Page 13 of When The Dust Settles

I picked up speed, and by the time I made it to Juju, I could have spit nails. The look I got from her, though, like where the hell was her treat, made me even more pissed that I forgot to grab her an apple.

“I’m sorry.”

Of course, she did what she always did and turned her back on me.

“Oh, come on,” I whined.

When I walked around in front of her, she turned her head until I ripped open the granola bar and she heard the foil go. Then she bumped me with her head, doing the whole bitey grabby give-it-to-me-now thing and I chuckled as she delicately took the entire thing, chewed a couple times, and swallowed it down. She was lucky I had one more, or I would’ve been really annoyed about going hungry.

“Can I eat this one?” I asked.

It was like she shrugged, and I realized how tired I was. My horse was basically talking to me.

Good lord.

I pet her, hung on her neck, and she let me like she always did before, blowing air softly into my face. It was gentle, the way she was with me, always, and I wasn’t surprised when she nuzzled my chest with her nose for a moment, ending with her head resting on my shoulder. The affection she showed me, along with her possessiveness, like the way she tried to take a bite out of me if I ever rode another horse, were just some of the many reasons why when I left the White Ash, I took her with me.

She was beautiful, all black except for a white pattern on her forehead that was cataloged as a star but to me always looked more like a skull. When she was born, for whatever reason, her mother had taken an immediate dislike to her and, in fact, tried to kill her by biting and kicking at her with her back legs. We separated them immediately, and I was tasked with keeping the foal alive.

Her mother, Voodoo, was pure Arabian and was purchased to breed with my father’s Arabian stallion, Hamza, whom he’d traded land for three years earlier. Rayland Holloway loved Arabians, but there were so many top breeders in Texas already that it was hard for him to find a good mare. When he finally did, unfortunately, Voodoo wouldn’t have any part of Hamza, and the artificial insemination route had been unsuccessful. The first time didn’t take and the second, she miscarried because the vet said she was overly stressed by the whole process. The third time they were ready to try, one of the new hands put her in the wrong stall, and instead of running into Hamza’s corral, she went in with Medallion, my father’s Foundation Quarter Horse. From what happened after that, it was clear that Voodoo did not dislike stallions as everyone had assumed; she just had no interest in Hamza. Medallion she liked just fine, and so my father ended up with Juju, who was a mix and not pure anything. No one was all that worried about Juju when she was born. If she didn’t make it, it was okay; he was going to try again with the two purebred horses anyway. But when her mama didn’t want her and I was the first one in the stall, picking her up, cuddling her and carrying her away, I got attached good and hard.

I slept beside her, fed her, walked with her, finally ran beside her, and by the time she was a filly named Juju—’cause it was bad juju what happened to her—and not a foal anymore, we were bonded heart and soul.

She was mean to everyone but me, crazy smart, like diabolically clever about getting out of a stall, corral, or anywhere she didn’t want to be, and did not ever allow anyone else to ride her. She didn’t buck; that would have been way too much trouble. Instead she would just lie down. First she’d go down with her front and back legs folded under her, but if that didn’t work, she’d start to tip over until you moved because she was so damn heavy and no one wanted their leg trapped under her. My father could not believe it the first time she did it, or the second, or third, but finally he threw up his hands in defeat. He’d never seen a horse that stubborn. If she’d bucked, he could have broken her, but her whole passive resistance routine, he had no idea what to do with. When I got on and she stood right up, ready to go do whatever I had in mind, he announced she was mine. As if there was ever any question.

Now, as I stood beside her, she bumped me, moving me until I got off her so she could munch a bit more grass in the cool shade. She was grazing, not really chowing down since she was so picky that where we were standing would never do as actual sustenance.

It was good that I was in the back, so no one had to talk to me. The dogs were spread out in the shade and I went over and sat with them. One after another I was greeted, with Beau, Rand’s lead canine, putting his head in my lap. Petting him, talking to the others with Juju there close, keeping an eye on me, I finally felt some of the irritation dissipate.

Had I been at home, at my restaurant when the guys teased me, I bantered right along with them. In my place I was considered a pretty damn good sport. But my family and the men who worked with them brought out the very worst of me. And since petulance wasn’t sexy, I put the pretty man out of my head. I just needed to concentrate on living through the drive. I promised myself I would never, ever again put myself in the position to owe Stefan Joss anything.

Live and learn.

THE RIVER we came upon late in the afternoon wasn’t that deep, but that didn’t mean the calves could move through the water without drowning. Most of the others drove the cattle across, but I dismounted, left Juju drinking, and started the process of carrying the babies. Once they were in the water, it was fine; it was just getting them to edge. I got kicked a lot and went under more times than I could count, and it took forever to get all twenty of them from one side to the other. The mothers followed dutifully behind once they saw me carrying their babies.

I was sitting on the other side, pouring water out of my boots, when Rand came riding up along with Mac and Zach.

“What the fuck is taking you so long back… here… and where the hell are Pierce and Tom?” Rand asked like I should know.

I looked up at him, squinted, and waited for him to figure it out as I wrung out my shirttails.

“You’re supposed to have two more guys with you,” he insisted, scanning both sides of the river, turning around in the saddle to check the area before returning his attention to me. “Did you send them away?”

“Like anyone would listen to me,” I groused.

“Well, then where the hell are they?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, boss man,” I replied, clipping my words.

Zach moved his horse up beside Rand’s stallion and glowered down at me. “Why the hell are you wet and… oh.” He groaned, turning in this saddle to look at the calves prancing around their mothers fifty feet from us. “Jesus, Glenn.”

I got up. “Dead cattle would’ve made a helluva good impression on them kids, Zach.”

“Where the hell are Pierce and Tom?” Rand demanded, for once his annoyance directed at someone besides me.

“I thought you told me they were supposed to ride lead to help watch over the parents and kids,” Zach explained, glancing at me and then back to Rand, meeting his glare.

“No,” Rand replied brusquely, gesturing at me. “They were supposed to help Glenn.”