Luke's Proposal. Lois Dyer Faye
ago. Contacting him is difficult at times, if not impossible. His employer wouldn’t even tell us what country he’s in right now.”
“I see.” Luke wondered just what kind of black ops mission Rachel’s brother was involved in. “How do you think he’ll feel about you trading the homestead to a McCloud?”
“He’ll understand we have to give up a small part of our inheritance to save the rest.”
Luke doubted Zach Kerrigan would understand or agree with the women’s decision, but he let Rachel’s assertion pass. “It would be a lot easier if you’d just sell me the land outright,” he said. “Or sell the whole damn place. My dad would buy it.”
“No.” Her jaw firmed, her expression stubborn. “Kerrigans have lived on the Bar K since we homesteaded there in the late 1800s. We won’t sell. Not unless there’s no other possible choice.”
Luke could understand her position. McCloud ancestors had settled in the basin the same year the Kerrigans arrived. No McCloud would willingly sell, either.
Which made him question even more why she was willing to trade land for his expertise with horses. Especially this particular piece of land.
“Why do I have the feeling there’s more to this than you’re telling me,” he mused, not really expecting an answer. But the swift lowering of her lashes and the tightening of her grip on the leather straps of her bag told him he was right. What was she hiding? Something about the land—or something about the horse? “Suppose you tell me exactly what the problem is with your horse.”
“He’s three years old and he’s never been ridden.”
“And,” Luke prompted when she stopped speaking.
“And he won’t let anyone close enough to break him.”
“That’s not unusual. I’m guessing you have reason to believe no trainer can saddle-break him. So cut to the chase and tell me what happened to him.”
“When he was a yearling, he was caught in a barbed wire fence.” Rachel didn’t react to his muttered curse. “By the time my uncle and the hired hand found him, he was down and wrapped in the fence. They had to cut the wire to get him on his feet, and his hide and legs were torn and bleeding in a dozen places. The vet said that given the amount of damage, he’d probably been on the ground and thrashing for some time before he was discovered.”
“What the hell was a quarter horse with his bloodline doing in an enclosure fenced with barb wire?”
“Harlan was having the metal fences in the horse enclosure painted so he turned Ransom out into the cattle pasture north of the house.”
“Huh.” Luke’s disgust for Harlan’s carelessness with a horse as valuable as Ransom must have been written on his face because Rachel stiffened and appeared to steel herself to continue.
“It gets worse.”
“Worse?”
“Six months later my uncle hired Troy Armstrong to break Ransom.”
Luke swore under his breath.
“Troy had him saddled and bridled when Ransom bucked him off and escaped.”
“He knocked down the metal corral fencing? Or he went over the top?”
Rachel shook her head. “No metal fencing. He wasn’t in the breaking pen—Troy used the snubbing post in an old wood corral. Ransom went crazy and kicked the half-rotted poles loose, then he crashed through them.”
Luke tamped down anger at the trainer’s failure to foresee the potentially dangerous situation, and managed to speak without snarling. “How much damage did he do?”
“None to himself but he pretty much wiped out the corral fence. That wasn’t a big loss because Harlan rarely uses it, but it was a week before my uncle and Troy could get close enough to rope Ransom and bring him in. He ran loose with the saddle twisted and the reins dangling all that time. When they had him in the breaking pen, it took a long time before they could get him to stand still and allow them close enough to strip the gear off. Ever since, he’s been totally unpredictable. He wouldn’t let Troy near him. When Troy tried to rope Ransom again to saddle him, Ransom pinned his ears back, bared his teeth and chased him out of the breaking pen.”
“Smart horse,” Luke commented. “Armstrong is an idiot.”
“I wouldn’t argue with that assessment,” she said with feeling. “Afterward, Harlan turned Ransom loose with the cattle in the open pasture and let him run. He’s been there ever since and no one’s tried to handle him.”
“Why didn’t Harlan hire another trainer?”
Rachel glanced around the bar. Luke let the small silence stretch, waiting for her answer but suspecting what it would be.
“I think my uncle decided Ransom wasn’t worth the effort.”
“But you don’t agree?”
“No.” Rachel’s gaze met his. Conviction rang in her voice. “Ransom’s fast. I’ve seen him run.”
Luke didn’t know if Rachel’s assessment of her horse’s speed was accurate. He did, however, know Harlan Kerrigan was bullheaded and stubborn enough to lose his temper and write off a horse who had potential. Maybe the horse really wasn’t worth the effort it might take to train and race him, but Luke figured the stud’s bloodline alone made it worth a look.
“I have to see the colt before I agree to take him on. And,” he added. “I get the land whether your horse wins or not. You’ll have to sign a contract.”
“Of course.” Rachel slipped the bag from her shoulder and unzipped it to pull out a sheaf of papers. “I had our attorney prepare a document.”
She held out the stapled legal-size form. He took it, settling back into his chair while he scanned the top sheet, then the second, before looking at her.
“You were pretty confident I’d say yes.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I hoped you’d say yes. And if you agreed, I knew you wouldn’t do it without conditions so I had Mr. Cline put in the ones I anticipated.” She gestured at the papers. “I also had him insert a condition I think is important. It’s on page three, paragraph two.”
Luke turned to page three, and read the second paragraph aloud:
“All parties agree to act in good faith. Luke McCloud shall make all efforts to train Ransom’s Mist and enable him to win sufficient races to develop a reputation as a potential stud. Failure to exert such reasonable and expected efforts on the part of Mr. McCloud shall negate the contract in its entirety.”
The language was fairly standard, but Luke felt a flash of annoyance that she felt it necessary to have him sign a document affirming he would do his best to train her horse.
“If I don’t think I can help your horse after I’ve looked him over, I won’t accept your offer,” he said evenly. “If I think he’s trainable, and if I think he has a chance of becoming a stud that generates income for you, I’ll give him the same time and attention as any other horse I handle.”
She flushed, the arch of her cheekbones darkening with color, but her eyes didn’t leave his. “You have a reputation for honesty—that’s why I approached you instead of someone without our family history. And my sources told me that you’re the best trainer in five states. But you’re still a McCloud. And I’m Harlan Kerrigan’s niece and Lonnie Kerrigan’s cousin. I couldn’t ignore the bad blood between our families, nor the possibility that you might feel you have cause to treat our horse differently.”
Her words ripped away the veil of pretense between them and sliced with knifelike precision to the heart of the matter. He was John McCloud’s son and Chase McCloud’s brother. Not only had their ancestors been on opposite sides of a land feud for three generations, but