Brenda Mott - Cowgirl, Say Yes

“What’s that?” he asked. Macy raised her eyebrows and cast a questioning look from one to the other.

“Stubborn…stains.” Tess brushed at a nonexistent spot on her clean overalls. “I always spill when I eat ice cream, and it looks like I’m wearing a spoonful of my dessert.” She reached out to give Macy’s arm an affectionate shake. “How about you, kiddo?”

“Sometimes.” Macy wrinkled her nose.

“Wanna test ourselves? I’m for a banana split after the meeting if you are. My treat.” She glanced at Wade. “You can even bring your grumpy old dad if you want.”

Macy giggled. “Okay by me. Dad?”

“We’ll see.” His scowl darkened, but Tess couldn’t help thinking it was partly an act.

Why on earth was the man so determined to put up a tough front when anyone could plainly see how devoted he was to his kids? Though she had to admit she’d been taken a little by surprise to discover it, Tess also had to admit that this quality in Wade appealed to her. Not that she’d ever want to go out with him or anything. Not really. Her plate was already full enough. Sure, he was good-looking, but still, she knew she’d be better off avoiding him. A tough, arrogant cowboy, he’d made it clear that he didn’t have a whole lot of use for a woman like her in his life. A woman with an independent way of thinking. She was sure he’d prefer a meek little rancher gal who would bake him pies and bread and cook steak and baked beans for supper.

Yep. Tess was positive that if the two of them ever got together, their relationship would read like a romance novel gone bad. The Cattle Rancher and the Runaway Vegetarian. She smothered a giggle.

Minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot at the fairgrounds. A few cars and pickups were already in the lot, and Tess’s attention immediately snagged on one of the 4-H mothers, Sharon Jenkins. Her normally tanned face was devoid of color, and her hands shook as she waved for Tess’s attention.

“What’s wrong with Sharon?” Macy asked.

“I don’t know.” Tess rolled the truck’s window all the way down and leaned against the door frame.

Sharon ran toward her, breathless. “Tess, thank goodness. You’ve got to come with me.” She glanced at Macy. “It’s…urgent.”

Instantly, Tess’s heart dropped. “It’s not one of the kids…?”

“No. Not the kids.” Sharon looked at Wade. “Actually, Wade, we could probably use your help, too. Can Macy stay here with Kelly and Lori?” Kelly was Sharon’s daughter, a year younger than Macy; Lori, Kelly’s best friend.

“Sure,” Wade said. Concern lined his face. “Do you want me to park or drive?”

“Drive,” Sharon said. “My sister-in-law’s here. She’ll take care of the kids for a while.” Pam Jenkins taught agriculture at the high school and often attended the meetings with her family.

Sharon gestured. “Macy, honey, Kelly’s over there. Why don’t you keep her company until we get back.”

“What’s wrong?” Macy asked. She turned to Wade for guidance. “Dad?”

“It’s okay, honey. Run along with Kelly. We’ll be back shortly.”

“Okay.” Reluctantly, Macy climbed from the truck as Tess moved out of her way.

Tess slid once more onto the seat next to Wade, allowing Sharon to climb into the passenger side. The thought that she now sat up close against him barely registered as she focused on what Sharon told them while they drove from the parking lot.

“It’s awful, Tess.” Sharon clamped a hand to her heart. “Kelly and Lori went riding after school today. They stayed at Lori’s afterward, getting their record books squared away. These were the notebooks in which each child recorded every detail of his or her 4-H project. Then they rode back to our house just before supper. When they passed Clem McMurty’s place, the girls heard a scuffle in the round pen.” She ran her hands up and down her arms as though ridding herself of goose bumps.

“That damn Clem had his pretty liver chestnut tied to a post and was beating him! The girls rushed to our house and I called the sheriff’s office right away. A couple of deputies went out there, but when I phoned back to check on what happened they said that the horse had no visible welts—only some vague marks—and that there was not much they could do about it since using a whip on a horse isn’t illegal. They said it wasn’t a clear case of abuse. Can you believe that?” Her dark eyes flashed with anger. “Clem claimed the horse had gotten out of hand and kicked him, and that he had to line him out. Anyway, the girls were really upset and so was I. All of us were worried about the horse.

“I went out there on my way over to the fairgrounds. You can see the round pen from the road.” She looked from Tess to Wade and back again. “The gelding is lying flat on his side, snubbed to a post. He’s not moving.”

“That scumbag!” Tess clenched her hands as her blood pressure peaked. “Wade, hurry!”

ANGER TIGHTENED Wade’s gut as he sped toward the McMurty ranch. While he didn’t believe in coddling horses the way Tess seemed to, neither did he approve of abusing them. When he pulled into the driveway, Tess and Sharon were out of the truck and flying toward the round pen before he could bring the Ford to a complete halt.

Wade parked and walked up the sidewalk to knock on the front door. “Clem!” he called. “It’s Wade Darland.” He rapped with his knuckles once more. No one answered. Descending the steps two at a time, he hurried toward the round pen, more worried about the horse and Tess’s frame of mind than he was about trespassing. He knew she hadn’t given the matter so much as a thought, especially since Ferguson was a small town where neighbors were usually welcome. Not in this situation, however, he’d wager.

Behind him, the sound of the back door finally creaking open reached his ears.

“Who’s out there?” Clem called gruffly.

“Wade Darland, Clem!” Wade repeated, tossing the words over his shoulder. He reached the round pen, and the sight before him sickened him beyond belief. Apparently, Clem had taken his spite out on his horse once the sheriff’s deputies departed.

The liver chestnut lay on his side in the dirt of the enclosure, eyes closed, three of his legs bound with a stout cotton rope. The gelding’s side rose and fell as he drew strained breaths, grunting in pain and resignation. Welts lined his chocolate-colored coat, some of them caked with blood. His head, restrained by a strong nylon halter and rope, was tilted at an awkward angle where he’d fallen while dallied to the post dead centered in the pen. It was a wonder the animal hadn’t broken his neck.

Cursing, Wade ducked through the fence rails and dropped to one knee beside Tess. He laid his hand on the gelding’s neck. The chestnut’s skin was clammy to the touch. Wade cursed again and stood, simultaneously pulling his pocketknife from his jeans.

“Cut him loose!” Anger choked Tess’s voice, and her hands shook.

Wade sliced the rope in a sawing motion, taking care to ease the colt’s head gently to the ground as the rope gave.

“Hey!” From outside the corral, Clem McMurty shouted.

Heavyset, shoulders wide, he moved quicker than one would have expected for a man his size. He had a good seventy pounds on Wade, but Wade had him in height by about three inches. Fists tight, Wade rose and pivoted on the balls of his feet to face Clem as the man roared forward like an enraged bear.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Clem demanded, climbing into the corral. “You’re trespassing. Get away from my horse!”

Wade pressed his mouth into a line, holding his temper with every ounce of restraint he possessed. More than anything, he wanted to haul off and pop Clem in the face. But as satisfying as he knew hitting the jerk would be, he also knew it wasn’t the way to handle the situation.