Take the Reins
Megan Squires
Copyright © 2020 by Megan Squires
Cover design by Megan Squires
Cover photography by Wander Aguilar
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For Brad.
Contents
1. Seth
2. Josie
3. Seth
4. Josie
5. Seth
6. Josie
7. Seth
8. Josie
9. Seth
10. Josie
11. Seth
12. Josie
13. Seth
14. Josie
15. Seth
16. Josie
17. Seth
18. Josie
19. Seth
20. Josie
21. Seth
22. Josie
23. Seth
24. Josie
25. Seth
26. Josie
Epilogue
The End
About the Author
1
Seth
“I gotta warn you, buddy, some of them are real worse for wear.”
Seth Ford squinted into the bleak field, a hand lifted to his brow even though the generous brim of his Stetson did its best to shield the sun. Too bad it couldn’t knock off a few degrees from the sweltering fall weather. It was hot for this late in the year, even by Northern California’s standards. He hadn’t been prepared for the gallon of sweat that had already soaked his flannel and sapped his energy like an old, drained battery.
“Can’t be worse than the herd you seized from the Hanford place back in the spring,” Seth said to Sheriff Barry Paulson as he lifted his hat to mop his face with the bandana permanently stowed in his back pocket. His statement had the tone of a challenge. He couldn’t fathom a horse looking any shoddier than the ones apprehended from that particularly neglected string. Ribs poked out through sunburned hides like the ridges on a washboard and hooves had gone so long without trims that the idea they could support a full-grown horse seemed like pure fiction.
“Oh, it’s worse, cousin,” the sheriff said with a wary swivel of his head. “Much worse. I’m not trying to be an alarmist, but you should prepare yourself. And I hope Bridgette is also prepared for this group. She’s going to have her work cut out for her. I think some of these horses have never even known human touch. They’re downright feral.”
Of all the favors his cousin called in, this was the sort Seth dreaded. But he understood it. He had a twenty-eight-foot stock trailer at the ready that he drove like an expert trucker, a good horse who knew how to round up anything with legs, and a soft spot for animals who got the short end of the stick when it came to responsible owners. He blamed that sensitivity on his ex, Bridgette, who ran The Least of These Animal Sanctuary, the only sort of rescue within a hundred-mile radius of Riverburn.
“How do you want to do this?” Seth propped an elbow on the round fence post and scanned the property. Apparently, horses weren’t all that had been put out to pasture. The doublewide settled a dozen feet from the pock-marked road looked as though it had been dumped decades ago and never inhabited. The mountain of fresh trash shoved up against the siding was the only real indicator that some living, breathing thing resided within the dilapidated structure. It was a wasteland, and his cousin’s warning to anticipate the worst took firm root as Seth looked around.
“I’ve got Cutter and Riggs on their way as we speak. I figure the three of you should be able to funnel the herd along that east fence line and into the trailer with relatively little trouble. We’ve already set up a bunch of cattle panels to help guide them, and I’ve got my guys in place to assist wherever they can.”
That was welcome news. Grady Cutter and Riggs Montgomery were the best riders in the area, with horses that had been exposed to all sorts of stimuli. Arena lights. Thundering cheers. Rank bulls and crazy bucking broncos. They would keep their cool in any scenario thrown their way. That was the sort Seth wanted on his team when dealing with these kinds of uncertain scenarios.
“I’ll unload Scout and meet you in five.”
At the mention of his name, Seth’s buckskin gelding sputtered a nicker of delight from within the trailer, like a child squealing at the promise of adventure. That horse sure loved having a job to do, always eager to be put to work no matter the day or hour. He was the best cow horse Seth had ever come by, and as a fourth-generation cattle rancher, Seth had owned his share of decent horses.
As promised, Cutter and Riggs arrived minutes later and the three mounted men circled up around Sheriff Paulson as he filled them in on the plan of action for the seizure.
“I already gave Seth a heads up, but these horses are in bad shape. Underfed and under-handled, so I’m not exactly sure what we should expect in terms of cooperation. The safety of you and your horses is our biggest concern, so if at any time you feel like you’re in danger, let us know and we’ll regroup.”
Spurring his horse forward, Riggs let out a dry laugh. “Cutter and I know a little something about expecting the unexpected. Don’t worry about us, Sheriff. We’ll be fine.”
Barry nodded in understanding. “There are five horses total. Two mares, a stallion, and two colts. The stallion’s likely to give us the biggest run for our money, but I believe the mares might go a little mama bear on us.”
“I’ve got a mother-in-law,” Riggs quipped, nudging his head to his partner. “Not much scares me.”
Seth dropped his chin and chuckled, grateful for the levity Riggs offered. Seth figured his cousin had built up the situation in an effort to prepare the men, but life as a cowboy had afforded him ample opportunity for that desensitization. He’d stumbled into many precarious situations out on the ranch involving hormone-incensed bulls and gored or fence-caught cattle. He’d even been involved in a riding accident or two that left more than just a nasty scar in its wake. The metal plate in his collarbone and hitch in his step were nagging reminders that things could go sideways quickly. But even that reality didn’t scare him. It just prepared him.
