Hector leads me down the hallway—there are locker rooms on either side, a men’s and a women’s; further on, the hallway opens out into a room something like a waiting room, with couches lining the walls, little tables here and there with magazines, and a counter along one wall featuring a coffee maker, beverage refrigerator, and a full bar facility, currently dark and unmanned. The fourth wall of the room is glass, floor to ceiling, overlooking a raked-dirt arena so big you could probably fit two full football fields in it. The dirt is raked in neat, concentric oval spirals, and there are windows lining the perimeter just underneath the roofline, letting in natural light to offset the rows of high-efficiency LED lights in the ceiling.
In the center of the arena is one man, and a horse. The floor is a full story below the glass, so from this vantage point one can see the entire arena with a bird’s-eye view—for showing off a horse, I realize. If you’re going to sell high-end horses, this is where you’d clinch the sale, with an expert rider putting the animal through its paces. Sort of like taking a prospective client on a tour through a nearly completed development, showing off the fancy technology and architectural details.
Instead of being seated on the horse, the man has the animal attached to a long rope, at least twenty feet long, and he has a long-handled whip in the other. He wiggles the whip near the horse’s hindquarters now and then, keeping it running in a tight circle—the whip never cracks, never touches the horse, I notice, but is merely a visual impetus to keep the animal running. Then, abruptly, the trainer lunges to one side, pivots, and crosses the whip over; the horse immediately reacts, skidding to a stop and pivoting in response. Now the whip snaps with a sharp crack in the air behind the horse, and the man calls out a verbal command I can’t make out, sending the horse into motion, running in the opposite direction.
Hector and I watch for several minutes as the trainer has the horse run this way and that, stop, start, walk, trot, gallop, stopping abruptly in response to verbal commands. There’s another, smaller rope in the dirt near the trainer’s feet; he unclips the longer one and attaches the shorter rope, drops his whip, and takes the horse through a similar series of actions, but this time with the trainer running beside the horse, stopping abruptly and clearly expecting the horse to stop without even a verbal command. Sometimes the horse seems to get confused or just merely doesn’t want to listen, and disobeys, which always results in the trainer forcing the horse to walk backward, his hand on its nose, and then the command is repeated.
Hector gestures at the arena. “Ringo, he is remarkable. Mr. Will chose him himself from the cull herd, and ask Luis to break him special, just for Mr. Will.”
“Cull herd?”
“Ranch talk.” Hector rolls his hand. “You have a herd of horses, yes? Say you are try to breed horses to be the most big, all of them, very big. So, you choose big horse, breed it with big horse, you get a big horse…most of the time. Sometimes, not so big. This horse, the not so big one, you take out of the herd—this is a cull. Then you have a herd of culls, a cull herd. These, you sell to customer, or mix with other herd, or break for personal use, many things. Just because they are cull does not mean no good, just no good for the purpose of that herd. Ringo, down there, he too small for police, too much personality. Too jumpy, yes?” Hector paws at the floor with the toe of his boot and shakes his head, snorting, shoulders hunched and rounding—it is a remarkably accurate little sketch of a jumpy horse. “Like this. It means he is fast, and smart, and spirited, but no good for police. Big, calm, no attitude, no fuss, this is police horse.”
“I see. And Ringo is going to be…what?”
“Mr. Will’s horse, for riding to work the ranch and the herds.”
“What is Will like?” I ask.
Hector doesn’t answer. “He is…himself. Mr. Will knows horses better than anyone I know. He has done wonderful good work with the herds. He is boss, so…what is he like? He is boss.” He ends this with a shrug.
Not helpful.
We watch a few more minutes, and then Hector shows me another much smaller section of stables and, like the saddle room, this area has the feeling of being…not quite sacred, but…special. Hector has to enter a code into a keypad to get in, for one thing. The stable here is smaller, cleaner, and quieter. The stalls are bigger; the overall fit and finish of the stables more luxurious—this is the Audens’ personal stable, where their private mounts are housed. I’m not sure that’s the correct terminology, but whatever. Each stall has a large exterior window, open to let in daylight, and there’s another tack room, this one open to the air and unlocked—the everyday saddles and bridles and such. One stall is empty, obviously Theo’s horse Cupcake came from here.
