Platinum Cowboy. Rita Herron
on the first day at work. She had to be patient, to slowly begin to ask around.
Still, she had searched the sea of faces and had introduced herself to a few ranch hands, assistant trainers and grooms, as well as to two other vets.
Much to her consternation, they had all sung Flint’s praises. He was fair. A great boss. He cared about his employees. He offered great benefits and competitive salaries.
He was innovative in farming, cattle ranching and horse breeding, crossing American and European strains in line breeding to develop the ranch’s thoroughbreds.
Flint handed her a map of the Diamondback. “Basically, the ranch is divided into four quadrants: northeast, northwest, southeast and southwest. I know that’s simplistic, but it works. The northeast and northwest quadrants are the largest and hold the cattle, the southwest quadrant is our agriculture and farming mecca, with fruit groves and wheat our core specialties, and the southeast, where we are now, is designated for horse breeding. We also have race tracks for training.”
She nodded and glanced at the map, then at the pastures, barns, stables and small housing areas, as they drove. Live oaks, cedar trees, large pinion pines and elms dotted the property, along with natural shrubs and grass.
“We have about fifty-five thousand cattle in our herd in the north quadrants. The terrain is more mixed, with rugged, high hills, large canyons and valleys with dry creek beds and limestone bluffs. But we get water from the river and also have several running creeks throughout.”
“You use helicopters and ATVs for herding?” Lora Leigh asked.
“Yeah, I have the Falcon. But we’re still a little old-fashioned around here, and we sometimes work on horseback. ” He pulled down the lane to a large stable, where she saw two grooms brushing down quarter horses.
“This stable houses the working quarter horses,” Flint said. “You’re welcome to take your pick if you want to ride.”
He stopped, and they got out so he could show her inside. A lean-looking cowboy glanced up from where he was organizing tack.
“This is Dr. Whittaker, our new vet,” Flint said. “Lora Leigh, this is Jake Kenner. He’s new with us, too. A trainer. But if you’ll let him know which horse you want to use, one of our hands will have him saddled for you.”
Lora Leigh extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Jake. But I can saddle my own horse.”
Flint frowned, but Jake smiled and shook her hand.
From there, Flint showed her the vet clinic and introduced her to Carol, a charming, robust woman in her forties, who served as the office manager. Carol greeted him affectionately.
Flint grinned. “Carol does everything around here. She’s in charge of ordering medical supplies, coordinating communication between the veterinarians, shipping medical tests to the lab, arranging for assistants. You know we have interns to check the animals nights and on weekends, to give you time off,” he said. “Although we might need you for an emergency.”
“Of course,” Lora Leigh said. “And I don’t mind working weekends.”
“Everyone needs a life,” Flint said. “I don’t want my people burning out.”
Darn it. He sounded nice. Not what she had expected at all.
Then again, he’d fooled her father into selling him his ranch. That was Flint’s game: he knew how to woo and seduce and get what he wanted. She couldn’t fall for his act.
Back in the truck, they headed into the horse quadrant. “That’s the stud barn, and there’s the turnout area for the stallions. The breeding area is part of that barn. We have a separate area for the Thoroughbreds and quarter horses. Broodmares are turned out in pastures, except those getting ready to foal or to be bred.” He gestured to some outdoor pens, where she noticed three gorgeous, sleek mares.
“The yearlings are kept separate, and some are being sent to the auction house now. I keep the show horses and sale horses separate as well.”
“Do you keep them under lights in the winter to keep their coats slick?”
“Of course.” He grinned. “We have some race horses on the road in training, but a couple of our younger ones are kept here near the track.”
“You retired Diamond Daddy to stud?” Lora Leigh asked.
“Yes, his first season.” Flint smiled again, obviously proud of his prized stallion. “I’m anxious to see if he produces another Triple Crown winner.”
“You board and train a lot of horses for Middle Eastern owners?” Lora Leigh asked.
He nodded. “I’ve got contacts there through my friends. We’ve raced the quarter horses as well as competed in reining, cutting and roping and in some of the big rodeos.”
“I saw that one of yours won the National Cutting Horse Association Championship.”
“Yeah. Salamander. We’ve racked up some quarter horse world championships.”
Lora Leigh noticed a bald eagle soaring gracefully above the land. “I heard you’ve instituted hunting regulations on your land.”
“Absolutely. I had to in order to protect the quail and deer. We also have turkeys and whistling ducks. I installed windmills at various intervals and fenced off areas from the cattle to provide water for the wildlife. We have a lot of quail, and we half cut the shrubs to provide shelter for them. We also planted prickly pear cactus plants in open areas to serve as cover for the wildlife.”
Impressive. “Have you had any problem with feral pigs?”
He cut her a strange look. “Some. If you spot them, keep back and let me know. And I’d advise you against riding alone in the more isolated areas, especially near the cattle land. Occasionally, we’ve had trouble with rustlers trying to steal our stock. I’ll supply you with a pistol for protection against them and the snakes.” He hesitated. “Do you know how to shoot?”
She gave him a sardonic look. “Of course. My father taught me when I was a kid.”
He veered to the left and drove to an isolated barn set among ancient trees, a stable and outdoor pens that opened to luscious green pastureland. “This is where we house the Arabians.”
Try as she might, she couldn’t stop the spurt of excitement budding in her chest. She jumped from the truck before he had a chance to come around to her side and followed him up to the barn, determined to prove herself worthy of her job. Too many men had assumed that due to her size, she wasn’t strong or capable enough to handle the magnificent beasts she worked with.
But size had nothing to do with it. She understood the horse’s nature, listened to him speak, honed in on his mood and anxieties, and soothed him with her voice and manner.
She reined in her excitement as she entered the barn, knowing the animals would respond to her mood, as she would to theirs and lowered her voice as she approached the stalls.
Four incredible horses had been stalled. Two bays, a chestnut and a gray, which was the largest of the four, standing at least fifteen hands, compared to the average of 14.1 hands of the others.
“What are their names?” she asked.
“The larger bay is Sir Huon, and the other, Lord Myers. The chestnut is Iron Legs, and the gray one, Eastern Promise.”
“Nice,” she said, stroking Eastern Promise’s mane. One of her jobs would be to verify a horse’s good disposition before reproducing; another was to meet the quarantine standards and administer medical care.
Iron Legs whinnied and kicked the stall, as if agitated, while Sir Huon stood almost docile. She eased from stall to stall, quietly assessing each horse, noting the refined, angular heads, the large eyes and nostrils, and the small muzzles, searching for any indication that they weren’t well bred. But the distinctive concave profiles,