Last Chance Cowboy. Cathy Mcdavid
going all the way back to the wild mustangs of his grandfather’s time.
He’d recently acquired a partner with deep pockets, a man from Mustang Valley, and developed a business plan. All he needed was the stud horse.
This weekend, he, his partner, his brother and their two ranch hands would go out. By Monday, if all went well, Gavin’s family would have a new revenue stream, and the years of barely making ends meet would be forever behind them.
All at once, the black spot vanished, swallowed by the uneven terrain.
Gavin reached for his saddlebag a third time and pulled out a map, marking the location and date. Later tonight, he would add the information to the log he kept tracking the mustang’s travels.
“Let’s go, girl.”
With another lusty snort, Shasta continued along the ledge as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Her metal shoes clinked on the hard boulders beneath her feet. In the sky above, a pair of redtail hawks rode the wind currents as they searched for prey.
An hour later, Gavin and Shasta reached the main trail that traversed the northern section of the McDowell Sonoran Preserve. It was along here that Gavin and his brother guided their customers. Most of the horse-owning residents of Mustang Village favored the gently winding trail, where four generations of Powells had driven their cattle after spring and fall roundups.
Gavin hated thinking there wouldn’t be a fifth generation.
As he neared his family’s villa, with its large barn and adjoining stables, his gaze automatically wandered to the valley below, and he was struck with yet another pang of nostalgia. Not long ago, Powell cattle had roamed the open range, feeding on the lush vegetation that grew along a small branch of the Salt River.
These days, houses, apartments and commercial buildings took the place of open range, and the river had been dammed up to create an urban lake and surrounding park.
Gavin understood that progress couldn’t be stopped. He just wished it hadn’t come to Mustang Valley.
Dismounting, he waved to the adult students taking riding lessons in the main arena. Later, after the grade school let out for the day, the equestrian drill team would practice their routines there.
He’d given up hope that his twelve-year-old daughter, Cassie, would become a member. Not that she didn’t like horses. Quite the opposite. She spent most of her free time in the stables, and for someone who’d never ridden until this past summer, she’d taken to it like a natural. Apparently there was something to be said for genes.
No, the reason his daughter wouldn’t join the school equestrian team was the same reason she had few real friends and was struggling with her classes.
Slow to fit in, Principal Rodgers liked to say, despite scoring high on her placement tests. The move from Connecticut to Arizona was a big adjustment. As was switching from private school to public school. So was living full-time with her mom to living full-time with a dad she hardly knew.
The adjustments weren’t easy for his sensitive and often emotional daughter.
Leading Shasta into the stables, he tethered her to a hitching rail outside the tack room, unsaddled her and proceeded to give her a good brushing. He heard a familiar whistling and glanced up to see Ethan approaching, his farrier chaps slung low on his hips. A casual observer might not notice the limp, which had improved considerably in the ten months since his discharge from the Marines.
Gavin noticed, however, and winced inwardly every time he thought of the injury that had permanently disabled his younger brother.
“You have a visitor,” Ethan announced, coming to stand by Gavin and resting a forearm on the mare’s hind quarters. “A lady visitor.”
Gavin’s stomach instantly tightened. “Not Principal Rodgers again?”
Ethan’s eyes sparked with undisguised curiosity. “This gal’s about thirty years younger than Principal Rodgers. And a lot better looking.”
“Someone from town?” Though Mustang Village was technically a residential community, Gavin and his family always referred to it as a town.
“I don’t think so. She doesn’t have the look.”
“An attorney?” He wouldn’t put it past Cassie’s mother to serve him with papers despite their recently revised joint-custody agreement.
“No. She’s a cowgirl for sure. Pulled in with a truck and trailer.”
Gavin knew he should quit stalling and just go meet the woman. But given the family’s run of bad luck in recent years, he tended to anticipate the worst whenever visitors wouldn’t identify themselves.
“Got a girlfriend on the side you haven’t mentioned?” Ethan’s mouth lifted in an amused grin.
“When’s the last time you saw me on a date?”
“If you’re considering it, you could do worse than this gal.”
Gavin refused to acknowledge his brother’s remark. “Where’s she waiting?”
“In the living room. With Cassie.”
He ground his teeth together. “Couldn’t you have stayed with her and sent Cassie instead?”
“She’ll be fine. Your daughter isn’t half the trouble you think she is.”
“Yeah, tell that to Principal Rodgers.” Gavin pushed the brush he’d been using into his brother’s hand. “Take care of Shasta for me, will you?”
Without waiting for an answer, he started down the stable aisle. As he entered the open area in front of the main arena, he dusted off his jeans, removed his hat and combed his fingers through his hair. Passing two of his adult students, he nodded and murmured, “Afternoon.” He might not like people living in the valley once owned by his family and traipsing all over his property, but without their business, he and his family would lose their only source of income.
At the kitchen door, he kicked the toes of his boots against the threshold, dislodging any dust before entering the house. A tantalizing aroma greeted him, and he turned to see a pot of spaghetti sauce simmering on the old gas range. His father’s doing. Since Gavin’s mother died, cooking was the only chore on the ranch Wayne Powell did with any regularity.
The sound of voices carried from the other room, one of them Cassie’s. Did she know this woman?
Gavin’s anxiety increased. He disliked surprises.
His footsteps on the Saltillo tile floor must have alerted Cassie and the woman because they were both facing him when he entered the old house’s spacious living room.
“Hi.” He removed his hat and, after a brief second of indecision, set it on the coffee table. “I’m Gavin Powell.”
The woman stepped and greeted him with a pleasant smile. “Sage Navarre.”
He shook her extended hand, appreciating her firm grip. Ethan had been right. Ms. Navarre was definitely attractive, her Hispanic heritage evident in her brown eyes and darker brown hair, pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Her jeans were loose and faded, and her Western-cut shirt functional. Yet there was no disguising the feminine curves hiding beneath the clothing.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, noticing that Cassie observed him closely, her new puppy cradled in her arms. One of the ranch dogs had delivered a litter a few months ago, and Gavin had told her she could keep one. The pair had been inseparable ever since.
“I’m from the BLM,” Ms. Navarre said, as if that alone explained everything.
A jolt shot through Gavin. “The BLM?”
“Bureau of Land Management.” She held up the leather jacket she’d been carrying, showing him the badge pinned to the front, then handed him a business card. “Aren’t you the person who contacted us about a feral horse in the area?”