Still, even with that preparedness, once they eventually rode out and Seth caught sight of the five horses grouped near a barn that looked about as sturdy as a toothpick model, he couldn’t stave off the dryness that tightened his throat. The small herd huddled as one bony mass, mere skeletons with weather-beaten skin and saggy, dead eyes. Whatever fight his cousin had warned them to expect had left those horses long, long ago. They’d given up just about everything but breath, and even that came out in staggered, labored pants.
Riggs muttered a low curse.
“My thoughts exactly,” Seth said, biting back the string of similar words that wanted to fly out like a round of bullets.
How someone could neglect an animal to the point of impending death was beyond him. It almost made him wish for the punching bag his mother had made him get rid of back in his high school days. He craved some sort of release for the sudden anger that welled up within him.
“Letting go of your frustrations through your heart is much more productive than through your fists,” she’d said to him, almost as a mantra.
Seth had never grasped the meaning of that until he’d started dating Bridgette a couple years back. It was then that he realized stewing over someone else’s mistakes was just about the least productive thing to do. The animals that came through her sanctuary didn’t need someone to be angry about their si
tuation. They just needed someone to love them back to health.
Kicking Scout’s flank into gear, Seth spun around and sidled up to the herd from the left, Cutter and Riggs fanning out to cut off any would-be escapees. But that strategy proved unnecessary as the horses cooperatively moseyed through the makeshift tunnel toward Seth’s waiting trailer with not so much as a whinny of defiance. Sure, fear flashed through their sunken eyes, quick and sharp like lightning. But it didn’t keep them from moving up and away from the pressure Seth and the others placed as they trotted closer. Within a span of ten minutes, all five rescues were clustered at the trailer door. Getting them into that metal box was a bigger hurdle, but once the stallion made up his mind that the trailer was a safer option than the desolate and decrepit ranch behind him, the others followed suit and scampered into the rig.
Slamming the partition into place, Seth loaded and tied Scout in the far back, giving the nervous horses ample room to settle in. He dug in his pocket for his cell phone and swiped it open, then punched a quick text to Bridgette to let her know he was on his way with her newest residents. So far, so good.
When he slowed up to the sanctuary less than a half hour later, he composed another text. His first one had gone unanswered, which wasn’t unusual given Bridgette’s entire operation was volunteer run and she was the “Head Mare in Charge.”
Seth was about to place his phone onto the console of his truck when it buzzed in his palm with a message that she would meet him out on the street in a minute. He unclicked the strap of his seatbelt and had his hand on the door handle when his ex appeared at his driver’s side window, out of breath and wearing a grimace that flipped her entire mouth upside-down.
“I can’t take them, Seth,” she said in a tone that was the same as a period at the end of a sentence. “I’ve got the vet here and a horse who was just diagnosed with strangles. We’re under complete quarantine.”
Well, if that wasn’t a sucker punch to the high he’d been riding after the morning’s successful roundup. “What am I going to do with five scared and starved horses?”
“You’ll have to take them to your ranch. You’ve got the old milking barn you can put them up in for now. It’ll do. I’ll be by later in the week with Dr. Cranford to check them out, but for today, that’s the best I can offer.”
It didn’t feel like much of an offer at all, but Seth knew Bridgette was doing the best she could with what she had. His day set aside for rotating his herd to a new pasture had been completely shot, but that had little to do with Bridgette’s current situation. Nonetheless, there was an inevitable interconnectedness. And this news just flipped his whole plan on its head.
“Give Jo Friar a call.” Bridgette slipped a business card through the rolled down window before backing away. “If the horses are as bad as you say they are, you’ll eventually need a shoer who knows how to handle them. This one is the best.”
2
Josie
There was a very real possibility Josie Friar’s truck was still moving, even with her no longer at the helm. She tore out of the driver’s seat in a surge of panic, hoping she’d put the truck in park out of habit. She didn’t even bother to look over her shoulder to confirm that the vehicle wasn’t, in fact, gliding down the country road on its own accord. Honestly, the truck could crash, for all she cared. Everything else around her already had.
“Foreclosure?” With another swing of his hammer, the stranger nailed the sign into place. It felt like a backhand across Josie’s future and she couldn’t help but wince as metal struck metal. “There’s gotta be a mistake.”
“Yep,” the older man spoke around a long nail bit between his front teeth. He huffed a laugh that sounded like it was full of gravel. “A big mistake. As in, the owners forgot to pay their mortgage.”
Josie shook her head. She knew Marcie and Marty had fallen on tough times. They all had. Everyone felt the unavoidable strains of a struggling economy. But the Stephens’ farm had been a generational asset. She’d assumed it had been paid off long before it was ever placed in Marcie and Marty’s name.
