Here to Stay (15 page)

“Maybe you just never gave the right lady a chance.”

“Could be.” Cookie shoved another piece of bread in his mouth. “But I ain’t mournin’ the loss. Like my life just the way it is. I got nobody but you to fuss at me.”

Zach resumed eating. Having a conversation with Cookie was like spinning a spur; you never knew where the rowels would land. Even so, the old codger had a way of cutting right to the heart of a matter. Zach’s strange feelings about Miranda were just that, strange feelings. They weren’t something he should act upon or take seriously.

After helping clean up the breakfast mess, Zach began his day with Tornado, whose name should have been “Impossible” and probably would have been if not for Zach’s practice of naming his horses after weather patterns. His sister, Sam, had a theory that every stable needed a theme for the quarter horse registry, and all the Harrigans except Frank had followed her lead. All Sam’s animals were named after kitchen spices, sauces, or flavorings; Clint had gone with a biblical slant; Parker named his horses after cities and states; and Quincy, the health nut, had a stable filled with fruits and vegetables. How could anyone name a gorgeous stallion Rutabaga and expect the poor critter to hold its head up high? Asparagus was even worse.

Tornado had gotten his name by the luck of the draw, before Zach realized how apt it would end up being. He’d already used Hurricane, Whirlwind, Typhoon, Cyclone, and Tempest. Tornado had been the next unused name. Sadly, the five-year-old horse had soon proven to be deserving of the handle, exhibiting violent and unpredictable behavior that Zach had spent nearly two months trying to resolve without a lick of success.

“Easy, boy,” Zach said as he entered the stall, knowing even as he spoke that he was wasting his breath. Nothing with Tornado went easy. Unlike the stable-born Crooked H horses, Tornado had evidently not been imprinted at birth or as a young foal, and he’d apparently received no effective training as an adolescent. Despite all Zach’s efforts, the stallion remained a twelve-hundred-pound bundle of trouble, the equine version of Jekyll and Hyde. Zach allowed no one else to enter Tornado’s stall. When the stallion needed farrier or veterinarian care, three people hazed him into a hydraulic box stall, Tucker sedated him, and only then did the animal receive the attention he needed.

Every time Zach thought about it, he did a slow burn.
Live and learn
. Tornado’s previous owner had been ill when Zach first went to examine the stallion, named Morpheus at the time, and the ranch foreman, given power of attorney to transact sales, hadn’t seen fit to tell Zach that he was about to purchase a nightmare. During that first viewing, Tornado had exhibited no bad behavior. Zach suspected the stallion had been sedated, but when Tucker had gotten back from a cruise with his wife two weeks later and done a drug test, he’d found no trace of a sedative in Tornado’s system. That had been disappointing, because some drugs remained detectable for as long as ninety days. If Zach could have proved that he’d been ripped off, he might have been able to return the horse and get his money back. But as things stood, Zach was stuck with a crazy horse.

The sad part for Zach wasn’t the financial loss, though. Hell, no. It was the stallion’s probable fate that broke his heart. If Zach couldn’t help Tornado, probably no one could, and on his present course, Tornado would eventually hurt somebody. When a horse was that dangerous, the eleventh hour eventually led to midnight. Ending the stallion’s life would be one of the most difficult things Zach had ever done. He hated to even
consider
it, which was why he worked with the horse daily, hoping for a breakthrough.

This morning, all Zach had in mind to do was some routine grooming. With Tornado, that was dicey. So dicey, in fact, that the animal’s coat and mane were a mess. One time, the stallion would docilely accept being touched in certain places. The next time, he blew up for no apparent reason. There was just no figuring him out.

The moment Zach closed the stall gate behind him, the sorrel snorted and spun on his hind legs, slashing the ground with his front hooves. Zach had no idea why the horse was in a snit. Knowing Tornado, it could be anything from the way Zach wore his hat to a movement he made that the animal didn’t like.

“Easy, boy. It’s okay.” Zach had learned as a youngster to develop eyes in the back of his head when he was around horses, so he kept the stallion in sight as he moved slowly toward the currycomb that hung high on the right wall. “No worries,” he soothed. “I’m just going to brush you down.”

