Chapter Two
“Lace,” Arthur Ridge, the foreman, announced with authority.
Cody Walker, father, rancher, and widower, blinked at the abrupt statement. He’d been busy inspecting the bottom of his riding horse’s hoof, trying to ascertain if there was a stone bruise. He’d been completely absorbed, murmuring to the horse to keep him still as he cradled the hoof in his hand.
Gently, he set the hoof back on the ground and straightened up, groaning slightly at the pull in his back. “What?” he asked, not comprehending.
Arthur leaned against the wide stable doorway, one foot crossed over the other, and nodded sagely. “We need a bit of lace around here,” he said, nodding slowly.
Cody pulled his grey hat from his head, swiping at his damp forehead. “Either you’ve spent too long in the sun, or I have, because you’re not making a lick of sense.”
Arthur jerked his chin in the direction of the ranch, following it up with a general wave to encompass everything. “All of that out there, too masculine. We need a bit of feminine gentility,” he said.
Cody rolled his eyes and picked up his horse’s hoof again. He reached for a hoof pick and began gently probing the soft underside of the hoof. “You could be on an island of Amazons and complain that there’s not enough women.”
“Like as not,” Arthur agreed, and Cody could hear the smile in his voice. He rolled his eyes again, knowing full well that Arthur couldn’t see him. “Are you honestly telling me that the scenery around here wouldn’t be improved with a few lacy petticoats swanning around?” Arthur demanded.
Cody sighed and set the hoof down again.
The horse hadn’t shown any tenderness, which meant that the lameness that had seemingly sprung up from nowhere was in the leg.
He could feel Arthur staring at him expectantly, waiting for a reply.
Cody declined to give him the satisfaction, instead patting the stud horse on the flank and running his hands down the leg.
“Okay, how about just the one?” Arthur asked.
“You’re a good boy,” Cody murmured, slowly crouching. His horse flinched when he got to the hock, pinning his ears back and lashing his tail. Cody frowned and probed at the joint again; it was just a bit warm to the touch. “Easy, Bucky,” he said soothingly, standing slowly.
“Really? Not even one?” Arthur said, straightening. Cody glanced at him from the corner of his eye and saw something in his expression change. Instead of bemusement, he looked thoughtful, maybe even concerned.
Cody heaved another sigh and turned to face Arthur fully. “I wish you’d put the same scrutiny into helping me figure out what’s wrong with Bucky as you do in my private life,” he snapped.
Immediately, Arthur dropped his act and stepped forward, squinting seriously at the horse, which regarded him with large brown eyes. Arthur bent to touch the suspect joint, then lifted the lower leg and rotated it a few times before gently settling it again.
“Well?” Cody demanded. He hated to admit it, but Arthur knew horseflesh better than himself. It was one of the reasons that Cody kept him on as foreman, his propensity for flirtations and terrible jokes notwithstanding.
“I don’t see any sign of injury,” Arthur said, stepping back and jamming his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers. “I think he’s just getting to that age.”
Cody grunted in agreement. “He’s been a hard worker.”
“Still, you could put him out to pasture with some of the mares. I think he’s still young enough for that,” Arthur continued. He slid a sidelong glance at Cody. “If you leave him too long, he’ll be too old and creaky.”
Cody ignored the jibe. Arthur, for all of his faults, had taken on the role of gently prodding Cody to engage more with life. Cody had no interest in this and resolutely ignored Arthur, which had the added benefit of driving Arthur to distraction.
He stood back and studied Bucky. He was a grullo with clear Spanish heritage somewhere in his bloodline, with a proudly arched neck and sharp little ears.
He’d do well as a stud, and the ranch would benefit from some well-boned riding horses to sell.
It was a sound plan, and a fine retirement for a horse that had served so well.
Even so, Cody had a strange, prickling feeling in his throat when he considered it. It came with the realization that time was passing far faster than he’d accounted for. Bucky had been with him since he was a restless boy.
“Well,” he said at last, untying one of the ropes that held Bucky in place by his halter, “I suppose it’s time we start looking for a replacement.
” He put his hand on Bucky’s neck for a moment, absently smoothing the fur.
He shook himself, cleared his throat, released the other tie, and took Bucky by the halter, slipping a lead rope onto him.
There wasn’t room for sentimentality on a ranch, not even for faithful companions.
Cody’s father had drilled that into him from the moment he was old enough to understand.
