One Cowboy, One Christmas

“Head for high ground,” she sang out from the far side of the pickup cab. Zach noticed a slight tremor in the gloved hand directing the way.

Straddling the gearbox hump, Ann must have noticed, too. Without a word she laid a solicitous hand on her sister’s knee as Zach arced the steering wheel and tipped the two women in his direction. Sally brushed the hand away. It was a subtle but telling exchange, and Zach had no trouble reading the “tell.” It’s my hand, my play. He reached across Ann’s knee, downshifted and put the pickup on an uphill course, following two parallel ribbons worn in the sod. He let his jacketed forearm linger a moment past necessary. His tell, for whatever it might be worth. Tenderness noted, Angel Ann.

They topped a rise and stopped, silently surveying roughly twenty horses strung out along the draw below. Their coats were thick and dull, their manes shaggy and tangled, their bodies clad in prairie camouflage—dun and grullo and palomino, spots the colors of rocks and ridges, tails like grass.

“Good,” Sally said after a moment. “We’re downwind. But they’ll sense our presence soon enough. See that bay stallion?” She pointed to a stout, thick-necked standout. “He’s a Spanish Sulphur Mustang. We just sold some of his colts. Got some good money for them even though horse prices are down. He’s getting a reputation for himself, which helps pay the bills.”

“How many acres you got here?” Zach asked.

“Five thousand, but we’re bidding on a lease for fifteen hundred more.”

Ann stiffened. “We are?”

“I told you, didn’t I? I can’t believe it’s available. Along the river on the north side.” It was Sally’s turn to pat a knee. “It’s water, Annie.”

“We’d have to get more domestic livestock, and we can’t handle that. We don’t have enough help, Sally.”

“More rodeo stock?” Zach asked.

“More cattle,” Ann said. “We’re a balancing act these days, running steers and just enough of a cow-calf operation to call ourselves a ranch. Horses don’t qualify as farm animals in this state. Without the domestic stock we’d pay much higher property taxes.”

“So we’ll get a few more,” Sally said. “We’re officially nonprofit now.”

Ann sighed. “That’s for sure.”

“Which means we’re satisfying the federal side. I’ve got the balancing act under control, Annie. And I have a few new ideas in the incubator.” Sally leaned for a look at her driver. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

“No doubt.” Zach scanned the jagged horizon. “Pretty piece of land they’ve got here. They fit right in.”

“They belong here as much as we do. More than we do, but they have to depend on us these days.”

“Can’t tell by lookin’ at ‘em.”

“Which is the way it should be,” Sally said. “Have you ever seen the holding pens the culls end up in when there’s no place else for them to go?”

Zach nodded. “I’ve seen pictures. They’re well fed.”

“They’re sad,” Ann said quietly.

“Horses are born to run.” Sally gave a sweeping gesture across the dashboard. “That’s who they are, and they know it. The wild ones do, anyway.”

“So you’re just giving them a place to live free. They don’t have to do anything but be themselves.”

“Pretty much. We sell as many of the colts as we can. I wish we could afford to put more training into them. I know our sales would improve.” Sally leaned forward again, peering past her sister. “How much horse sense do you have, Zach?”

“He’s a cowboy, Sally. Of course he knows horses.”

“Do you, Zach?”

“Been around ‘em most of my life, one way or another. Can’t say I ever owned one, but I never owned a bull, either.” He smiled. “I’ll ride anything with four legs.”

“But you want your ride to buck,” Sally said cheerfully.

“That’s the only way I get paid.” Zach nodded toward the scene below. “I’m like them, I guess. I know who I am.” He glanced at Ann. “Is that what they mean by horse sense? Having as much sense as a horse?”

“It’s about being practical,” Ann said, slipping her sister a pointed look.

“In that case, I’ve probably got some catchin’ up to do.”

“You’re not the only one,” Ann said quietly.

“Mount up, Zach. My little sister will soon have us up to speed in pursuit of practicality.”

Again he nodded toward the herd. “If that’s what practicality looks like, I’m mounted and ready for the gate.” One by one the horses began raising their heads, ears perked and seeking signals. Zach chuckled. “Who calls the play?”

“The wolf,” Ann said. “They know he’ll show up sooner or later, and they’re ready either way. And that’s horse sense.”

“How do you like my little sister, Zach? Makes you think, doesn’t she?”

“Whether you want to or not.” He caught Ann’s eye, gave her a smile and a wink. “Maybe that’s why she’s in better shape than both of us put together, Sally. Ready to fight off the wolf when he comes to your door.”

“Or hold him off while we take flight.” Sally chuckled. “In our dreams.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Ann complained. “Obviously somebody’s going to have to run this bunch in today so we can cut those two skinny old mares out and that gelding. They won’t like it, but they’re not getting enough to eat.”

