Aidan: Loyal Cowboy. Cathy McDavid
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corner of the pen. Ears flat, head stretched forward and nostrils flaring, he stomped a front hoof in the wet, mucky ground, flinging clumps of mud into the air. The customers took the horse’s warning seriously and maintained a respectful distance, some of them scratching notes on the back of their bidding numbers for reference when the auction started.
Normally Ace would pass up a potentially aggressive horse like this one, outstanding bloodlines or not. But the animal’s eyes, alert, inquisitive and highly intelligent, told Ace what he needed to know better than the AQHA registration papers taped to the pen railing.
This was no ordinary horse and no ordinary stallion.
The Midnight Express, or just plain Midnight as he was once known on the rodeo circuit, had been born to buck, his purpose in life to unseat any cowboy with nerve enough to ride him into the arena. Most of those rides had ended with the cowboy eating a face full of dirt.
No more.
If Ace purchased Midnight—make that when, he’d already decided the horse was his—he’d use Midnight exclusively for breeding purposes. Ace wasn’t the kind of business manager or big-animal veterinarian to risk injuring a valuable investment.
“What do you think?” His mother came up beside him, linked an arm through his, then stuck her other hand in the pocket of her sheepskin-lined jacket.
“A little underweight. A little temperamental.”
“But a beauty.”
Indeed. Despite his ragged appearance, Midnight had all the potential Ace and his mother were seeking in a foundation stallion for their bucking horse breeding operation. He mentally calculated the top price they could afford to pay. With luck, the horse’s prickly personality and poor condition would scare off other buyers.
“Howdy, Sarah. Ace.” Earl McKinley, the Harts’ neighbor and competitor in the bucking stock business, approached and fell in beside Ace’s mother.
“Hello, Earl.” She returned the greeting. “I didn’t think you were coming today.”
Neither had Ace. He glanced around, his throat suddenly dry.
Had Flynn accompanied her father to the auction? Told him about her and Ace?
Not likely. If Earl had any idea Ace spent the night with his daughter three weeks ago, he’d have a lot more to say to Ace than “howdy.”
Just when Ace decided Flynn had stayed home, she appeared, casually approaching as if this was just another chance encounter with her neighbors.
“Flynn, good to see you,” Ace’s mother exclaimed.
“Hi, Sarah, how are you?” Flynn acknowledged Ace with a tilt of her head, the epitome of cool, calm and collected.
Not so Ace.
Sweat promptly broke out on his brow—both at the memory of the incredible night they’d spent together and his disgraceful exit the next morning.
What must she think of him?
Her demeanor gave nothing away.
She appeared to be concentrating on the conversation between his mother and her father.
At one time, the Harts and McKinleys had been fierce rivals. That changed to friendly rivals ten years ago when Ace’s father died.
“Rumor has it you might be getting out of the business,” his mother said to Earl.
“I haven’t decided either way. If I can pick up a few head today at a good price, I may end up adding to my string. If not, I’ll probably sell off. It’s been a tough go the last few years, what with this economy.”
“It certainly has.”
“I heard you leased out three thousand acres to a cattle company from Missoula.”
“We did. And sold off most of our cattle. We’re down to three hundred head.”
Earl whistled.
The recent recession and drop in the commodities market was a frequent topic among ranchers. Ace’s mother was counting on the family’s expanded bucking contracting business and reduced cattle operation to stabilize the ranch’s shaky finances.
“I also hear you’re planning to add to your string in a big way,” Earl said.
“We are indeed.” Her face lit up. “That’s what brought us here.”
“You thinking of buying this here fellow?”
All eyes went to the big horse in the pen.
“Considering it,” Ace’s mother answered coyly.
Earl’s bucking string had always been significantly larger than the Harts’ and included a dozen championship bulls and horses. If Earl retired, that would certainly benefit the Harts and their plans.
From the glimmer of interest in Earl’s eyes, he also saw and appreciated Midnight’s potential.
Ace momentarily tensed. The old rivalry might just heat up again.
“I didn’t know you were wanting a stud horse,” he said.
“I like to keep all my options open.” Earl’s smile remained fixed, much like his daughter’s.
She stood across from Ace, looking everywhere else but at him.
Well, he deserved her disdain. He’d messed up pretty bad.
That didn’t stop him from missing her and wishing things were different.
“Shame about old Wally,” his mother mused. Like most of the rodeo folk at the auction, she’d been acquainted with the late owner of the stock up for sale today. “He was a good man and will be missed.”
“His kin must be in a hurry for their share of his money.” Earl lifted his foot and examined the muddy water pouring off his galoshes, then stepped sideways to a spot that was only marginally less wet. “Couldn’t they have postponed the sale six weeks till the weather improves?”
“They may have debts to pay off. Wally was sick a long time before he passed.”
“More likely they didn’t want to compete with the Miles City Bucking Horse Sale in May. Those kids of his never gave a flying fig about taking over his string even before he died. A shame, too.” Earl shook his head. “He had some quality stock. Whoever those kids hired to care for these horses should be arrested.”
“True.” Ace’s mother’s gaze went from Midnight to the other horses on the next aisle over. “Some of them are faring rather badly, I’m afraid.”
Earl made a sound of disgust. “I betcha this here horse couldn’t buck off a ten-year-old boy.”
Ace wouldn’t take that bet. Midnight and the rest of Wally’s string may have received less than adequate care in the two years since the old man fell ill, but Midnight possessed the heart of a champion and the spirit of a warrior.
He also had impeccable genes.
Earl knew it, too. He intentionally downplayed his interest in purchasing Midnight by finding fault with him and the other horses. Ace’s mother employed the same tactics with Earl. They’d been doing it for years, with Earl usually coming out ahead.
“You ready, sweetie?” Earl asked Flynn.
“Let’s go.”
“I’ll be seeing you later when the auction starts.” Earl tipped his hat at Ace’s mother, then he and Flynn leapfrogged over wet patches to the double row of pens holding the geldings and mares.
The challenge had been officially issued.
“He’s going to bid against us for Midnight,” Ace’s mother observed.
“He won’t be the only one.”
Ace watched Flynn go,