Cathy Mcdavid - Last Chance Cowboy

“It’s up to Isa’s mom.”

“Oh, please, Mommy.” Isa was on her feet and throwing her arms around Sage’s waist.

“I don’t know. Isa has only ever ridden ponies.”

“Cassie’s very responsible.” Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Was that actually a smile his daughter directed at him? “If it would make you feel better, we can work on the back patio. You’ll be able to see the arena from there. And it’s true. Chico would just stand there in an earthquake.”

The lines of tension creasing Sage’s brow lessened marginally. “All right,” she relented after a lengthy pause.

“Can Blue come?” Isa darted back to Cassie.

“Naturally.” Cassie scooped up the puppy. “He goes everywhere with me. Even sleeps with me.”

The chronic pressure in Gavin’s chest eased by a fraction. He was pretty certain something good had just happened between him and Cassie, but he couldn’t say what exactly.

Sage stepped forward after the girls left. “We should probably get started …”

“Sorry.” He tilted his head toward the kitchen. “Come on, I’ll get you that water.” It wasn’t until they started walking that he noticed she carried a portfolio. “What did you bring?”

“Reports on a few of our recent roundup campaigns. I thought maybe we could talk a little about the techniques we’re going to use.”

Gavin wasn’t sure what techniques the BLM used to round up large numbers of horses on federal land but doubted they’d work on a single horse roaming an urban preserve.

After retrieving his files on the mustang and filling two large plastic tumblers with ice and water, he took Sage outside. Just as he was closing the door behind them, he caught sight of his dad coming into the kitchen. He’d probably been waiting in his room for them to leave so he could start supper.

Another family member Gavin didn’t relate to and didn’t know what to do about. His father’s depression seemed to worsen every year. Short of bringing back his mother, Gavin was out of ideas on how to cure it. Talking got nowhere, and his dad flat out refused to see a counselor, join a support group or consult with his doctor.

Ethan had no better luck than Gavin did. But then, Ethan tried less. Not that Gavin blamed him. His brother had his own problems to deal with since his discharge from the service. Their sister, Sierra, was the only one who could bring their dad out of his shell. But she lived in San Francisco and had come home only once during the past couple years. Something else that depressed their dad.

Outside, in the balmy weather, Gavin tried to put his concerns aside. It was a beautiful day, he was making plans to capture the wild mustang and Cassie wasn’t mad at him anymore. At least for the moment.

It could be, and more often than not was, worse.

“THIS WAY.”

Gavin escorted Sage to the large patio on the backside of the house. There, they sat at the picnic table where he and his family ate when they took their meals outside. Midafternoon sun filtered through the spindly branches of a sprawling paloverde that was easily as old as his father. Potted cacti and succulents, some of them planted by his mother, nestled along the base of the low stucco wall.

“It’s very pretty here,” Sage commented, glancing around before opening her portfolio and withdrawing a stack of papers. “The view’s spectacular.”

She was right. The McDowell Mountains and, in the far distance, Pinnacle Peak, provided a stunning backdrop.

Gavin saw the view a dozen times a day, yet he never tired of it.

He’d once felt that way about the view from the front courtyard, too, which now looked out onto the whole of Mustang Village.

“Do you think the girls are okay?” Sage peered over her shoulder toward the stables.

“If they don’t come out in a few minutes, we can check on them.”

“All right.” She began rifling through her portfolio. A small sound of frustration escaped her lips.

Gavin waited, his doubts growing. Yesterday, she’d impressed him with her confidence, friendliness and intelligence. Today, she was like an entirely different person. Distracted, unfocused and disorganized.

What had happened to her between then and now?

“Here they are.” With noticeable relief, she handed Gavin a trio of photographs. “These are from a roundup I participated in this past spring on the Navajo Nation outside of Winslow. We brought in over eighty head of horses and seven burros.”

He examined the photos, two of which were aerial shots taken from the inside of what he assumed was a helicopter. The herd of horses, bunched together in a long line, resembled a rushing river as they galloped over a rocky rise and down the other side.

It must have been a majestic and thrilling sight. He could almost hear the pounding of their hooves and feel the ground shaking beneath him as they thundered past. When his great-grandfather had first settled in these parts, mustangs not unlike these had made the valley their home. To have seen these horses on the Navajo Nation would have been like witnessing a living and breathing piece of history.

He flipped to the next picture, and his heart sank low in his chest. In this one, taken from the ground, the horses had been crowded into corrals and were milling restlessly. A few bit or kicked their neighbors. A mare tried valiantly to protect her young foal.

“It’s not right, putting the horses through this.” Gavin hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud until Sage answered him.

“I know it looks bad. But if we hadn’t removed the horses, most of them would have died. Rainfall last winter was half of our annual average. All the area’s water sources had dried up.”

He studied the photo closer, noting the poor condition of the animals. Underweight, undersized and lackluster, pest-infected coats. It was fortunate the BLM had stepped in when they had. Still, removing animals from their natural environment didn’t sit well with him.

“Was there no other way to help them?”

“We tried filling tanks with water. The horses were skittish and refused to drink.”

Hearing the girls’ animated chatter, Gavin and Sage looked up.

Cassie led Chico from the stables to the small corral beside the arena where Ethan was teaching a class of about a dozen beginner students. They trotted in a tight figure-eight pattern as their parents watched, either relaxing in lawn chairs or standing along the fence.

Isa sat astride Chico, her fists clutching the reins, her feet barely reaching the stirrups of Cassie’s youth saddle. Rocking from side to side as he walked, the old horse clopped slowly along, his hips appearing more prominent because of his swayed back. Blue brought up the rear, tripping over his front paws in his attempt to keep up.

Sage watched them, her expression intent.

“Ethan learned to ride on Chico,” Gavin told her.

She didn’t appear to hear him.

“Isa will be fine.”

He was about to repeat himself when Sage suddenly turned around and blinked as if orienting herself. Wherever she’d been the past minute was a million miles from the ranch.

“You want to postpone this?” Gavin’s patience had worn thin. According to Sage, they only had a week to capture the mustang, and he resented wasting time.

“No.” Picking through the papers again, she removed a typewritten report and passed it to him. “Not everyone agrees with the bureau’s program of capturing feral mustangs and burros. And I won’t argue with you, it’s an imperfect solution. But I also believe we’re doing the right thing. Saving and preserving a part of America’s heritage, not destroying it.” Her voice rang with unabashed passion.

It was something Gavin understood. He believed in the same thing himself.