“Where’s that kid of yours who’s supposed to help out?”

“Wherever he is, he’s using up his lifeline.”

“We get help from Annie’s students,” Sally explained. “Some are more dependable than others.”

Ann nodded. “The sanctuary is a community service. Kids get in trouble, they can sometimes do their time here. Most of them do very well, and some of them even come back as volunteers. We had five of them off and on last summer. It’s a good program.”

“Pain in the patoot,” Sally muttered.

“It’s my patoot,” Ann said. “I know how to take care of it.”

Zach laughed. “I like your little sister just fine, Sally. Just fine.”

He liked their layout, too. If he’d done what he’d planned to do when he’d had the money—and he’d been in the money for a while there, had a few stellar seasons—he’d have his own place. He’d had his eye on a little ranch near San Antonio, but it had gone to developers while he was still playing in his winnings.

His brother, Sam, had won some big money not too long ago, or so he’d heard, and he wondered how Sam was spending it. But he kept his wondering to himself. Sam was one of the “more dependable than others” kind. He showed up when he was supposed to, did his job without risking his neck, banked his paycheck and paid his bills on time. Hard to imagine him buying a lottery ticket, but if anybody could pick the right numbers, it would be Sam.

When he’d asked Sam to buy his share of their grandfather’s land, Sam had tried to talk him out of it. Said he’d loan Zach what he could to get him started on the professional rodeo circuit, the PRCA. Zach hadn’t cared about land back then. He’d been a high school bullriding champion, and he was going down the road wearing brand-new boots, driving a brand-new pickup. Sturdy, skilled, strong-willed, he had what he needed. Ain’t nothin’ gonna hold me down or cramp my considerable style, bro.

Except his own body.

He’d been sitting too long, and the notion of hitting the road anytime soon wasn’t sitting too well with his diced-and-spliced hip. You’re gonna pay for all that walkin’ last night, son. Your body and your truck were all you had to look after, but you beat up the one and deserted the other.

He watched the Drexler house grow in appeal as much as in size as the pickup drew closer. He thought about the warm bed behind the first-floor corner window. He wouldn’t mind laying his aching body in it for another night. Being held down was no longer much of an issue. Getting up was the challenge.

He dropped the women off near the back door and headed for the outbuildings, where his beloved Zelda stood powerless, her bumper chained to a small tractor hitch like a big blue fish on a hook. Hoolie pulled his head out from under Zelda’s hood and wiped his hands on a greasy rag, which he stuck in the back pocket of his greasy coveralls. A disjointed memory of his father flashed through Zach’s mind as he parked the Double D pickup nose to nose with his own. Greasy coveralls had looked damn cool through a little boy’s eyes. If it was broke, Dad could fix it.

“You got some engine trouble here, Zach,” Hoolie said. Like after last night, trouble was news. “I could use some help gettin’ her into the shop, but I can tell you right now, she ain’t goin’ nowhere unless she gets a good overhaul. Rings, seals, the whole she-bang. Not that you weren’t runnin’ on fumes, but who needs a gas gauge when you’ve got that second tank?”

“That’s what I say.”

“How long since you’ve had ‘em both full?”

“Since gas was under a dollar a gallon. How long ago was that?”

“I ain’t that old, son.” The old man smiled. “Tell you what. You help me out around here, I’ll fix your pickup for you. Don’t give me that look. It’s a simple American-made straight shift. I can order parts off the Internet, slicker’n cowpies.” He did a two-finger dance on an imaginary keyboard, tweedled a dial-up signal, made a zip-zip gesture and smacked the back of one stiff hand into the palm of the other. “In one tube and out the other, sure as you’re born. Hell of a deal, that Internet.”

“Haven’t used it much myself.”

“You gotta get with the twenty-first century, boy. For some things. Others, hell, you can’t beat a handshake and an old-fashioned trade, even up. I help you, you help me.”

Zach nodded. “What do you need?”

“A good hand. All-around cowboy. These girls got a good thing goin’ here, but they’re runnin’ me ragged.”

“Good for what?” Not for profit, according to the “girls.”

“Good for what ails us in the twenty-first century. Tube-headedness. All input and no output. Too many one-way streets. Too much live and not enough letlive.”

“Gotcha.”

“So, what do you say?”

Zach glanced under Zelda’s hood. Poor girl. Mouth wide open and she can’t make a sound. In their prime he’d made sure she had nothing but the best. A guy had no excuse for neglecting his ride. “You’re a pretty decent mechanic?”

“Worked for my dad until he closed up shop. Then I came to work for Don Drexler. Every piece of equipment, every vehicle on the place runs like a top.”

Zach smiled. “I say I’m getting the best end of the deal.”

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