“So, even though they own all the horses, they have a few that are their personal favorites?”
Hector nods. “Most of our horses are unbroken, or green broke, which means only trained to take a bit and saddle, but has very bad manners. These in the main barn are the ones we have trained, either for sale to collectors, racing owners, or breeders. Each cowboy camp has its own stable with several head of horses and tack, feed, and so on. And this, where we are now, is where the best horses are kept.” He points at a stall near the end, where a huge black head with a white spot on the forehead peeks out, watching us over the top of the stall door. “See him? He is named Gemini. He is not belong to the Audens, in which I mean he is not a personal, private horse. He is bred from the best of our thoroughbred studs to the best of our thoroughbred mares, and will be one of the best horses we have ever produced out of Bar-A. He is too valuable to be stabled even with the rest in the main stable.”
“So where is he going to end up?”
Hector shrugs, leading the way over to Gemini, reaching up to stroke the horse’s nose; Gemini whickers quietly, nudging Hector’s hand, ears swiveling forward. “We will sell him to a private collector, I think. He is young, only a year and a half. He could be a magnificent racehorse, but I think his value is better as a stud, in a collector’s barn.”
“A collector, meaning someone who just owns expensive horses just to own them?”
Hector bobs his head side to side again. “Eh, not so much that. He will rent him out for stud, most likely—sell his sperm. The offspring of a horse like Gemini is very desirable.”
I make a grossed-out face. “Sell his sperm? That’s nasty.”
Hector just laughs. “Perhaps to you. To us, it is common practice.”
“I don’t even want to know how you go about getting it.” I shudder. “What a weird world.”
He shrugs. “It is our world.” He smiles politely at me, then. “I have much work to do, now.”
I recognize the dismissal for what it is. “Thank you for your time, Hector.”
“Is nothing.”
He takes me back to my car at the Big House, then, and I head back to Auden Town, my mind racing. Hopefully Henry, Eileen, and Theo will able to convince Will, who sounds like a real hard case, to at least listen to me. In the meantime, I have to find this Charlie, and a room.
The saloon is exactly what I’d imagined: low-ceilinged, a bar on the left wall, tables in the middle, a staircase running up the right side to a short balcony with a couple doors for rooms to rent, and a bathroom. The saloon smells of sweat, booze, and history, with an ancient old man tinkering at a piano, hard-eyed local men in cowboy hats bellied up the bar sipping whiskey neat from dirty glasses. All that’s missing is a poker game and a cloud of cigar smoke, and I assume that will happen later in the evening. Charlie is the bartender, and fits the bill—medium height, a little overweight, wearing suspenders, with a towel thrown over his shoulder, and gold-rimmed spectacles. God, this place just sells itself, doesn’t it?
He's pouring salt from a large container into shakers when I arrive at the bar; he glances at me briefly, then away. “Don’t really serve white wine. Beer or whiskey is it, I’m afraid.”
I sigh. “As wonderful as a nice glass of chardonnay sounds, I’m actually in
need of a room for the night.”
He snorts, giving me another once over. “You won’t like it.”
I frown. “I’m afraid I’m inclined to agree, but I’m finding it somewhat necessary. I have business here tomorrow, and I’d rather not make the drive back to Colorado Springs tonight and back tomorrow.”
He nods. “Yeah, I get’cha. Well, I normally just let the locals pass out in there, so I wouldn’t even know what to charge you.” His eyes take in my purse, my suit, my hair, my watch. “A hundred bucks for the night?” He says it hopefully, as if he feels he really reaching.
“Fine.” I arch an eyebrow. “I hate to sound…spoiled, but is it at least clean?”
He laughs. “I’ll check on it. Spruce it up, a bit.” He pours a pint of beer, slides it to me. “On the house. Be right back.” He bustles away, then, heading for the room with a broom and dustpan in hand.
I sip the beer—I normally only drink white wine or champagne, but the beer is cold and refreshing. Fifteen minutes later, Charlie returns.
