Rough Stock (6 page)

S
eth offered to
make breakfast in the morning and stoked up the fire so the potatoes would cook through. Sawyer poured himself some coffee as Court stumbled out of his tent like he was on a bender. Seth was half-tempted to look for a starry-eyed buckle bunny following behind him, missing her bra and her self-esteem.

Sawyer offered Court the metal coffee pot, and Court took it gratefully, filling a cup and topping it off with sugar from the metal canister. He took a long sip but came up sputtering, like a man drowning unexpectedly. “What the hell?!” he cried, spitting the brown liquid onto the snow.

Sawyer was too busy laughing to even try to look innocent.

Seth took the cup from his younger brother and sniffed it. It smelled fine, just like the cup Seth had poured for himself a few minutes earlier. He lifted it, took a cautious sip, then rolled his eyes.

Sawyer had replaced the sugar container with salt.

“You’re such a child!” Court snapped, even though he was the youngest.

Sawyer grinned widely. “Uh-huh.”

“You are!” Court insisted. “And you better watch out. I’ll piss in the next pot. Then we’ll see where you are.”

Sawyer snorted. “Forget it. I don’t want the Drip in my slow drip.”

Despite the early-morning cold, Court raised an ungloved middle finger.

“Let’s get to work,” Walker grunted, already packing up his tent. He’d skipped coffee, and breakfast, and anything resembling pleasantries this morning.

Seth frowned and silently wondered if he’d be packing Walker home on the back of his horse after the man passed out from exhaustion. God, Seth hoped not. He doused the fire, covered it with a mound of snow, and put away the breakfast gear.

They slung their packs back onto their horses after saddling them up. Court stepped into the trees to piss then charged at BlackJack the same way he always did, swinging up into the saddle without using stirrups—showing off for no one, not way out here.

Austin groaned because the display was getting old.

Court grabbed the saddle horn, and swung up into his seat, grinning like a kid at Christmas. “All right, all right, all right!” he cried…until he tried to put his feet in the stirrups. He frowned. “Now what in the hell…?”

They’d been drawn up, nearly under the flap. To put boots into them would make Court look like he was riding a Big Wheel. “God damn it!” he huffed.

Sawyer slapped his leg, and even Austin had to laugh at that one.

“No one likes a showoff,” Walker said in his deep-chested baritone.

Seth thought he saw a thin smile play across Walker’s lips, though. That made him feel better. When they stopped for lunch, he’d make sure Walker ate twice his share.

They left Court behind to adjust his stirrups and rounded up the portion of the herd that needed to be driven across the river. Austin scouted out the lowest, flattest point, well out of their way but safer for all. It was tough work convincing the cattle that they needed to cross, but once the heifers in the lead made it to the other side, the others followed with only the occasional nervous lowing.

Seth stayed close to Walker, hand on his reata, just in case the man took another fall. Going into the water twice in two days might put him in bed for a week.

No one had a disaster, or even a close call, though, and the group herded the cattle toward home, pushing on to make as much progress as they could. When they finally reached the western pasture, they left their small herd gathered around the hay bales they’d already brought out for them and headed back to the ranch proper on the other side of the hill. They’d shower and eat, and then it was Walker, Austin, and Gabe’s turn to stay overnight to ward off the wolves.

As they crested the slope, Seth looked down toward the homestead that had been nestled into the base of the foothills for more than fifty years. The house had started out small and had been added on to over time. Now it was two stories, log-cabin-style, with a wraparound porch made of roughhewn logs, now sanded and waxed. The green metal roof heated from the sun was free of snow (and the damage that came with it). It had been bought and paid for in better economic times.

To the left was the bunkhouse, one story and wide. There was living space for nearly ten men. Only Court, Sawyer, and Gabe lived there now, all three of them moving out of their family’s house when they came of age, all three making it no farther than the bunkhouse a hundred yards away.

Seth, at thirty one, had never been very motivated to move out of the Big House, not until he found a woman and settled down on his own. It seemed unlikely, though, to happen any time soon. Ranching took up every waking minute—even dreams of it and Snake River’s future plagued his sleep. Putting off his future was no small sacrifice, to be sure, but what future was there without the ranch? A factory job? Digging for gas or silver up near Gillette? Or, God forbid, working another man’s herd after losing his own?

