Page 1 of Cowboy Don't Go

Chapter One

If anyone had told Shay Hardesty years ago that at thirty-one, she’d be a single mother, standing in a pen full of throw-away horses trying to rescue a horse for her son, instead of living the career-driven, happily-ever-after life in a big city that she’d imagined, she’d have laughed. Oh, yes, she’d had plans. Big plans. But as of today, pretty much the only thing about her life that came anywhere close to perfection was Ryan, the fourteen-year-old kid, currently hanging over the metal auction fencing, watching her like a mother hen when the other horses got too close to her.

“I’m coming in,” he threatened.

“No, you’re not. Stay right where you are.”

“That gelding over there’s got his ears back,” he warned. “Watch out.”

“I’m watching. I’m fine.” Shay elbowed her way past a pair of skinny mares, keeping watch on the bay gelding with the white blaze down his face.

Aiming instead at the Appaloosa filly they’d had their eye on for the last week online, Shay edged closer to the young horse who looked to be no more than two or three. This was no place for a horse that young, but so many of these unwanted horses ended up here, heading for worse fates. The whys were what concerned her now as she inspected the filly. But it was no real mystery. There were a thousand reasons for horses to end up here, but almost none of those reasons were fair or equitable. Finances were tight, people were too busy, or some injury happened that was beyond their means to fix. Behavior issues were often a direct result of those other issues. But neglect and even abuse were often seen here as well, which always broke her heart.

The horses in the auction pen moved restlessly in the small enclosure, bumping into one another, half-trampling the smaller horses and ponies.

Shay pushed against the nearest mare who spooked and ran from her until Shay neared the smaller filly who stared at her with white-eyed panic. She had nowhere to go, trapped up against the metal fencing of the pen. At a little more than fifteen hands, she looked sound, if quite thin, except for the superficial but nasty-looking cut on her left, back leg from some interaction with one of these horses, no doubt. Yes, she was wild, but young enough to be trained.

“Can you get her?” Ryan called from outside the gate. “Is she okay?”

“She’s just scared,” Shay replied. “I need to get her out of this pen and away from these other horses before we’ll know if she has any real injuries.”

The young horse let out a high-pitched squeal, head raised, backing away from Shay.

“Ssshhh,” Shay whispered. “You don’t know this, but I’m gonna help you, little girl.”

“Hey! You!” called a gray-haired old man standing on the grated catwalk above the pen. Shay recognized him as one of the auctioneers she’d seen at other auctions here in Bozeman. “Hey, you in there, little lady! You’d best get on out of there.”

Shay ignored him.

“I mean it. Don’t go near that one. That filly is dangerous. She tried to take my head off earlier. Bit my partner in the shoulder.”

Probably deserved it. Fear was what was driving this horse’s reaction. Not meanness from what she could see.

“You hear me, missy?”

“Thanks, but I’m good,” she said, undeterred. She’d heard this warning many times before, and given the situation, she might have just bitten him herself.

The man turned his attention to her son. “Boy? You gonna let your mama get trampled in that pen, for bein’ a bull-headed female?”

She caught sight of the restrained clench of her son’s jaw. Ryan directed his comments to her. “You got this, Mom.”

Times like these, she wanted to kiss that boy of hers for standing up for her. “Sir, please don’t talk to my son. If you have a problem, talk directly to me.”

“See here, that’s the thing,” the old coot said. “My problem is you, lady, and not wanting to call in the fire department here to pick up your broken pieces.”

The auctioneer gestured at another nearby man up there to come watch her fail. The second man was also an out-of-towner, a middle-aged cowboy who looked like he hadn’t been off the range in a good long while. “Oh, yeah,” he muttered just loud enough for her to hear. “I seen her before at some auction up near Flathead. What is it with girls these days? Thinkin’ they can just ignore the rules? Maybe she’s got a death wish.”

“That it, ma’am? You got a death wish?” the codger asked.

Shay paused, glaring up at the man and opened her mouth to retort, but another voice, from somewhere behind the man, spoke up instead.

“Leave her alone,” he said. “She’s doing just fine.”

Shay peered up into the sunlit skylight above and the halo-outlined form of the man who’d spoken. She couldn’t make him out, but his voice sounded sort of . . . familiar. Either way, she was sick and tired of men speaking for her, instructing her, when she knew exactly what she was capable of. “Excuse me, gentlemen, but I—”

“Says you,” the old coot replied to the stranger, ignoring her. “You wouldn’t be sayin’ that if you knew that filly she’s messin’ with.”

“I’ve seen her. Maybe if you weren’t flapping flags at her every other minute, she’d settle down,” the man in shadows said, and Shay wondered if he meant the horse or her. “Looks more like to me you’re having a little fun at Ms. Hardesty’s expense.”

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