Last Chance Cowboy. Cathy Mcdavid

your farrier could have a look at Avaro’s right front hoof?” Sage asked. “Her shoe’s a little loose, and I don’t want any problems when we head out into the mountains.”

      “That’s my brother, Ethan. As a rule, he only works on our horses, but I’m sure I could ask him to make an exception.”

      “If there’s a local farrier—”

      “It’s all right. Our regular guy’s usually booked several days out. We may not be able to get him here until after the weekend, and I know you don’t want to wait that long.”

      “No, I don’t,” she agreed.

      Gavin didn’t explain the reasons his brother only shoed their own horses. Farrier work was physically demanding and hard on Ethan’s prosthetic leg.

      Fixing a single loose shoe, however, wasn’t nearly as strenuous. And like Sage, Gavin didn’t want to postpone capturing the wild mustang any longer than necessary. Business tended to slow down during the holidays. He wanted his stud and breeding operation well underway before then.

      “You have a great setup,” Sage said appreciatively.

      “Thanks.”

      “How long has the ranch been here?”

      At one time telling the history of his family’s ranch had been a source of pride. No more. Not after the past ten years. But because she was being friendly, he answered her question.

      “My great-grandfather Abe Powell built the original house and stables after he moved here from Texas. According to my grandfather, he was evading the law.”

      “Is it true?”

      “I don’t know. But it makes for a good story.”

      “When was that?”

      “Right before the turn of the century. Last century. The house wasn’t much more than a shack. The stable consisted of six standing stalls and one box stall.”

      “You’ve added on since then.” She smiled.

      It was, Gavin observed, a nice smile. Open and honest.

      “For thirty years, we had the only cattle operation in the area. Before he died, my great-grandfather was able to build the villa, the barn, the bunkhouse and expand the stables. We have thirty-two box stalls now. No standing stalls. And six pens out back along with three connecting two-acre pastures.”

      Gavin stopped at an empty stall not far from where his brother worked on a large gelding. He unlatched the stall door, and Sage led her mare inside.

      “My office will reimburse you the cost of boarding Avaro.”

      “I’ll draw up an invoice.” He would have liked to tell her not to worry about it. But with six empty stalls, they could use the extra income.

      They stood with forearms resting on the stall wall, watching Avaro acquaint herself with her new accommodations.

      “With that much cattle, your family must own quite a bit of land.”

      “We used to. Six hundred acres. All of Mustang Valley, which is now Mustang Village.”

      “Wow!”

      He swore he could see the wheels in her head spinning as she mentally calculated the huge chunk of change they must have received when they sold the land.

      What she didn’t know was that every dime had been spent on his mother’s heart transplant and medical care. So much money. Sadly, it had bought her only another few months of life before her body rejected the replacement heart, and she died of severe infection. Even if there had been money for a second transplant, the doctors weren’t able to save her.

      “We kept about thirty acres.”

      “I’m surprised you didn’t move,” Sage said.

      “Powell Ranch is my home. My family’s lived here for four generations.” He went to bed every night praying there would be a fifth. “And while most of the land is developed, the ranch is still the heart of this valley.”

      She looked at him. Really looked at him. Intently. As if she was trying to read what lay hidden beneath the surface.

      Gavin turned away. He didn’t want Sage, or anyone for that matter, seeing how deeply affected he was by his loss.

      WITH AVARO SETTLED AND snacking hungrily on some grain, Gavin took Sage over to meet his brother. Two of the ranch’s several dogs lay curled together by the tack room door, their heads resting on their paws and their wagging tails stirring up small dust clouds in the dirt.

      Ethan slowly straightened, letting go of the gelding’s hoof he’d had braced between his knees. “Hi, again.” Setting his rasp on top of his toolbox, he removed his gloves and stuffed them in the waistband of his chaps.

      “Ethan, this is Sage Navarre,” Gavin said. “She’s with the BLM.”

      “Really?” He wiped the back of his hand across his brow, which had risen in surprise. “Is this about the mustang?”

      “Yes.”

      Ethan’s glance cut to Gavin.

      “Sage is here to capture the mustang, and we’re going to help her.”

      “We are?”

      “She says the BLM will allow me to purchase him and bypass the usual adoption process.”

      “That’s great.” Ethan’s features relaxed into a grin. “Glad to hear it.”

      “Her mare has a loose shoe. Any chance you can check it out when you’re done with Baldy here?”

      “Happy to.” Ethan stepped forward, his leg wobbling for a second before he steadied it.

      “No rush,” Gavin said.

      Ethan responded to the concern in Gavin’s voice. “I’ll handle it.” To Sage, he said, “How long you staying?”

      They chatted amicably for a few minutes. Well, Sage and Ethan chatted amicably. Gavin mostly listened. And observed. While he’d struck a deal with Sage, he wasn’t a hundred percent sure of her. Then again, to be honest, he was betting his future stud and breeding operation on his new partner, a man he didn’t know a whole lot better than her.

      Gavin wished he weren’t so desperate. Normally, he proceeded far more cautiously.

      “You ready to park your trailer?” he asked during a break in the conversation.

      After a word of advice about Avaro’s tendency to nip, Sage followed Gavin.

      Outside the stables, she paused. “Which way?”

      “I’ll ride with you. It’ll be easier than trying to give you directions.”

      The inside of her truck was messy. Crayons, coloring books, dolls, a stuffed cat and a collection of tiny farm animals occupied the passenger seat. A notebook, travel log, empty paper cup, a CD case and a partially folded map filled the middle. Unidentifiable trash littered the floor.

      “Sorry about the mess,” Sage said, sweeping her daughter’s toys into the pile of her things. “Isa gets bored on road trips. I’m sure you understand.”

      “Not really.”

      Her apologetic smile fell.

      Ignoring the well-deserved stab of guilt, Gavin climbed into the passenger seat, his feet inadvertently kicking the trash. He’d already told Sage more about his family than he intended. Cassie was off-limits.

      “That way,” he said, and pointed, acutely aware of the tension his remark had created.

      Sage said nothing, leaving Gavin to stew silently. How could he explain to Sage, a virtual stranger, that he’d only seen his daughter a few times while she was growing up? That money for plane trips to Connecticut was hard