No. Seth had vowed years ago—like Walker, like Austin—that Snake River would come first, be the only priority. What was the point of having children if there was nothing to leave them, nothing they could be proud of?

As they approached the spread, Dakota stepped out of the small foreman’s house, more of a shack really, to greet them. Court spurred BlackJack, intending to pull ahead, but Walker reached out for the reata tethering the buckskin mare and snatched it away.

“Hey!” Court protested. “I was going to give her to Dakota!”

Walker narrowed his eyes at Court. “You and your drip stay away from Dakota.”

Court bristled. “I don’t have the Drip, Walker,” he hissed fiercely. “Never have had. And I caught that horse for her!”

Walker tossed the end of the reata to Seth while shaking his head. “Stay away from her,” he ordered.

Court huffed and spurred his horse again, this time sans mustang mare, and headed for the horse barn.

Seth slid off Choctaw and gathered the horse’s reins in one hand and the reata in the other then headed toward the foreman’s shack. Dakota looked a combination of relieved and delighted to see them all. Her long black hair flapped in the breeze as she waved to Seth. At twenty-six, she was the same age as Court but infinitely more mature. She threw her arms around Seth, hugging him tightly. “I’m so glad you’re all back,” she breathed into his ear.

“Here,” Seth told Dakota, handing her the reata. “Court snagged her for you,” he added quickly, not wanting to take credit for something he hadn’t done. He watched Dakota carefully, gauging her reaction to his words, searching for any spark of interest at the mention of Court’s name. Thankfully, he found none.

Dakota had already been eyeing the mare, Seth all but forgotten despite his close proximity. Court wasn’t even a distant memory as she left them behind to pursue her newest charge. The line was slack, twenty-five feet, and Dakota slowly gathered the reata in her hands, inching ever closer to the mustang.

“Gloves,
hermana
,” Gabe reminded her from the back of his own horse, but Dakota paid him no mind.

Seth watched as she slowly herded the mare into the nearby round pen by waving the coiled rope at her hip.

“She’s gonna tear up her hands one of these days,” Gabe muttered. “All these wild horses.” He shook his head and glared at Seth, like it was his fault.

Seth merely shrugged. There was no telling Dakota Vasquez what to do, and it seemed obvious that by now Gabe would’ve come to terms with the fact that there was no wrangling his baby sister. She was as free-spirited as the horses she caught and tamed, a Wyoming Wild Woman if there ever was one.

Seth might have made a play for her at one time, if circumstances were different, but his family was more important to him. The fact that they’d grown up together was no hindrance, in Seth’s mind. The Vasquezes and the Barlows were close, but everyone remained keenly aware that they were not, in fact, related.

The Vasquez family had been on this land as long as the Barlows. It was as much theirs by sheer blood, sweat, and tears. It was a mere formality that their name didn’t appear on the deed. Guillermo Vasquez had tried ranching in the 1920s, couldn’t make it work, and sold out to Goodman Barlow for pennies per acre so he could add it to the already huge Snake River Ranch. The sale price hadn’t been half what the land was actually worth.

Apparently the name Goodman had been an exercise in irony.

Dad had always planned to right the wrong. In fact, he’d left Manny the Vasquez land in his will, not knowing that his foreman would die on the same day.

Seth supposed the land now passed to Gabe and his mother, Sofia. He wondered what they would do with it, but it wasn’t his place to ask.

Walker wouldn’t fight the will, not in a million years. It would be hard losing any small chunk of their spread in these difficult times, when they needed to hold onto every dime, every penny, but cheating the Vasquez family out of what should have been rightfully theirs wasn’t the way to save themselves.

It was bad enough that Manny had died so unexpectedly, leaving his wife, his son, and his daughter to go on without him. There was no way Walker would add to their pain. In fact, Seth knew without a doubt in his mind that if Walker could cut off his own arm, or kill himself outright, to bring back Manny Vasquez, Seth would’ve buried two family members after the blizzard, rather than just the one.

“Just pack up,” Seth advised Gabe. “You, Walker, and Austin are taking the first camp this week.”

Gabe nodded, walked away from the foreman’s shack, and headed to the bunkhouse.