As Zach closed his fingers over the handle of the sawtoothed grooming tool, Tornado reared on his hind legs, screamed, and came at Zach with a lightning-quick slashing of his front hooves. Zach ducked sideways, but not quickly enough to avoid a blow to his shoulder that sent him reeling. He dove to the right, rammed his arm against the wall, and took another strike to the back before he could roll clear. For an instant, all he could see was a funnel storm of straw and dust. Then he glimpsed the stallion’s front hooves suspended directly above his face. He rolled again, sprang to his feet, and ran for the gate, barely managing to vault over the barrier before Tornado reached him.

Landing in a sprawl outside the enclosure, Zach spit dirt and hay, trying to get his lungs to work again before he moved.
Pain
. Fortunately, the stallion’s hooves had glanced off, sparing Zach the full impact of the strikes, but it still hurt like hell. When he’d recovered enough to move, he gained his feet and began berating the stallion.

“You ungrateful, rotten, misbegotten
bastard
!” Furious, Zach drew back his foot and sent a feed pail flying. The bucket arced high and landed at the center of the arena with a metallic
thunk
. “One of these days, I’m going to put a bullet between your eyes!” Zach kicked the dirt, settled fists at his hips, and grabbed for breath. “Son of a
bitch
!”

Cookie sauntered from a mare’s stall well away from the stallion section. As he fastened the gate, he shook his head. “You kickin’ buckets again? If you want your toe broke, come out with me to the choppin’ block, and I’ll just whack it with the sledge.”

Zach leveled a burning gaze on the older man. Atop Cookie’s head sat a battered tan Stetson that Zach knew for a fact had served him winter and summer for more than thirty years. Thinking of hats, Zach shot a look into Tornado’s stall. His brown Stetson, knocked from his head during the brouhaha, was now flatter than a pancake, and Tornado was still pawing it to do further damage. Zach made a mental note to grab another Stetson from the stable office, where he always kept spares.

“It’s called venting, Cookie. That damned horse just tried to kill me.”

Cookie arched a grizzled brow and spewed tobacco juice from between his front teeth. With his usual good aim, he nailed the bucket Zach had just sent flying. “You got two choices, way I see it. Work the meanness out of him or have Tucker put him down.”

Zach hooked his thumbs over his hand-carved leather belt, which he’d won during a challenging bout of cutting competition a few years ago. The reminder only made him feel more frustrated. He was renowned for his ability to train any horse he came across. It was pretty damned humiliating to fail day after day with Tornado.

“I’ve tried everything. He’s impossible, and nothing I do is going to change him.”

Dawn was breaking, faint streaks of pearly pink light spilling into the arena through skylights and open paddock doors. The other employees hadn’t arrived yet. Zach and Cookie opened shop each morning, and the hands started trickling in around seven.

“Ain’t many horses truly ruined beyond repair.” Cookie spit more tobacco juice. “Even well-trained stallions can be temperamental. Give ’em a sniff of a mare in estrus, and they’re popcorn farts. You Harrigans have a way of breedin’ docile ones. Maybe it’s the handlin’ they receive from birth. But as a general rule, stallions are difficult.”

Zach passed a hand over his eyes. “Tornado’s beyond difficult.”

“Since nothin’ else has worked, why don’t you try some of that newfangled clicker stuff on him? Works with Rosebud, don’t it?”

As the old foreman turned and walked away, Zach glared at his back.
Clicker training?
It was the craziest suggestion Zach had ever heard. Or was it?

A few minutes later, when Zach had cooled off, he approached Tornado’s stall with Rosebud’s tennis-ball target. The stallion snorted and threw his head, sidestepping inside the enclosure. Softly whistling, Zach opened the gates and strung a heavy chain across the opening, which was about as effective as stringing dental floss in the path of a rhino. But Zach trusted the other horses, and he needed to pretend that he trusted Tornado. Mind-set was sometimes everything.

Zach scooped some pellets from the pouch at his belt and extended an open palm to the horse. Tornado snorted and backed up several steps. But then his nostrils quivered, and he elongated his neck, trying to get a whiff of what Zach had in his hand.
Stubborn, meanhearted beast.
But Zach had decided to give this a try, and he was as stubborn as any horse. He waited until Tornado gave in to curiosity and came over to eat the pellets. Then Zach slowly drew Rosebud’s training wand forward, allowing the stallion to see and grow accustomed to it while he ate a second handful of goodies.

