Chapter Fourteen
Truman’s service dog spotted Pope before Truman did.
Ranger lifted his head from where he sat at attention beside his owner. He didn’t bark or run forward with tail wagging the way the ranch dogs did.
“Ranger looks like your parking offended him,” Summer joked from the passenger seat. She climbed out of the truck, a travel mug of coffee in hand.
Pope snorted under his breath and stepped out into crisp mountain air carrying the scents of horses, pine and fresh hay. Morning sunlight spilled gold across the land and birdsong filled the air, punctuated by the noise of impatient stomping inside the trailer.
Truman set a hand on Ranger’s head and spoke a quiet word to him.
From the corner of Pope’s eye, he saw Ayla climb out of her Jeep and start toward the security office. Her vibrant red hair caught the sun and lit like a halo around her face.
Spotting their gathering, she stopped to talk. “Does this count on the ranch as a water cooler meeting?” She threw each one of them a smile, meeting their eyes.
When she reached Truman, he dipped his head and scuffed a boot in the dirt. The man wasn’t always social, and this must be one of those mornings.
Ayla lowered her own gaze to her shoes, red streaking up her throat into her cheeks and making her freckles stand out more.
Summer jumped in to rescue her from the awkward moment. She pushed out a small laugh. “I guess it is a ranch meeting.”
Ayla sent her a small smile and looked toward the trailer. “You loaded up for the auction?”
Pope nodded. “We’re headed there now. I was hoping to beat the crowd.” He’d attended a few auctions but never had any skin in the game. He’d be lying if he didn’t carry a nest of nerves buzzing in his chest.
Hearing his voice, Flint stomped harder, making the metal gong.
Pope moved to the trailer and slipped his hand through the cutout in the side. “Easy. I’m not marching you to your execution.”
Ayla and Summer shared a laugh, and Truman stepped toward the trailer. Ranger stood at his owner’s side as they chatted about how much money Flint might go for on the auction block.
The ladies drifted over. Ayla pressed her palms to the side of the trailer and leaned on tiptoe to try to peek in at Flint. She was too petite to see in and dropped back to her heels.
She dusted her hands together and turned to them again. “Well, I’d better head inside. I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me today. We have some new guys joining the program next month.” She tried to catch Truman’s gaze but gave up after a beat and threw them all a wave as she walked away.
Flint stomped again, and this time Summer spoke some soothing words to him. She sliced a look at Pope. “I still feel bad he has to go. Are you sure you want to sell him?”
His chest tightened at the question. He’d been going back and forth—to sell the horse he’d put so much of his time, energy and care into, or not. He hadn’t slept more than a few hours last night knowing the moment was coming when he’d hand over the reins to the highest bidder.
The whole prospect brought mixed feelings. Flint had provided something to look forward to, something to keep his mind off his own troubles.
He’d helped Pope heal.
But he wouldn’t be on the Black Heart forever. He was part of the security team and would spend time here, but ever since he started watching over Summer and Ben, he’d had to leave Flint’s care to some of the others on the ranch, and that wasn’t right.
He kept reminding himself that he wasn’t abandoning the horse—he was doing what was ultimately best for him.
Besides, things were progressing with Summer.
After this was all over—and they found out who was responsible for sending groceries before stabbing her tire and then swooping in to play her hero—Pope wanted to stay closer to Summer and Ben.
Which meant getting a place in Willowbrook…
maybe moving in with them when the time was right.
He found her watching him closely.
“I promise I won’t let Flint go for less than he’s worth.”
She nodded.
Truman looked at Pope. “You guys better head out. You don’t wanna miss the old ranchers fighting over bloodlines.”
Summer looked delighted instead of concerned. “Oh, now I really want to go.”
“They get vicious.” Truman gave her a ghost of a smile that hadn’t appeared until now.
The excitement in her voice sent a flicker of heat to Pope’s chest. For so long her life revolved around work and survival and making sure Ben had enough. It felt good to give her more, even if it was just spending a day beside him doing something as ordinary as going to a horse auction.
Pope opened the passenger door for Summer, and she threw a wave at Truman before she climbed in.
The drive took a little over an hour through winding Wyoming roads and long stretches of ranchland rolling beneath bright blue sky. Summer spent most of it asking Pope how bidding worked and what buyers looked for in a horse.
“I hope Ben’s not too upset he won’t see Flint again,” he said after a minute.