Seth walked Choctaw into the horse barn and let him into his stall. They were roomy and well built and could house far more horses than they actually had. On the far side, out of sight but not earshot, were Dakota’s wildlings, a small collection of mares and studs she’d culled from the mustang herds over the last two or three years.

Dad had indulged her interest in horses. Dakota might as well have been his niece, for as close as Dad and Manny had been, and Dad had spoiled her rotten. He had allowed her to round up and keep the seemingly ragtag bunch of stallions and mares that caught her eye. He’d even let her take over the buying and selling of the ranch horses, choosing for the family what stock they’d use.

She’d successfully bred three mustang-quarter horse crosses and trained them herself. They were good horses, hard workers with strength and speed. The Barlow boys had had their own mounts for several years now, so they weren’t inclined to give up Choctaw, Nero, BlackJack, and the rest just yet, but Dakota’s hobby allowed the Barlows’ beloved horses to get much-needed breaks throughout the year, alleviating fatigue and preventing injuries.

Her actual job was caring for the horses and overseeing the maintenance on the barn that housed them. Dakota preferred horses to cows but she could run a herd if she had to, not that Dad would ever let her, really—or Walker for that matter. Over the years, she’d followed them out on the trail, though, making camp with them sometimes. She’d prepared a few meals for them on the open range, having learned from her mother, Sofia, the official ranch cook, but Dakota was a better horsewoman than a chef.

These days, though, she was less on the range and more often locked in her tiny office in the horse barn. God knew what she did in there. It was a flurry of stacked papers written in hieroglyphics that no one else could decipher. It was best, they’d decided, to just leave her alone.

Seth removed Choctaw’s cinch and saddle, revealing the horse’s sweat-soaked back and saddle pad. He hoisted the rig onto the wooden rack just outside the stall door, hung the pad up to dry, and rubbed the stallion down thoroughly using currycomb, stiff then soft brushes. Walker and Austin always left their horses for Dakota to care for, but Seth preferred to do it himself. He’d had Choctaw for going on nine years now, and some days the horse seemed like his closest friend.

“It was a good ride,” he said, placing a blanket over Choctaw. The horse nickered as Seth buckled it around his chest.

Hay and grain doled out, Seth closed the stall gate firmly and followed the voices he heard down the corridor, toward the small indoor riding ring. There, he found Sawyer and Court, arguing.

“I thought it would help!” Sawyer was insisting as Seth rounded the corner and his two younger brothers came into view.

“Oh, eat shit!” Court snapped.

Both men turned to look at him—one glaring, one laughing. “I couldn’t find a turtle this early in spring!” Sawyer called out, gesturing to a hay bale a few feet away. He’d swiped the set of longhorns from above the barn door and tied them to the bale, so that it looked like a rectangular green cow…with no legs. Seth took in the scene and was unable to suppress a sudden snort.

Sawyer turned back to Court. “You had so much trouble snaring that little mare. I thought you could use the practice. I think this is slow enough for you.”

Court spit at the bullshit bovine and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I ride ’em,” he countered. “I don’t rope ’em.” It was true. Court was better at bronc busting and bull riding than he’d ever been at roping. Sawyer needed a partner, though, for the rodeo, so Court played his part in their team-roping duo as best he could.

Sawyer laughed and slapped his thigh. “Are you talking about mares…or women?”

Court’s scowl up-ticked to a smile. “Both,” he said proudly. Also true. Court Barlow was a love ’em and leave ’em kind of guy.

Sawyer turned to Seth and jerked his thumb at Court. “Our brother. The Rodeo Romeo. Last year, he—”

Court’s features pinched again. “No one wants to hear about the rodeo.”

Seth supposed they could thank Walker, at least partially, for Court’s perpetual foul mood. Seth himself didn’t begrudge Court for leaving home, or Sawyer for following him. Seth had missed them, sure, but those had been easier times, when Manny oversaw half a dozen ranch hands and the bunk house was full. They were all gone now, let go one by one as the proverbial belt was tightened. Dakota took some of the load off now that she was done with school and could work full time.

Seth suspected that Sawyer and Court had never returned before because Dad had been too proud to ask. They’d always promised to come home, when they were too old to compete. Seth had believed them.