He would have cut that cow by himself if someone who knew what he was doing had been on his back.”
Wes followed her gaze. The horse had been caught. Its head was down, sides heaving, tail swishing as it passed by its still-prone rider.
“I think he might have been hurt,” Natalie observed.
No less than he deserved, but Wes kept the thought to himself. There was no excuse for leaving marks on a horse. If it misbehaved or behaved like a bronc, half the time the spurs had caused the problem, that or a bad-fitting saddle. Men like the guy in the arena—a man who would be okay, judging by the way he waved people away and slowly came to his feet—shouldn’t be allowed to ride horses. They were bullies, pure and simple.
“What makes you think that horse doesn’t have some serious mental issues?”
But he didn’t need to wait for her answer, and he almost shook his head.
“I just know,” she said.
His gaze shot to her own. She had a way of looking at him. A challenge shone from her eyes, but there was also a plea, one that begged him to trust her.
Son of a—
“All right.” He couldn’t keep himself from shaking his head this time, though. “I’ll take a look. But you know he’s going to be sifted. I won’t be able to buy him at the auction. It’d have to be a private treaty sale.”
“All the better. After what just happened, they’ll all but give him away. You could probably buy him out behind the barn right now.”
“For good reason.”
She placed a hand on his thigh. His gaze quickly moved to where her fingers rested, Wes wanting to move his leg out of the way, stopping himself just in time, wondering why he minded her touch so much.
“Just give him a shot.”
Her hand, those eyes... He had to look away. “Okay, fine.”
But he got up before he changed his mind. No, before he convinced himself he should give something else a try...like touching her back, maybe even kissing the woman with the kind green eyes.
She didn’t have a hard time finding the owner of the sorrel. All she had to do was go out behind the barns, where, just as she expected, the man had the gelding at the end of a lead rope, lunge whip in his hand.
“Don’t you dare hit him!”
The jerk masquerading as a cowboy flew around to face her. She wanted to run forward and grab the whip from his hand.
It’s okay, she told the horse.
The animal stood there, head thrown up in terror, nostrils flaring, feet braced as if waiting for the next blow...which he was.
“Get the hell out of here.”
“I want to buy that horse.” The declaration had popped out of her mouth before she could stop them. If Wes wouldn’t get this horse away from his owner, she would, although she had no idea how she’d afford the purchase price, much less the cost to transport him home.
The cowboy tugged the brim of his hat down low, eyes as dark as the irises of a snake’s. He’d taken off his half chaps, but he still wore his jeans and white button-down, although that shirt was stained by arena mud. He had body-builder shoulders and with his black beard and dark eyes he reminded her of Bluto, a cartoon bully from a decades-old television show.
“You can’t buy him.” The man’s hand lowered. The tip of the long whip touched the ground. “He’s been booted from the sale.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t buy him.” Sensing the man’s obstinacy, she quickly added, “But if you don’t want to sell him today, that’s okay.”
She forced herself to turn away, told her feet to take steps even though every fiber of her being cried out to stand her ground. That horse...that poor horse. She had to save him.
“How much you willing to pay?” the cowboy called out.
“I want to try him first.”
Jillian’s whole body reacted to the words, an involuntary jolt that had her whirling around to face Wes. She hadn’t even seen him follow her, but there he stood, with Cowboy sitting at his feet, panting, tongue out—as if they’d both run to catch up to her.
“Who are you?” Bluto asked.
Wes’s gaze found her own. She smiled, so happy to see him she wanted to run over and hug him.
“I’m Wes Landon, not that it matters. The point is I want to buy your horse.”
They both turned to face the man who still held the reins of the horse. The poor animal hadn’t relaxed one iota. His sorrel coat had started to darken from sweat.
You have to buy him.
She realized she’d looked up and spoken to Wes with her eyes. She’d felt him staring at her. Strangely, though, he seemed to understand.
“Let me get on him.” But he spoke to her, not the man.
“Did you see what happened in there?” Bluto asked.
“I sure did.”
“And you still want to try him?”
“The sooner, the better.”
A breath she hadn’t even known she’d been holding breezed past her lips. She had no need for a cutting horse, but she’d have taken this one home even if it’d meant riding him back and begging people for a second job.
“There’s no cattle to work him on,” the man said.
“That’s okay. I can work him without a cow. I mainly want to see if I can stay on.”
“Yeah, good luck with that.”
Wes headed toward the horse, but he leaned toward her and said, “It’s funny how you warn me away from one horse, yet insist I ride an animal that just bucked a man off.”
“It’s not the horse’s fault.”
The man turned back to the horse when they reached him, but the reaction of the sorrel was immediate, scooting backward so fast he almost jerked the reins from the man’s hands.”
“Knock it off, you son of a—”
“Here.” Wes jumped forward and slipped between man and horse. “Let me take those.” He didn’t wait for the owner to respond, just took the two reins and blocked the man from approaching the gelding. “What’s his name?”
With a glance in her direction, one that conveyed the ominous portent of a thundercloud, Bluto said, “Dudley.”
Jillian stepped forward. “His registered name is Dudley Dual Right.”
She loved the name. Honestly, she’d spotted it in the program and known she’d had to see him. Sometimes that happened, too...a feeling. She’d had one about this young colt.
Hopefully he won’t break Wes’s neck.
“Hey there, bud,” she heard Wes say softly, so softly the horse’s ears flicked forward and back as if straining to listen. “It’s okay, son. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Son of a bitch deserved to be whipped.”
And maybe we should beat the crud out of you for being such a poor rider.
The words were on the tip of Jillian’s tongue, but she didn’t dare say them out loud, not when she wanted so badly to buy the horse. That was her plan. If Wes didn’t take the gelding, she would. Natalie would help her purchase him and know what to do with him.