Debra Clopton - Her Unforgettable Cowboy

Despite the heat or Morgan’s mood, excitement rang in the early-morning air hanging over the ranch compound. Quickening his stride, Morgan approached the sun-faded red stable, the birthplace of hundreds of foals over the years. The sturdy, low-slung building had been on the property since Morgan’s great-great-grandfather built it back in the early 1900s. Through the years there had been new barns and buildings added, but this lovingly maintained stable and the other historic buildings that dotted the property carried the memories of those who’d been here before him. This was their legacy to him and his two brothers, Rowdy and Tucker. His family took to heart the responsibility of passing it on to future generations.

Morgan hauled in a deep breath the moment he stepped through the stable’s double doors. Instantly the scent of grassy, sundried hay and feed mingled with the smell of leather and horses, filled his lungs. And his spirit.

The stables held lots of memories from years gone by, but it was the hushed whispers of the boys at the end of the building that filled his soul and gave his life purpose.

Before his mother’s death when he was eleven years old, Lydia McDermott had had a vision to share the beauty and blessing of their West Texas ranch with less fortunate boys who had no place to call home. She’d died before she could make her dream a reality, but Morgan’s dad and grandmother worked tirelessly over the next two years, getting the ranch approved as a foster home.

For the last eighteen years, sixteen boys at a time had made Sunrise Ranch their home. And Morgan, who had become a full partner six months ago, intended to help carry the torch forward—no matter who his dad brought on as the boys’ teacher.

Moving down the concrete alley, the clink of his spurs and scuff of his boots bounced off the stalls. The chatter halted from the huddle at the end where a new colt had just been born, and the boys who were new to the ranch turned, awe on their faces. There was nothing like watching the miracle of life.

Yup, that was the only reminder Morgan needed that the boys came first.

Striding to stand behind them, Morgan patted one of the newcomers on the back and looked at the foal.

“It’s about time you dragged yourself out here to take a look at the new little filly,” Walter Pepper, his horse foreman, teased from inside the stall where he’d been assisting the mother. One of the best horsemen around, Pepper—as he’d been tagged in his early years—had worked at the ranch since he was a teenager, hired on by Morgan’s granddad forty-five years ago. A stocky cowboy with a white head of hair, a gruff voice and a heart of gold, he loved to tease.

Taking in the coal-black filly curled up in the soft hay beside his momma, Morgan gave a crooked smile. “Looks like y’all’ve got it under control.”

“She’s as black as your hair, Morgan,” nine-year-old Caleb declared, his green eyes shining. A blond-headed creative thinker and doer, Caleb was a regular fixer-upper, always coming up with ideas and taking tools and machines apart in the shop to figure out how they worked. But right now, he was wide-eyed like the rest of them, watching the mother horse tend to her newborn baby.

“Yeah,” B.J. said, a grin lifting the seven-year-old’s plump cheeks. “She ain’t got no streak a white in her black hair like Beauty or Mr. Randolph gots.” He puffed out his chest, proud that he was the first to make the comparison between the jet-black horse with the white lightning bolt crossing her face, and Randolph and his white temples.

“You’re right about that, son,” Morgan agreed, tousling B.J.’s brown hair as he studied Beauty. She was the first of twenty-five mares on the ranch who were due to foal in the next two months and she was kicking off the season like a pro. When the baby unbuckled her long legs and tried to stand, Beauty began nudging her gently on the rump, encouraging her as she struggled to gain her wobbly legs.

“Look, fellas, she’s helping her baby get up,” Joseph observed, extending a lean, muscular arm from where he hung halfway over the rail. The oldest boy on the ranch at eighteen, Joseph was long, lanky and a good-natured encourager of the younger boys. He had his heart set on being a large-animal vet and Morgan knew he would make a great one someday.

“It’s ’cause she loves her,” ten-year-old Sammy whispered reverently, a whole host of wistfulness in his words that cut into Morgan’s heart. Sammy had been at the ranch for only two weeks and was struggling. The kid’s parents had given him up recently and before he could blink twice he found himself at Sunrise Ranch. The foster care worker had known the ranch had one opening and wasted no time getting Randolph and Morgan to accept Sammy into the mix. But Morgan could tell the poor kid was still grieving and in denial about what had happened to him.

Pepper’s compassionate old eyes met Morgan’s. These boys knew what it was to have a mother and a father who didn’t care. Over the years Morgan had had many boys come to talk to him about how seeing a horse taking such tender care of her baby stabbed at their hearts on a raw level.

The first group of boys came to live at the ranch when Morgan was thirteen. They’d lost their parents, and because Morgan had just lost his mom to cancer two years earlier, he thought he understood what they were going through. It wasn’t until he was a high school senior that he finally realized he didn’t know where these boys were coming from at all. His mother had loved him with all of her heart. Death had forced her to leave her children—she never would have neglected or abandoned them.

It wasn’t until six years ago when his fiancée gave back her engagement ring and chose a life without him that he felt some semblance of what these guys felt. It was a hard lick to know you weren’t wanted.

For a moment, he went back to that day, standing in the drive, his heart in the dirt at his feet, watching Jolie Sheridan drive off into the wide blue yonder. He was over it—had been for some time now—but it had been a long, hard crawl out of the pit he’d fallen into. He’d made some mistakes on the way and fueled plenty of gossip in Dew Drop. But he’d lived.

He’d moved on.

He’d always known his life and dreams were here on the ranch, and even though things hadn’t turned out exactly like he’d envisioned them, he’d managed to take hold of what God had entrusted to him and he was content.

Even happy most of the time.

At last the filly got her legs beneath her and managed to take her first wobbly steps, bringing Morgan back to the stable.

“She did it!” Jeb yelled. His nine-year-old enthusiasm startled the filly—she jumped and fell flat on her face.

Horrified, Jeb clamped his hand to the top of his head as the boys around him scowled. In the sudden silence the filly gathered herself up and this time rose more easily, with just a single nudge from her momma. Jeb gave a big silent grin. The excitement the boys were containing over the filly’s accomplishment could very easily have blown the roof off the building.

There was a lot to be learned from what they’d just witnessed. Getting up from a fall was a life lesson well worth paying attention to.

“Okay, boys,” Pepper said, coming out of the stall, “let’s give mother and baby some alone time. You fellas can come back this evening after you get your chores done. You just have to promise to be quiet.”

“Will do,” agreed Wes, a stocky seventeen-year-old with curly blond hair and a cocky attitude. The boys looked up to Wes and Joseph, and the two teens took their leadership roles seriously. Morgan liked that about them.

By the time they were leaving the stable, rowdy laughter and joking had ensued. Morgan followed the group, somewhat calmer than he’d been on entering but still not pleased. His dad had deliberately made the decision about Jolie without him because he knew there was no way Morgan would have agreed to it. But Morgan’s anger wasn’t just based on personal grounds—in his estimation the last thing the fellas needed was another teacher who wouldn’t stick around. And Jolie was exactly that.