Her Kind Of Cowboy. Pat Warren

from this distance, but, even if they were the same, all manner of people had blue eyes.

      Bending over, she brushed her hair vigorously, as if she could brush away the errant thoughts. Foolish mind, conjuring up images of a man who’d pretended to care, then left her with a mere moment’s notice. That had been Jesse Hunter, not Jesse Calder. She would have to keep that in mind. She would make an effort not to prejudge and to give him a chance to help Remus.

      As she heard four little feet scampering up the steps amidst giggles, she straightened and smiled. Bath time, she thought as she left her room to meet the girls.

      Casey stood near the round pen, but back a ways so as not to distract Remus. It was seven in the morning and Jesse Calder had released the stallion from the barn half an hour ago. He’d moved inside, closed the gate and stood there quietly, not moving, a light cotton line coiled and hanging from one shoulder.

      Casey waited, gazing from Remus to Calder and back, wondering when the man was going to do something. But he just stood there while the horse snuffled and snorted, first pawing the ground, then trotting around the pen nervously. Finally, Remus stopped near the center of the circle and made eye contact with the man standing so silently, each taking the other’s measure, it seemed.

      Behind him, Casey heard quiet footsteps and glanced back to see Vern Martin arrive and stop alongside him. The two men studied both stallion and trainer for long minutes until Vern spoke.

      “What’s he doing?” he whispered, not wanting to spook the horse.

      “Damned if I know,” Casey answered softly. “He’s been standing there thirty minutes or more, staring him down. At this rate, he’ll be here till Christmas.”

      “You’re the one said this Calder fellow could work miracles,” Vern reminded him.

      “That’s what I heard, from more than one rancher. But like they said, you got to be patient and let him do it his way.”

      A tall man with silver-blond hair thinning on top and a nervous twitch beneath his sharp blue eyes, Vern was not a patient man. He watched for another few minutes, then shook his head. “Well, I can’t stand here all day. I’ve got work to do.”

      “Yeah, me, too.” But Casey was obviously reluctant to leave.

      “I’ll meet Calder later,” the rancher said. He clapped his manager on the shoulder. “Let me know if anything happens.” Settling his white Stetson on his head, he walked away.

      Casey’s curiosity kept him rooted to the spot. Another ten minutes and he saw Jesse walk slowly forward until he was in the center, the stallion backing farther away with each step. Then Jesse did an odd thing. He turned his back on the horse and just stood there as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Casey watched him take in several deep breaths as if to relax himself.

      “Braver man than me,” Casey whispered to himself, having seen Remus thrash about in his stall when anyone came too close, those strong legs like lethal weapons.

      Clearly, Remus didn’t know what to make of this newcomer who seemed unafraid. He resumed circling the pen, round and round, over and over. Still, Jesse didn’t move.

      Suddenly, the stallion stopped about ten feet behind the man, his ears sharply forward, showing his interest. Slowly, he moved toward Jesse as Casey held his breath. Closer, closer. Near enough that Jesse had to feel the stallion’s warm breath on his neck. Then the horse stopped. After a few moments, his head leaned closer and he appeared to be sniffing Jesse’s scent. The trainer let him, not moving a muscle.

      Just then, the double steel doors to the barn slid open with a loud thud and two ranch hands walked out leading their mounts, talking loudly. Remus jerked back, startled, the spell broken. He rushed away from Jesse, stopping on the far side of the pen.

      Frowning, Jesse walked to the gate and let himself out.

      Casey went up to him, wanting an explanation. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but exactly what was it you were doing in there?”

      Jesse recoiled the cotton line into a tighter circle. “Mostly just letting him get familiar with my scent, in a non-threatening way.” He glanced toward the men who’d left the barn. “Do you suppose you could ask the guys to use the doors on the other side for a while?”

      “Yeah, sure.” Casey shuffled his scuffed boots, still not satisfied. “Okay, so now he knows your scent. What’s next? You going back in there?”

      Turning to study the stallion, Jesse shook his head. “Not right now. Later this afternoon.”

      “Why was it you turned your back on him? He could’ve hurt you bad.”

      Jesse allowed himself a small smile. “I doubt that. Horses are flight animals, not fight animals. They won’t attack unless they’re attacked first. I was just standing there, no threat to him. He was making all the moves.”

      “Yeah, but when you going to do something? I mean how long is this going to take, you think?”

      Jesse shrugged. “That depends on Remus. He’s in charge of the timetable. I’ve got to get him to trust me before I can help him. No one can predict how long that will take.” With his peripheral vision, he’d seen Vern Martin watching for a short time. “Mr. Martin in a hurry for results? Because if he is, you’ve got the wrong trainer.”

      “No, no. I was just wondering.” Casey hoisted up his jeans a notch. “You just take your time, son.” He started walking away, then stopped. “If you need anything, just ask.”

      “I will. Thanks.” With one final glance at Remus, Jesse strolled thoughtfully toward his cabin.

      No matter how many times he’d worked with damaged horses, especially on their owner’s turf, he always had to justify his methods. Everyone expected a quick fix, as if he had a magic wand. This sort of thing took time. Humans didn’t get over a trauma overnight, so why would they think horses would? It wouldn’t be until they began to see results that they’d finally come around. However, he was used to the reaction so he didn’t take it personally.

      At his porch, he heard voices across the wide driveway and turned to see over a dozen children in front of the rainbow-hued schoolhouse playing ring-around-a-rosie in groups of four, led by Abby who was clapping in time to the music from a boom box set under the tree. Jesse sat down on the top step to watch.

      It was obvious that the kids were different ages, from toddlers of around two to six and seven-year-olds. He spotted Grace and Katie, both with braided hair today. With the regular schools on summer vacation, there were probably more kids than usual. Yet they all seemed orderly and well behaved despite a few of the younger ones falling down as they twirled around, giggling. Abby had them well in hand.

      She had on white shorts today and a loose-fitting pink shirt, her golden hair pulled back in its usual ponytail. The years seemed to vanish as Jesse watched her, thinking she hardly looked a day over the nineteen she’d been when he’d first seen her six years ago down by the big cottonwood tree alongside the stream. She’d been dancing at twilight with an imaginary partner, arms stretched as if holding him, humming a slow tune. Her naturalness, her fresh beauty, had blown him away.

      “All fall down!” the children yelled out, then dropped to the ground, laughing. Jesse watched Abby pick up the smallest child—a boy who’d probably barely turned two wearing blue overalls at least a size too big for him—swing him around, then kiss his dark curls before setting him down with the others. She seemed totally at ease with the children, in her element, enjoying them. Jesse felt an unexpected jolt of envy and wondered at its source.

      A young girl who looked to be of high-school age came out of the big house carrying a pitcher of red liquid and paper cups. Probably a local teenager helping Abby for the summer, Jesse thought as they both herded the children into the little house. Squinting, he made out the sign above the door. Miss Abby’s Preschool. It would seem Abby’s dreams had come true.

      He was about to go in when he heard a low, throaty bark, a shuffle of feet