Hayden’s cutting horse, a brown-and-white paint gelding, was dozing. He raised his head, instantly alert, as Hayden opened the stall gate and ushered Cheyenne inside.
“This is Steely Dan,” he said. “Best horse I’ve ever ridden. I can’t wait to have you see him in action.”
Cheyenne stroked the silky coat. The horse was in superb condition. “He’s beautiful,” she said.
“Beauty is always a plus,” Hayden said. “But what really counts in a cutting horse is what they call cow sense—the instinct to follow a cow and keep it under control. That instinct can’t be taught. It’s bred into them. Remember that when you choose your own horse.”
“I’ve heard people compare cutting horses to border collies,” Cheyenne said. “Would you agree with that?”
“In a way, I suppose. A smart horse is every bit as intelligent as a dog.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go check on the other horses.”
His touch was warm and supportive as they moved along the row of stalls. But Cheyenne felt a chill of dread as she braced for what she would find. Maybe Roper would still be in the barn. That would make things easier. And they could also tell him about finding the truck anddriver at the motel. But the hour was late, and Cheyenne knew how tired he must be. When they came to the three stalls assigned to the Culhane horses, there was no sign of him.
Both stallions were traumatized. One in a Million was standing in his stall with his head at the gate. He appeared calm; but he showed the whites of his eyes and flinched when Cheyenne reached up to stroke him. The oats in his feeder hadn’t been touched.
Fire Dance was wild-eyed and quivering. When Hayden, who knew the horse well, spoke to him softly over the gate, the red horse laid back his ears, bared his teeth, and lunged for him.
Hayden stepped back, shaking his head.
“Do you think he’ll be all right to show?” Cheyenne asked.
Hayden sighed. “He’s going to need time. All we can do is hope he recovers before the Run for a Million.”
The stall between the two stallions had been assigned to Millie. It was empty. The spirited filly, so full of grace and promise, was gone. Was she still in the vet clinic, scared, confused, and in pain, unaware of the IV needle that would soon end her suffering? Or was she already lying cold under a canvas, her body waiting to be loaded and hauled away?
Shaking with grief and anger, Cheyenne burst into sobs. She pressed her hands to her tear-blinded eyes, but the flow, like a river in spring thaw, went on.
“It’s all right, Cheyenne.” Hayden’s arms circled her, drawing her in to huddle against his chest. “Go ahead and cry, girl. I’m here.”
He rocked her, his hand massaging her back, his lips nibbling a trail along her hairline. “There … there,” he murmured. “That’s it. Let it go.”
His free hand cupped her chin, tilting her face upward.For a moment, Cheyenne feared he was going to kiss her. “No—not now!” She turned her face away. She liked Hayden, but this wasn’t the time or place.
“Are you all right, Cheyenne?” A familiar voice spoke from somewhere behind her. As Hayden released her, she turned to find Roper standing next to the stall. He looked haggard and drawn, his eyes bloodshot, his jaw shadowed with stubble.
“I’ll be fine.” Cheyenne took the clean handkerchief he offered and dabbed at her eyes. “What about Millie?”
“It’s over.” Roper’s voice was drained of emotion. “The body’s on the way back to Texas in a refrigerated van. Lila wants to bury her on the ranch.”
“We found the green semi that hit you. And we found the driver.” Hayden related the incident at the motel, ending with the driver’s dismissive words.
“The hell of it is, he’s right,” Roper said. “We can talk to the police. But if we can’t prove there was a hit involved, this won’t even be worth their time. It’s a damned traffic ticket—a dented rig and a horse that had to be put down.”
“You look exhausted, Roper,” Cheyenne said. “You need to go to your room and get some sleep.”
“You don’t look too chipper yourself, Little Sister,” Roper said. “I need to spend more time with the horses. Go on up to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.” He raised an eyebrow. “That’s an order.”
“You’re not here to give me orders,” Cheyenne said.
“You can say that when you’re twenty-one. Until then, I’m the boss. So get going.” He was teasing her now, coaxing away her tears, something he’d often done when she was growing up. Roper had been her hero, her protector from the wild antics of her three roughneck full brothers. He still took his role seriously.
“Watch yourself on the elevator,” Roper said. “At this hour, you don’t know who you’ll be riding with or what condition they might be in. Get in with a crowd if you can.”
“For heaven’s sake, Roper, I’m a rodeo girl!” Cheyenne protested. “If I can fend off drunken cowboys, I can certainly make it to my hotel room on my own.”
“I’ll go along and see her safely upstairs,” Hayden offered. “All right, Cheyenne?”
Cheyenne sighed and nodded. More arguing would be childish and a waste of time. She turned away and started for the casino and hotel entrance on the south side of the barn.