Before the session ended, Tornado was touching the tennis ball to get rewards, and Zach was congratulating himself on a job well-done. The quarter horse had locked onto the target just as quickly as Rosebud had during her first clicker session. Was it possible this might work? Zach cautioned himself not to get his hopes up. Tornado had a temperament as volatile as nitroglycerin. Unless the equine equivalent of Dr. Phil dropped by, Tornado might never get better. Even so, Zach felt a surge of excitement as he went to work with Hurricane, a dream stallion Zach had started training at birth. What if? The question circled endlessly in Zach’s mind.

Once Zach finished with Hurricane, it was time for his hands to start arriving. Ethel De Mario appeared first, running ten minutes early. A slender brunette who wore her long hair in a braid down her back, she waved and called, “Good morning!”

Zach latched Hurricane’s stall gate. “Morning! How’d the dinner go last night?”

Ethel’s Italian parents-in-law had dined at her home the previous evening, and they tended to be critical of her culinary skills. “Let’s just say Michael’s mom left for home before I strangled her.” She tugged a pair of worn leather gloves from the waistband of her jeans. “Didn’t like my lasagna. Said my pasta was rubbery. Detested the bread because I didn’t bake it. Didn’t care for the dipping oil. You name it, she hated it.”

Zach laughed. “Don’t let her upset you. Your lasagna is perfect!” Ethel often brought in dishes to share with everyone at lunch, and Zach loved her cooking. “She probably just has her nose out of joint. Her non-Italian daughter-in-law can make lasagna that rivals her own. That’s bound to stick in her craw.”

“I wish something would. Some rubbery pasta, maybe? Trust me when I say I would
not
be the first person to jump up and administer the Heimlich maneuver.”

Zach ambled across the arena, grinning at the spark of anger in Ethel’s blue eyes as she tugged on a glove. She flexed her shoulders and stretched her neck, an obvious attempt to readjust her mood before she went near the horses. She never allowed her personal problems to interfere with her work. “She raised a wonderful son. I’ll give her that.” She flashed a smile. “What’s on the agenda today?”

Zach crooked a finger at her and led the way to Tornado’s stall. After briefing Ethel on the blowup that had occurred earlier and Cookie’s suggestion that Zach try clicker training, he gave her an inquiring look. “You’re great with horses. I respect your opinion. Do you think there’s a chance in hell it might work on him?”

Ethel settled a gaze on the sorrel. “Anything’s worth a try.” She watched the horse circle inside the enclosure. “I hear the talk around here, Zach. Everyone’s afraid of that animal, including me, as ashamed as I am to admit it. One of these days, he’s going to hurt somebody. I mean
really
hurt somebody. The worst part is, you’ll never see it coming. He’s fine one minute and maniacal the next.”

Zach’s throat went tight. As infuriating as Tornado could be, Zach didn’t want to see the stallion come to a bad end. “I hate the thought of putting him down.”

A singularly plain woman who never wore cosmetics, Ethel always seemed beautiful when she smiled. She rested a gloved hand on Zach’s arm. “If anybody can turn him around, it’s you. Don’t give up on him quite yet. We can all be careful and stay clear of his stall. Maybe the clicker training will be a turning point for him.”

“I hope so. I’ve tried everything else for almost two months, no headway.”

“No headway with what?”

Zach turned to see his hired hand Tony Spellman sauntering toward them. Tony was a big man, as square and solid as a brick outhouse, but despite his size, he was agile and a damned fine horseman.

“Tornado almost took me out this morning,” Zach replied. “Ethel and I are discussing plans of action.”

“A tranquilizer gun followed by lethal injection?”

“Shut up, Spellman.” Ethel shot her fellow employee a warning glare. “He hasn’t seriously hurt anyone yet.”

“
Yet
being the key word. Nobody wants to work with him. Even with the hydraulic box stall and sedation, the farrier shook in his boots while he trimmed that monster’s hooves. Hell, even Tucker walked a wide circle around the son of a bitch that morning, and he’s one of the finest vets I’ve ever known.” Tony looked Zach dead in the eye. “He’s loco. You know it, and I know it. There’s only one thing to be done with a horse like that. I just hope you get your mind wrapped around it and act before it’s too late.” He gave Zach a level look. “He will hurt someone. It’s just a matter of time.”

Tornado chose that moment to blow up again. The thunderous reports of his rear hooves on the walls of the stall rolled across the arena. Startled, Tony fell back a step. “He’s a killer, I’m telling you.”