4. Julius
— ? —
Julius
Dakota proves me wrong before her first morning is over.
She was already in the barns when I got out there, and I was out before the sun. I expected to spend the week explaining my own operation to the new hire, nodding along while she told me how to run it. Instead, she argues with me.
“You’re overworking that horse.” She’s leaning against the fence with her arms crossed, watching one of our trainers run a brown horse through his turns in the arena.
“He’s fine. We know his limits.” I keep my eyes on the horse and cross my arms to match hers.
“He’s favoring his left side, Julius.” She pushes off the fence and takes a few steps closer to the rail. “Watch his back leg when he comes around. See how he’s taking a shorter step on that side?”
I watch the horse move through another turn. His back left hits the ground a fraction early. I didn’t notice it before. Now I can’t unsee it.
“Damn it.” I pull my hat off and run a hand through my hair.
“You hate that I caught that.” Dakota grins at me, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Yeah, I hate it a little bit.” I shove my hat back on and let out a breath. “Maybe more than a little.”
“I’ll try real hard not to enjoy being right.” She turns back to the fence and rests her forearms on the top rail. “He needs three days off, minimum, and ice on that leg twice a day until the swelling goes down.”
“I know how to treat a damn horse, Dakota.” I move to stand next to her at the fence.
“Then why was he still running turns this morning?” She looks over at me with one eyebrow up.
I don’t have an answer for that. She doesn’t push for one.
She’s good. Annoyingly good.
“All right, what else do you see?” I rest my forearms on the rail next to hers.
“The red mare in pen four has a raw spot under her saddle, and nobody wrote it on the board.” She nods toward the far end of the barns.
“I watched one of your guys spend ten minutes getting the chestnut past the round pen gate, so he needs a lot more time out on the trails before he’s any use.
And the feed scoop in barn three is a size bigger than the ones in the other barns, so whoever’s in there is giving those horses ten percent more than they need, maybe more.
And there’s a heifer in your south herd carrying low.
She’ll calve early, and she won’t do it easy. ”
“You walked the south herd too?” I turn my head to stare at her.
“I walk the cows before the horses. Grew up that way.” She shrugs. “Horses were what I did on weekends.”
“You got all that in one morning?”
“I got all that in one walk-through before breakfast. Your guys talk if you ask them questions.” She meets my eyes. “You want me to keep going, or should I save some for tomorrow?”
“Save some for tomorrow.” I shake my head and almost laugh. “Give me a reason to get up.”
She laughs for real, loud enough that the horse flicks an ear toward us.
***
Ramona shows up with coffee.
She’s wearing jeans and one of my old flannel shirts with the sleeves rolled past her elbows, her braid already coming apart. There’s dirt on her boots and a piece of hay on her shoulder she hasn’t noticed yet.
“Thought you might need this.” She hands me a thermos and goes up on her toes to kiss my cheek. “You’ve been out here since before the sun came up.”
“Lost track of time, I guess.” I unscrew the cap and take a long drink, the coffee still hot enough to burn. “Thanks for bringing it out.”
“Morning, Ramona.” Dakota walks over and sticks out her hand.
“You remembered.” My wife shakes it with a firm grip. “Half the county still calls me Mrs. Wyatt.”
“You asked me not to.” Dakota slides her hands into her back pockets. “I was hoping to pick your brain if you’ve got a few minutes.”
“My brain?” Ramona looks over at me. “What exactly have you been telling her about me?”
“Nothing but good things, I swear.” I hold up my free hand in surrender.
“That’s immediately suspicious.” She turns back to Dakota and tilts her head. “What do you need?”
“There’s a gray mare in the program barn that won’t let anyone near her.
” Dakota starts walking toward the barns and Ramona falls into step beside her.
“Three different people have tried to work with her this week. She kicks, she bites, she throws herself against the stall door hard enough to shake the wall. Everyone’s about ready to give up on her. ”
“The one Julius keeps talking about?” Ramona glances back at me, and her voice has already changed. I know that voice. It’s the one she uses when an animal is in trouble.
“That’s her.” I take another drink. “Told you you’d want to meet her.”
“What’s her history?” Ramona turns back to Dakota.
“Her file says Julius bought her at an auction down south to get her away from her last owner, who’d kept her in a stall half the size she needed for almost two years.
Never let her out in a field, barely touched her, just left her in a dark box.
” Dakota shakes her head. “The rest I got from the guys with the bite marks.”