She squeezed his fingers meshed with hers. “He liked Flint, but I can’t tell how into horses he is at the moment.”
He glanced over at her. “If he ever gets interested, it could be a good family project. Get Ben a horse and teach him how to train it.”
She met his stare, her own eyes big and soft with emotion. Then she cracked a smile. “I’m sure he’d name it something terrible.”
“Absolutely.” They shared a grin.
An image filled his mind, of Ben racing around the ranch on a shaggy little horse as Summer yelled at them both to slow down.
Summer looked out the windshield again, smiling softly now. “Honestly…it’d be good if Ben got interested in this stuff. Everyone on the Black Heart…they were so welcoming when we were there for the party. I’d like to spend more time with them.”
Pope glanced toward her.
She wasn’t talking about hobbies.
She was talking about roots.
Belonging somewhere.
By the time they reached the auction grounds, the place looked like half the state of Wyoming came with livestock trailers.
Rows of trucks and horse trailers stretched in every direction. Dust rolled through sunlight in swirling patches. Country music crackled from old speakers mounted somewhere overhead and ranchers moved between pens carrying paperwork and foam cups of coffee.
Summer stared wide-eyed through the windshield. “This is insane.”
“Guess everyone had the idea to get here early and avoid the crowd.”
“How do we even find parking?”
“Mostly prayer.”
She laughed as Pope eased the truck slowly between crowded rows of trailers until he finally found a spot. The second he killed the engine, noise hit them fully.
Horses whinnying. Auctioneers warming up over speakers. Goats screaming somewhere nearby like tiny demons.
Summer looked delighted by all of it.
Pope found himself watching her instead of the crowd.
Because she looked happy. Relaxed.
Not worried about a stalker or watching over her shoulder.
Just happy.
They unloaded Flint and moved through the crowded grounds together before eventually finding seats inside the auction barn. Giant fans pushed around thick hot air to cool people packed shoulder to shoulder beneath the metal roof.
Summer leaned closer when another horse trotted through the ring. “How does anybody understand the auctioneer?”
“They don’t.”
“That feels illegal.”
Pope laughed quietly under his breath. Hours passed before Flint’s turn finally came, and Pope led the horse into the ring as Summer watched from the stands.
Nerves crawled low in his stomach. This wasn’t about money. It was about letting go. It was part of his therapy to train the horse he was so fond of. But taking Flint to auction would be a step toward letting go of things that happened before he came to the Black Heart.
Flint moved beautifully and bidding climbed steadily higher. Pope barely heard the numbers—he watched the horse instead, seeing months of work and trust and early mornings standing tall and proud in the ring.
Then the hammer dropped.
“Sold!”
The sharp ache in his chest surprised him more than he expected.
Afterward Pope stood near the office filling out paperwork and waiting on the check as buyers and sellers crowded around the holding area.
That was when he noticed the little girl, maybe eight years old with a blonde braid and dusty pink boots.
She stood beside Flint, practically vibrating with excitement. She reached up to pet the horse’s neck with the gentlest touch.
Summer let out a soft gasp from beside him. “Her father won that horse for her!”
Pope’s throat constricted. The little girl reminded him of Navy right down to her cowgirl boots. It was obvious that horses were her life.
He sent Summer a look. She gave him a small nudge.
“Go on. Talk to them. I’ll stand right here by the lemonade stand.”
He squeezed her hand and walked over to the father and little girl.
“I call him Flint. But you can name him whatever you’d like.”
The girl smiled so big it punched straight through the heaviness in Pope’s chest and suddenly selling Flint didn’t feel nearly as bad. The horse wasn’t disappearing into some uncertain future.
He’d be loved. Spoiled too—that much was obvious. And ridden by a little girl already looking at him like he hung the moon in the Wyoming sky.
He straightened slowly and glanced toward Summer to share the moment with her.
She stood off to the side near the lemonade stand, watching a pair of tiny goats parade past.
Warmth settled low in his chest at the sight.
The father asked him another question about Flint’s training, and Pope told him what he needed to know. Only a minute passed. Maybe two.
Then instinct prickled sharply across the back of his neck.
He looked toward the lemonade stand.
Summer was gone.
His pulse kicked hard once.
Pope scanned the nearby crowd, checking the line that was twelve people deep. Pulse pounding harder, he whipped around to scan the livestock pens.
No Summer.
The blood drained out of him.
He searched harder through the shifting crowd and the trailers baking in the afternoon sun.