25. Porter
JANUARY
W e’d worked hard in the months since we put Martinez’s arrest and subsequent conviction behind us.
Morris Ranch entered into a formal partnership agreement with the Roaring Fork as well as the Flying R, Matt Rice’s outfit. Together, the three ranches formed the largest roughstock contracting business in the state of Colorado. Third largest in the country.
The hands from the Roaring Fork who’d helped with the bull program there worked at Morris instead, led by Bullet Simmons, who was now the assistant bull manager at our facility, under Maverick.
Roaring Fork’s equine program remained over in Crested Butte, where Stetson Hamilton was able to put much of what he’d learned from his father into practice. While the Flying R raised some bucking bulls and broncs, the majority of what they were responsible for were animals for the timed events—things like team roping and bulldogging.
The new company was making our formal debut at this month’s National Western Stock Show, the biggest event of its kind in the world, which had been around since 1906. Since it went on for two weeks and I was still bound by the trust to not be away from Morris Ranch for longer than forty-eight consecutive hours, I’d be doing a lot of traveling back and forth on the four-hour route between Denver—the home of the NWSS—and Parlin. That meant I was the main transport guy when animals needed to return to their respective ranches or when others were ready to be delivered.
Cici rode with me, and part of what we did on the way was plan our wedding. Actually, the wedding part had been handled quickly when every idea Cici came up with was met with agreement from me. It was the honeymoon that took the longest and where we had the most fun, talking and dreaming about the places we wanted to visit.
That I couldn’t leave until the end of February was the reason we’d delayed it and the “official” ceremony. Cici and I became husband and wife in July, with Maverick and the justice of the peace’s spouse as our only witnesses. The only people who knew, outside of us, were those who’d signed the roughstock business agreement since, on it, her name read Cicily Morris-Wheaton.
“I still can’t believe I met Robert Short in person or that we have straws of Brazen’s semen in that cooler on the backseat,” said Cici on our ride home.
Robert Short had been considered “rodeo royalty” since I was a kid. He’d also revolutionized professional bull riding by being the first to offer the straws of semen we’d purchased versus paying actual stud fees.
The partners had collectively agreed to make the investment to breed using sperm from the animal once known as the “most dangerous bull in the world.” While no riders had died after being bucked off Brazen, several had been injured. In his career, only two riders had managed to stay on him for the required eight seconds, and that was only one of the things that made the bull famous. And while we had no desire for any of his progeny to be considered dangerous , we knew our investment would pay off many times over just based on the DNA of the animals sired.
“Snickers,” she said under her breath, chuckling. “I still can’t believe my brother named a prized stallion after a candy bar.”
I laughed too. “The story he told is true, Ceec. It was the candy bar that was originally named after a race- horse that belonged to the Mars family.”
She looked over at me with wide eyes. “I thought he made that up.”
I smiled and shook my head. “All true.”
She rested her head against the seat, and the smile left her face. “A year ago, my brother almost died.”
I nodded. It had been exactly one year since I pulled Maverick from a vehicle that exploded minutes later. I had no idea what the man or woman executing the Roaring Fork Trust had in mind when they sent me to Parlin in order to fulfill the terms of a codicil, but like Buck and Cord before me, that they had, changed my life for the better. I may never have reconnected with the woman I loved, heart and soul, just like Hank had said in his letter.
I wondered who would be chosen next to spend three hundred and sixty-five days of their life somewhere they couldn’t leave for more than forty-eight hours. I had two siblings left—Holt and Flynn—and if either received that news, I had no idea how they’d make it work.
Holt was in an internationally famous rock band with Matt Rice’s brother. They spent most of every year out on the road, on tour. My only sister and the baby of the family, Flynn, was married, and she and her husband had one-year-old twin boys.
Then again, maybe I’d be the last required to spend a year of my life somewhere in order for my siblings and me to hold on to our family’s legacy.
“What are you thinking about?” Cici asked.
“The Roaring Fork Trust.”
She reached over and rested her hand on mine. I brought it to my lips.
“If anyone had told me a year ago that this was what my life would look like, I never would’ve believed them.”
“Same,” she said, giggling. “I hated you. Or so I thought. What they say about there being a fine line between it and love is so true. Now, I don’t know how I ever thought I could live my life without being married to you.” She sighed and looked out the window. “I just hope Maverick finds a love like ours someday.”
“He may already have,” I blurted.
“With who?” Cici gasped.
“That’s Maverick’s story to tell.”