“Cleaned ’er up for you.” He rolls a shoulder. “It is what it is. No room service, of course, but I’m here fairly early, and my ol’ lady’ll fix you breakfast if you’re inclined. She makes a mean plate of bacon and eggs, and you could float a horseshoe on my coffee.”
I smile faintly. “Thank you, Charlie.”
I head up for the room—there’s only the one, with a bathroom beside it. I check the bathroom first: a toilet under the low-angled eave, a pedestal sink, and a spotted, pitted mirror. Nothing else. Serviceable, for a night. The bedroom is…about the same. A full bed filling most of the space, centered under a high, narrow, filmy window. A chest at the foot of the bed, an old hand-woven rug covering creaky floorboards. Low ceiling, a coating of dust, cobwebs in the corner. The bedding is flannel, and eminently worn. Annie Oakley would feel right at home. Me? Not so much. But, it’s what I have, and it’s only for a night.
I summon my courage, and refuse to wonder what may have occurred in this room, if it’s primarily used to let sauced locals sleep off their booze.
To say I don’t sleep much would be an understatement.
5
Theo calls me at nine the next morning, saying she has an update for me, and for me to meet her at the Big House. I drive over, and find Theo waiting at the bottom of the front steps.
I park my Z4 and approach her with a hopeful smile. “Good morning. So. You have an update for me?”
Theo’s smile in return is not encouraging. “Yeah, unfortunately it’s not good news for you. He doesn’t want to hear it.”
I sigh. “Did he at least seem to understand what we’re proposing?”
She shakes her head. “He’s such a bullheaded bastard.” She makes an oops face. “I shouldn’t say that. But he’s just stubborn.”
“He said no?”
“He didn’t even want to hear it.”
I feel that old familiar steel resolve hardening in my gut. It’s the grim determination that’s gotten me this far. “Can I talk to him myself?”
Theo smirks, an outright expression of amusement. “I’m his sister, and he wouldn’t even hear me out. What makes you think you’ll get any further with him?”
I smile, and I know it’s the barracuda smile that’s made crusty, snooty old men in boardrooms shudder and call me names under their breath. “Because dealing with grouchy, ornery, stubborn old men, set in their ways, who won’t listen to anyone, is my specialty.”
“Yeah, well, there’s those men, and then there’s my brother.” Theo shrugs. “If you are really determined to speak with him yourself, the only way to get to him is to ride out to Alpha camp.”
That sets me back on my heels. “Um.”
Theo holds up her hands. “That’s a rule nobody, and I mean nobody dares break. So, you want to try your hand at talking to Will, be my guest. I’ll have Jared saddle you a horse and I’ll point you in the right direction. I’ll even send someone with you—I can’t go myself, seeing as I’ve got plenty of my own work to do and I’ve spent more time than I rightly had on this business with you.”
I lift my chin, and stiffen my spine. “Fine. I’ll ride.”
She snickers, her eyes raking over my outfit. “In that? In those heels?”
I definitely regret my choice of shoes, but I won’t say that to her. “I walked down sixteen flights of stairs in Hong Kong in these shoes. I chased down a purse thief in these shoes.” I will show no fear. “I can sure as hell ride a horse in these shoes.”
“You sure? I can lend you some boots. We gotta be around the same size—eight and a half?”
I sniff. “I’m a seven, actually, and I think I’ll be okay.”
She shakes her head. “Suit yourself. I think there’s a lady who boards here who’s a seven, though, and I really think you ought to borrow some boots. It’s not about fashion.”
“Everything is about fashion,” I say. “I’ll be fine.”
We get in the ATV again and head to the barn. Hector happens to be standing outside and we drive up beside him. Theo glances at Hector. “Can you have someone saddle Tinkerbell for Brooklyn?”
If I hadn’t been looking right at him, I’d have missed the way his eyebrows shot up briefly. “I think Tinkerbell is maybe—”
She cuts in over him, meaningfully. “The perfect horse for our guest, Hector.”
He nods, his face placid again, and mutters into the walkie-talkie, this time in Spanish. “Okay. You’re the boss, boss.”
Theo grins at me, and heads for the door. “Come on, I’ll show you where to go.”
