Page 1 of Rusty

CHAPTER ONE

Rusty

Rusty Maguire's boots leftdark imprints in the dew-soaked grass as he strode across the grounds of Littlecreek Ranch. The Montana sky was just beginning to lighten, painting the valley in soft hues. Rusty was often the first to stir, his internal clock as reliable as the ranch's roosters.

He mounted Midnight, his trusted stallion, and they set off on their morning patrol. The ranch sprawled before them—a patchwork of corrals, pastures, and weathered buildings nestled between rugged mountains and towering pines. A wild creek bubbled nearby, giving the ranch and nearby town their name.

As they rode the perimeter, Rusty's mind wandered to the day ahead. Checking fences, feeding animals, leading them to pasture—none of the work was glamorous, but he loved it nonetheless. Wrangling wasn't just a job, but a calling. The ranch's rhythms were as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.

It was one of those golden mornings. A morning where the world felt like it was all in order, like everything was just perfect.The sun was warm, the dew was shining, and everything smelled of life. Rusty and Midnight didn't encounter a single problem on that patrol. Happy animals, sturdy fences, not a single blade of grass was out of place. Satisfied with their inspection, Rusty returned Midnight to her stall. He pitched fresh hay to the eager horses and filled their troughs with cool well water. The cows were next, lowing softly as he tossed them their morning grain.

"Morning, Bessie," he murmured, tipping his hat to the old cow. Her soft low floated on the crisp air.

As he left the barn, Delilah, the furry feline and resident mouser, appeared for her customary ear scratch. "Good girl," Rusty murmured absentmindedly, feeling the soft gloss of the cat's pretty tortoiseshell fur under his fingertips.

He was about to ask Delilah if she had any big plans for the day, when a sharp clang pierced the morning calm.

Rusty froze, scanning the area.

He traced the sound to the newest addition's pasture. Snickers, a beautiful but cruelly neglected Quarter Horse mare, had arrived yesterday. Her mane and tail were tangled, but Rusty could see her potential beneath her heart-breaking condition. As he edged his way closer to her, her deep brown eyes darted nervously, tracking his every move.

"Easy now, Snickers," Rusty said softly, approaching the fence. The mare pawed at the ground, snorting. "Everything's gonna be fine. You're not the first troubled horse I've worked with."

Memories of Midnight surfaced. That horse had been a real challenge when he’d first come into Rusty’s care, lashing out at anyone who dared come close. But with time and patience, Rusty had earned his trust. Now, Midnight was his loyal companion.

Snickers shied away as Rusty drew closer. Despite her fear, there was a dancer's grace to her movements—she was light and delicate on her feet.

As if determined to prove otherwise, Snickers kicked her hooves against the metal water trough. The sharp clang echoed again, and Rusty wondered if she'd been at it all night.

"It's okay," he murmured, keeping his distance. "We've got time, girl. We've got time."

Rusty's heart clenched as he took in Snickers' condition. Her ribs protruded sharply beneath a dull, patchy coat. Angry welts—some fresh, others scarred over—crisscrossed her flanks, telling a story of repeated lashings. Her hooves were overgrown and cracked, evidence of long-term neglect. But it was her eyes that truly betrayed her suffering: wide, wary, and filled with a bone-deep fear that made Rusty's jaw clench.

He thought of Trent, the ranch veterinarian, who had started to tend to Snickers' physical wounds as soon as she'd arrived yesterday. But Rusty knew his own task was equally crucial—to mend the invisible scars, to teach this battered mare that not all humans brought pain. It was a mission he'd faced before, but never with a horse so deeply traumatized.

As he watched Snickers flinch at a sparrow's sudden flight, Rusty silently vowed to be the patient, gentle presence she so desperately needed.

Rusty had an affinity for hurt animals. He was no stranger to heartache himself, having lost the love of his life, Janice, years before. He knew that each creature had its own unique challenges and its own individual path to recovery.

"Reckon you'll need some time and patience, girl," he mused, resting his hands on the wooden fence. "But we'll get you there."

Snickers' ears twitched, seemingly listening to his voice. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

"Yep," he murmured, watching her cautiously, "we'll get you there."

He watched as Snickers' dark eyes flickered between him and the open pasture, poised for flight.

Rusty stood still for a few minutes, letting Snickers get used to his presence, then he smiled gently and took a step forward, careful not to make any sudden movements.

"Wouldn't mind if I got a bit closer, would ya?" he asked, his voice low and soothing.

Snickers shifted uneasily, her hooves digging into the soft earth beneath her. Rusty could see the tension in her body, ready to bolt at any moment. But he didn't let that deter him. With each step he took, he offered calming words, hoping they would reach her.

"See? Nothin' to be afraid of, darlin'," he murmured, now only a few feet away from her quivering form. "Might smell a bit funky, but I assure you I ain't toxic."

But just as Rusty reached out a hand to gently touch her muzzle, Snickers reared up, her front hooves flailing in the air as she whinnied loudly.

He instinctively stepped back, hands raised in a placating gesture.

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