Apparently she’d been wrong.
“Where are they going to go?” Josie mused under her breath, unaware her thoughts had formed audible words.
“The owners? I’m sure they’ve already figured that out. It’s not like they didn’t know this was coming.” Like he hadn’t just delivered news that did a complete one-eighty on the trajectory of Josie’s life, he added, “Have a good day,” before slipping into his silver hatchback and speeding down the two lane road.
Josie watched the rooster tail of dust spray from his tires and felt a growing tightness weave through her ribcage. With a balled up fist, she thrust firmly against her chest, releasing a choked cough. Her eyes burned like they hadn’t been shut in days. Stinging and dry, she fought the tears that begged to moisten them.
She was not going to cry about this. That wasn’t her style.
But seriously, what next?
First the broken arm. Then the loss of half her clientele due to said arm break. And now here she was, for all intents and purposes, effectively homeless.
Sure, she still had her trailer, but the land it rested on had been pulled out from under her like a tablecloth magic trick gone wrong.
Ballooning her cheeks with a massive inhale, she sputtered a breath that lifted the sweat-laden hair from her face. Then she let out a strangled grunt of pure frustration that sounded almost animalistic. This was just her luck.
At least the truck was still in place and hadn’t barreled down the road without her. She’d have to dig deep for silver-linings today. She walked back to it and once inside, slammed the driver’s side door, then yanked her seatbelt across her lap with more force than usual. She didn’t know who to be angry with, but at the moment, an inanimate object was probably her safest option. If Marcie or Marty had been there to greet her upon her arrival, she wasn’t so sure she’d be able to keep her cool.
“This is not the end of the world,” Josie murmured to herself as she drove onto the property. Her truck bounced and jostled with the changing landscape beneath it. With her good hand, she gripped the wheel and spun it around to angle down the dirt toward her fifth wheel. “Things will be okay.”
The lies didn’t suddenly ring true once she spoke them out loud, but she had to try.
Even though her home was on wheels, she’d created a solid foundation for her life during her year-long stay on the ranch. She cherished each morning spent plunked down in her folding chair, mug of coffee in hand as she watched the sun crest over the foothills. The clinking of her homemade cowbell and horseshoe wind chime was a fitting musical score for this stretch of land and this phase in her life. Sure, the trio of half-alive potted plants at her door didn’t have a proper porch to rest upon, but luxuries like that never mattered to Josie. What mattered was that this small, rented map dot was a place to call her own.
Well, it was her place until about ten minutes ago.
This time she intentionally switched the truck into park and just as she was about to hop down from the vehicle, her phone buzzed in the front pocket of her canvas jacket. Wrestling it out, she glanced down at the screen and the unfamiliar number.
Looking for a farrier. Was referred to you, was all the message entailed.
Short and to the point, which was just fine with Josie. With equal brevity, she typed her reply.
Broken arm. Not shoeing at the moment. Sorry.
That should button things up, she figured. She slid the phone into the back pocket of her jeans and took the straps of her reusable grocery bag into her grip. With her hip, she bumped the truck door closed and paced toward her trailer. Gravel crunched below the tread of her work boots, and, like the ringing of Pavlov’s bell, her calico cat, Cowboy, came charging out from underneath a wheel well at the sound. Weaving perfect figure eights, he did his level best to trip Josie up.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t forget your turkey,” she assured.
Li
ke he didn’t fully trust her, Cowboy leapt onto the Formica counter once inside the trailer and eyed Josie intently as she pulled a plastic baggy filled with thinly sliced deli meat out from the cluster of groceries. The cat’s low motor began to rev a purr of approval.
Tearing off a little piece, Josie extended her hand for Cowboy to nibble from. “Silly cat,” she said with a smirk. “Do you think you could be a little more high maintenance?”
A raspy meow served as Josie’s answer.
She had wanted a dog. Some animal that could nap in the truck when Josie was out shoeing horses or taking ranch calls. When she had ventured down to the humane society, she’d originally hoped to adopt a blue heeler puppy that had been heavily advertised on the county’s website. Apparently, a young family of four also had the same idea. But Josie couldn’t stomach the thought of leaving that shelter empty handed. There were too many animals, not enough cages, and even less willing adopters.
No two ways about it, though, Cowboy was nasty. The Band-Aid the young volunteer sported on his left forearm was a testament to that cat’s ornery attitude. Like a sign in a warehouse that boasted accident-free days, there was a running tally on Cowboy’s cage indicating the number of times he’d hissed at, scratched, or intimidated volunteers and potential owners. By the time Josie met him, that total was a whopping 204.
“You’re the only person this devil cat hasn’t tried to attack,’’ the volunteer had sneered, noticeably done with Cowboy’s antics. “Believe me, that’s a huge compliment.”
Take the Reins (A Cowboy's Promise Book 2) Page 1
