped a hand to her throat. “How bad?”

  “A bump on the head. Maybe some cracked ribs and a broken arm. They’re waiting on X-rays now. Damn!” He sat on the bed again and began pulling on the socks he’d taken off thirty minutes earlier.

  Raney sat beside him, her hand on his back. “What happened?”

  “He fell off a ladder while he was cleaning the church gutters. I can’t believe they let him do that. He has terrible balance.” He pulled on one boot, reached for the other. “I was afraid something like this would happen when he told us he was washing windows. But I didn’t think they’d put him on a fucking ladder!”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Go to Lubbock.”

  “That’s a five-hour drive. You won’t get there before midnight. Then you have to be back here first thing to be ready for the semis.”