I follow her out of the barn around the front, across a huge gravel lot, to a fence line running right up to the corner of the huge barn. In the distance, behind the barn, horses graze under the shade of a stand of trees. Theo gestures at another line of fencing leading away from the barn into the distance. “You’re going to follow that fence. Just ride right up alongside of it for, oh, maybe forty-five minutes to an hour.”
I’ve never been on a horse before, and I’m about to ride forty-five minutes to an hour one way?
Am I crazy?
Is it safe?
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
“Why Tinkerbell?” I ask, watching her expression.
She glances at me, her face blank. “Oh, well, Tink is familiar with the route to Alpha and back. She used to be stationed in the stables over at Alpha for a few years, so she knows it. You could drop her reins entirely and she’d take you right there. All you have to do stay in the saddle.”
“Don’t lie to me, Theo.”
She grins. “Oh, I’m not. On my honor as an Auden—Tink will take you right to Alpha Camp.”
“There’s something else. I know it.”
Theo glances past my shoulder, and I see a Hispanic teenager—Hector’s son, judging by the build and facial features—leading a tall, long-legged black horse with white around its ankles and a long blaze on its nose. It’s dancing, it looks like, head twisting this way and that, feet prancing and tail swishing. The boy leading the horse reaches up, pats her nose, and murmurs to her, and she quiets. A little.
“Um. Maybe a, um…calmer horse would be better? I’m not exactly an experienced rider.” I have to grit my teeth to keep myself from backing out of this.
Theo just waves a hand. “She gets prancy sometimes, but once you’re on her back, she’ll calm down.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, watching the horse as she comes to a stop near me, her hind legs still moving around anxiously.
“Absolutely. And, like I said, all you have to do is stay in the saddle—she’ll bring you straight to Alpha, and the boys there will fetch Will for you.”
The boy hands me the reins, and I take them automatically. “She has just eaten some grain,” he says, in a thick Hispanic accent. “She will not try to eat the grass too much, I think.”
“Thank you, Javier,” Theo says. “Did you bring a helmet and a release?”
Javier
nods, points to a helmet hanging by the strap from the horn part of the saddle, and then digs a folded piece of paper from one pocket and a pen from the other, handing them both to Theo. Theo unfolds the paper, scans it, and then places it up against a flat part of the saddle. “Sign this, please.”
I scan it. “What is it?”
“An injury release form. We’re a commercial enterprise, so anyone not employed by Bar-A has to sign a liability waiver. Standard practice.”
I frown. “Do you anticipate me being injured?”
She blows a raspberry. “No! It’s standard practice. If you don’t have a waiver on file, you have to sign one. Everyone we hire signs one as a condition of employment. Protects us from being sued left and right. Horses, even well-trained ones like Tink, are still animals, and things do happen. That being said, Tink will take care of you. She’s a little spirited sometimes, but she’s steady, and she knows the way backward and forward, in the dark, in the snow.”
“A little spirited,” I echo. “That sounds like ranch talk for ‘dangerous.’”
“Hey, you want to talk to Will? You have to go to him. This is the only way to do it. I can’t spare an extra hand to get you out there, so this is the answer.” She hands me the helmet and I clip it on, grousing under my breath about messing up my hair; I catch Theo smirking, having heard my complaints. “Tink knows the way—you don’t. Just stay on her back, and you’ll be fine.”
“Staying on is the issue.”
Theo shrugs. “Gotta start somewhere, I guess, right?” She takes the reins from me, gestures at the stirrup. “Left foot in there, stand up, and swing over.”
I hold on to the horn and the back of the saddle seat, lift my foot into the stirrup. I have to lift my foot very, very high. Hauling myself as hard as I can, I manage to stand up in the stirrup, and then, with a shaky leg, swing over and sit in the saddle.
“Hoooo—oh boy, oh shit. Holy shit, I’m way up here.” My knees shake, my gut trembles. “I don’t like this.”
Theo smooths her hand against Tinkerbell’s neck. “Easy now. Calm down, Brooklyn. Deep breaths. She’s spirited, but well-mannered. She won’t throw you.”
Cowboy in Colorado (Fifty States of Love) Page 6