Cody set his jaw and led Bucky resolutely out to a small corral.
He’d take him up to the high pasture and turn him loose…
but not just yet. He slid the halter from Bucky’s head and closed the gate behind him, latching it with a piece of rope.
Arthur followed along behind them, stopping a few paces away and squinting out at the herd of red-brown cattle that milled about in a nearby pen.
The ranch hands were busy sorting them out, branding the calves that they’d keep.
They’d be taken out to graze on the range for the summer, getting fat on tall prairie grass.
“Good herd this year,” Arthur commented as Cody came to stand by him.
“Seems so,” Cody agreed. Secretly, he was immensely proud of the work they’d managed over the past year. The ranch was on secure footing, and workers lined up to be on the payroll.
“Heard some troubling things from back east, though,” Arthur continued.
“That business with that fella buying up the ranches? I don’t countenance it much,” Cody said, slinging the halter and lead rope over his shoulder. “Just some high-hat dude playing at cowboy.”
Arthur shrugged and bent to snap off a piece of grass and stuck it between his teeth. “Maybe so,” he said, “but can’t argue with the fences going up on the range.”
Cody hummed an agreement. It seemed every year that the range was shrinking, cut into slices by barbed wire.
“Well,” Arthur said, twisting the piece of grass and biting down on it again, “I suppose we’ll find out one way or another.”
“Yup,” Cody agreed. He started to walk away and stopped. “I don’t… I don’t think I’ll be taking another wife.”
Evidently surprised by the sudden change in direction, Arthur turned to Cody, his blond brows arched. “You don’t? I mean, haven’t you even thought of it?”
Cody shook his head. “No. It’s just not for me. Too old for all… that,” he said with a vague gesture.
Arthur inclined his head. “I see. Well, all the more ladies for me, then,” he said, flashing Cody a mischievous grin.
Cody rolled his eyes and passed the halter and lead rope to Arthur. “I’d best be getting back on up to the house. Logan’s been underfoot lately, and Ruby’s threatened to quit the ranch entirely on his account.”
Arthur chuckled and shook his head before raising a hand in farewell to Cody.
The house wasn’t far from the stockyard at the ranch, perched on a slight incline so that it overlooked proceedings.
The house was simple but sturdy, with shutters painted green and a broad porch that wrapped around the front and one side of the house.
It was large enough that on hot nights, they’d drag their mattresses out there and soak up whatever breezes they could. It was a fine refuge from the world…
…or at least, it used to be.
Even before Cody entered the house, he could hear raised voices. He paused just outside the door, catching only snatches of the conversation as the words drifted intermittently out of the open windows.
“…the last time I’m going to be scrubbing this floor… You come galloping through!” Ruby, his daughter, proclaimed.
“Mr. Carter… woman’s work!” Logan shouted back triumphantly. Cody winced—he knew that was absolutely the wrong tactic to take.
Right on cue, there was the sound of feet pounding over the raised wooden floor, and Cody heard Logan squeal.
He stepped back just in time, and the front door was flung open as eight-year-old Logan burst through in the guise of a cannonball.
Before he could make good his escape, Cody reached out and snagged the boy by the collar and yanked him backward, making his arms windmill.
“Oh, hi, Pa,” the boy said, a slow smile creeping up on his face. Cody stared back at him with dark brown eyes that matched his boy’s, his brow furrowed, and his lips pursed in disapproval.
“Get back here, you little—” Ruby said, skidding around the corner that led to the kitchen and dining room, brandishing a wooden spoon like a cudgel. She pulled up hastily when she saw her father. “Oh! Pa, when did you get here?”
“Just in time to see you two behaving like heathens,” Cody rumbled. He pulled Logan back to the doorway and nudged him back indoors. “What are you two thinking, carrying on like this?”
“She was comin’ after me with that wild look in her eye!” Logan said with all the gravity that a very guilty boy could muster.
“He tracked mud all over the floor again!” Ruby fired back. She gestured with the hand holding the spoon at the floor, which did indeed sport footprints here and there. “I just cleaned it!”
“It’s only dirt,” Logan replied, crossing his arms defiantly. “It’s not like it’s that hard to clean up.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” Cody interjected, “seeing as it’s only right that you be the one to clean up this mess.”
“But, Pa!” Logan whined. “Mr. Carter says that’s a woman’s work!”