hardly seemed impressive. No flashy white on his face. No tiny dish head. No thick neck and round butt. He seemed as plain as a brown paper package. He glanced at the catalog. The horse’s name was Playboy Gunslinger.
Each horse had been given ninety seconds to work each pen. The dark bay obviously had a good head on his shoulders, because he didn’t spook at any of the obstacles. He cleared the log poles without a second glance, walked obediently around pylons and didn’t so much as flinch at the bag of cans.
“Well, if I ever need to go on a trail ride, I won’t have to worry about breaking my neck.”
Wes had to agree. He liked the look in the animal’s eyes, too. Even though they were high in the grandstand, he could tell the horse seemed calm and cool, as if nothing would faze him.
A horn sounded again. He sat up a little straighter.
“He’s going to be great,” he heard Jillian say.
Wes almost leaned forward and asked if she’d spoken to the horse personally. For some reason the thought amused him. Nobody could talk to animals, but wouldn’t it be interesting if they could.
Once the gelding stepped into the middle ring, Wes knew they were in for a show. The rider stopped the gelding dead center, dropped the reins and waited for his horse to settle. Even so, Wes could see that the horse waited to be told to go. Like a rock in a slingshot, he wanted to shoot off. Sure enough, the moment the rider tapped the horse with a spur, the animal spun around his hind end so fast that his black mane seemed like streamers of liquid onyx. So fast that the animal appeared to sink low to the ground. So fast that his tail became wound up in his legs.
The audience roared.
“Impressive,” Jillian said.
The rider stopped. Wes wondered if the tall, lanky cowboy on board the animal’s back was dizzy. He sure would be. After a moment or two, he set off at a lope that was both beautiful to watch and clearly comfortable to ride. The horse’s head was low, not too much but enough that Wes knew the animal respected the bit. He was in a snaffle, too, not one of those long-shanked implements of torture known as a spade bit. He watched as the horse changed directions, switched the leg he was leading with as effortlessly as a world-champion horse and continued on with his figure eight.
“I think I need to buy this horse,” Natalie said.
“I think you’ll be bidding against a lot of other people.”
As if hearing him, the crowd erupted, this time at yet another flawless lead change. When the rider headed to the rail and began to pick up speed, everyone knew what came next. Wes held his breath as the animal headed toward the opposite end of the arena at a full-out run. If he’d blinked, he would have missed the cue the rider gave for the gelding to stop, which he did instantly, the horse seeming to sit down, back legs leaving twin skid marks in the dirt.
“Wow.”
It was Jillian who’d spoken but the word was echoed by dozens around him.
“What is a horse like that doing at an auction like this?” Wes asked.
“That’s a good question.” Natalie shot him a glance. “I would expect him to be a futurity horse. He should be out earning money.”
“He was raised on a cattle ranch,” Jillian said. “The kid riding him is the owner’s son. He learned about reining horses by watching YouTube videos.”
Wes’s mouth had dropped open. “He learned all that from a video?”
Jillian leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “Yup. And by studying the rulebook.”
He clamped down on his lips just in time to stop a laugh. Unbelievable.
Whoever the kid was, he had a brilliant career ahead of him as a trainer. The gelding worked the rest of the pattern beautifully. When it came time to switch arenas, Wes expected to be disappointed with the way the animal handled cattle. He wasn’t. He was half tempted to make a bid on the animal himself, except he strongly suspected the horse would sell for more money than he could afford.
“I hope jumping horses pays well.”
Natalie didn’t hesitate. “It does.”
Of course it did. As with horse racing, the people involved had money, and lots of it. The purses for jumping competitions were pretty big, too. He’d heard Natalie had won a big grand prix not too long ago. It made sense that she had the means to afford a nice horse. Yeah, his buddy Colton Reynolds needed to meet her. He’d probably appreciate meeting someone who wasn’t a buckle bunny.
“You’re not even watching the horse I picked out for you.”
Huh? He turned toward the first arena and sure enough, there was the sorrel gelding with the four white socks. He looked tiny beneath the man who rode him, a big hulk of a cowboy with a bushy beard and black half chaps and spurs. Wes disliked him on sight.
You have to buy him.
Jillian’s words reminded him that they did have something in common. They both hated animal abuse. He’d like to rake the man in the sides with his own spurs.
The little gelding barely glanced at the poles in the arena. He seemed unfazed by the bright orange pylons, too, and the audience watching him so intently. Jillian shot him a “See? I told you so” look. When the whistle sounded a little while later, he was curious to see how it would go. Like the man before him, the gelding’s rider paused in the middle of the center arena. He no doubt planned to wow the crowd just as the last cowboy had done, only when he tapped the horse with his spur, the gelding erupted, and not in a good way.
The crowd gasped. Wes came half out of his seat as the demure sorrel gelding turned into the best-looking bronc he’d ever seen. One jump, two, three—the cowboy came off. Wes wouldn’t have been human if he hadn’t found himself amused. The man had it coming with the ice picks he used for spurs.
“Bad horsey.” He could hear the laughter in Natalie’s voice. He shot her a look that conveyed he agreed.
The horse had begun to run around. Much to his credit, the gelding in the cutting arena—the big bay Natalie wanted to buy—hardly spared the little bronc a glance. His owner did, however, stopping the horse as officials ran for the man who lay in the arena. The cow the bay horse had been working ran up the rail nearest to the riderless horse, and Wes couldn’t believe what happened next. The sorrel horse pinned its ears, snaked his head and tried to bite the little steer through the pipe-panel fence. Not only that, but he followed it along the rail. The cow, terrified, turned back in the other direction. So did the gelding. Back and forth the two of them worked, more than a few audience members laughing as the little animal doggedly stalked the calf.
“Too bad he’ll be sifted,” Natalie said.
He would, Wes agreed. Any animal caught misbehaving would be sent home. It was part of why the sale remained popular. You had a better-than-average chance of buying a good animal when all was said and done.
“I can’t really blame the horse for bucking him off,” he admitted.
“What do you mean?” Jillian’s friend asked.
“That’s the horse I was telling you about earlier,” Jillian said. “The one with the spur marks on his sides.”
Someone managed to intercept the animal on the rail, stopping the fun the gelding had been having with the steer. A few people in the crowd groaned. Wes wasn’t the only one who’d been impressed by the gelding’s natural ability.
“You’re going to buy him.”
The statement came from Jillian, and Wes couldn’t believe his ears. “Excuse me?”
Jillian stood up, motioning to Natalie that they should change places. His dog’s tail thumped when he spotted his favorite human.
Traitor, he silently told the dog.
“He’s