“Jesus Christ, no wonder she’s a mess.” Ramona’s jaw goes tight. “Poor girl doesn’t know what the hell is happening to her.”
“I figured you might have ideas about how to approach her.” Dakota glances over at her as they walk. “Julius mentioned you’re good with the difficult ones.”
“Oh, did he now?” Ramona looks back at me over her shoulder with a small smile.
“I might’ve mentioned it once or twice.” I shrug. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
“Mm-hmm, sure.” She turns back to Dakota. “Come on, show me this mare.”
I watch them head toward the program barn, talking about how to help the mare settle. Ramona uses both hands to explain what she wants to try, and Dakota slows to listen.
They stop at the door when Ramona thinks of another question. Dakota turns toward her, smiling, and I stay where I am.
She likes Dakota. That should make this easier.
I rub my palm against my jeans, then follow them before they go inside.
***
Dakota stops at the office door while I’m trying to find the vet’s note beneath a stack of feed receipts. I move a folder onto the chair beside me, uncovering the thermos Ramona brought out earlier.
She knocks on the frame, and I wave her in without looking up.
“Have you got a minute?” She steps inside with a notebook tucked beneath her arm, then pauses beside the only chair that isn’t covered in paper. “I can come back if you’re busy.”
“I’d rather hear what you’ve got.” I set down my pen and gesture toward the chair. “At least then I can put this off for a little longer.”
She smiles and rests the notebook on the back of the chair.
“I’ll try to make it worth your time.” She waits until I lean back and give her my attention.
Then her eyes go to the old photo beside the window, and she drifts over to it without sitting. Me on the back of a bull named Chainsaw at Nationals, one hand up in the air, my whole body twisted with the spin, dirt flying everywhere.
“You keep ending up in front of that thing.” I watch her study it.
“How old were you here?” She tilts her head at it.
“Nineteen. Almost twenty.” I pick my pen back up. “Turned twenty about a month later.”
“You placed second that year.” She runs her finger along the edge of the frame without touching the glass.
“You told me yesterday you were there.” I frown at the back of her head. “I didn’t think you’d been keeping score.”
“I was twelve, Julius. I kept score on everything.” She turns around to look at me with a grin. “Junior barrels that weekend, but I still watched the bulls. Every kid on that circuit knew who you were.”
Twelve. I do the math without meaning to. That makes her twenty-five now, and she’s been correcting me since sunup.
“That feels like a long damn time ago.” I spin the pen between my fingers to give my hands a job.
“It’s not that long.” She sits down in the chair across from my desk and crosses one leg over the other. “I still remember your semifinal. That big gray bull, the one that had thrown every rider in under three seconds all season. You made it look easy.”
“It didn’t feel easy at the time.” I rub the back of my neck. “I couldn’t even stand after.”
“But you stayed on the full eight seconds.” She leans forward with her elbows on her knees. “Everyone in the stands was talking about it for the rest of the weekend.”
I don’t say anything. I haven’t talked about those years with anyone in a long time. Ramona gets that worried look on her face whenever it comes up, and my family only ever cared about what the wins meant for the business.
“Do you ever miss riding?” Dakota’s voice drops, quieter than it was out at the fence.
“Sometimes, I guess.” I don’t look at her.
“I saw you back at the arena after we left you at the mare.” She smiles when I glance up. “You stayed until the last horse went in.”
“I was checking how the horses were doing.” I set the pen down, but she keeps her eyes on mine.
“I’m sure you were.” She leans back in her chair, giving me room to answer.
I rub a hand over my jaw. Through the open window, I hear a gate close and somebody call for help with a saddle.
“I miss it more than I expected.” I look down at my hands. “Some days, I miss it all the damn time.”
“What keeps you from getting back on?” She draws a fingertip along the edge of her notebook.
I turn toward the window. Beyond the arenas, a plane sits beside the hangar. The house is farther out, facing the pasture where Ramona stands with Brutus while the hands wait behind the fence. She points toward the open gate, then plants her hands on her hips when he doesn’t move.
“I’ve got plenty going on here.” I reach for the pen again.
Dakota follows my gaze, but when I turn back, she’s watching me.
“You looked happy out there earlier.” She closes her notebook against her knee. “It was nice to see.”
My fingers stop against the paper.
She gets up before I find an answer, tucking the notebook beneath her arm.
“I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.” She pauses beside the door. “If you have time.”
I wait until she’s gone before looking toward the pasture again.