Page 43 of On His Ranch

Senior was standing a few yards from the barn and lifted his hand in acknowledgement.

Chase strode toward him, trying to school his expression so that his grandfather didn’t see how hard his blood was pumping.

“Did you hear it?”

“Yep. Any ideas?”

“I’m thinkin’ one of the horses.”

Chase nodded briskly and as one they began heading for the pen they kept the horses in. As soon as they arrived it was evident something was wrong. The pen was open, but it was more than that. Each one had been trained so well from birth that none of them would wander off the property. Both Chase and Senior had let it slip their mind once or twice and none of the horses had gone more than a couple of feet, looking for richer land to graze.

But what was in front of them now was something else entirely. All of the horses were out and clearly agitated. A couple were galloping away, while others uttered frenzied neighs, their ears back, eyes wide and frightened.

“Somethin’ sure spooked ‘em good.”

Chase grunted his agreement, his gaze moving side to side as he tried to assess the situation. “We better act quick,” he said a moment later. “Before this gets too out of hand. By my count, three took off. I’ll go huntin’ those and you can handle things here.” Without waiting for an answer, he began to move swiftly toward one of the running horses.

It was a long afternoon. The sun was bright and it was especially hot out. By his reckoning, it was a good bit of time before he was able to find and subdue each horse. He was hungry to boot, but he knew it would be a good bit longer before he’d be able to satisfy his stomach.

“You OK?” Chase asked as he approached Senior who was padlocking the pen.

His grandfather turned toward him and cringed. “Looks like one got ya.”

He reached up to caress his cheek. It was tender to the touch, and he knew a good size bruise would be there by morning. “Nah, nothin’ like that. He just tricked me and let me think he had cooled off, then he tossed me.”

“I thought I trained you better’n that.” Senior clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t let ‘em trick you.”

Chase didn’t miss the sympathy in his brusque voice and he grinned. “Yep. That hasn’t happened in a few decades.”

“I bet you won’t let it happen for a few more.”

“You got that right. Well, what’s the damage here?”

Senior’s gaze moved to the pen, and he seemed to be counting. “With the three you brought back, we’re short one stallion.”

“Which one?”

He got a somber look for his answer.

“Which one?” he pressed.

“Sterling.”

“Shit.” His hands balled into fists at his sides.

“Yep. I reckon that’s about the size of it.”

He swore again and spit on the ground. “Damn it all to hell.”

Sterling was one of the six prize stallions they had right now, and the only one who had already been bought. They were supposed to deliver him to his new owner next week. Not only did they need the money for new equipment, their reputation as one of the best stallion breeders was on the line. His grandfather gave him time to mull it over and process. His presence was comforting, not pressing, as Chase decided what to do.

“Whoever it was couldn’a taken him off the ranch. He wouldn’t go willingly with anyone we didn’ give him to.”

Senior grunted his agreement. “Which means?”

“He’s around here somewhere.” His mind raced, wondering where to begin as he tried to track a runaway stallion across two hundred acres. “I’ll go back out and try’n find ‘im.”

“Alright. Maybe you ought to go up to the house first and—”

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