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Chapter 7: Lucky Strike
Monday morning, Ty McGreer’s cell buzzed. When he clicked into the call, Hank Gallagher’s voice asked, “You up for a road trip, Ty? Jillian Romas called. A dealer up near Abilene’s got a nice barrel racer, a made four year old gelding. Wanna ride along, take a look with me tomorrow?”
“Sure,” Ty said. “I can drive over to your place, early.”
“Daisy and Daphne are heading up to College Station later today, to look in on Gypsy,” Hank told him next day, once they were on the highway. “I’ve got to find something that’ll keep her spirits up, next coupla weeks.”
“She stopped by yesterday after you called, told me she’s thinkin’ about selling Gone Gypsy and putting the money on a gelding she knows of over near Cleburne,” Ty told him.
“Shoot, Gone Gypsy’s a real special colt, she can’t sell him. Don’t know why she’s cutting him, either. He could have a heckuva breeding career if she’d get him to the right shows. I’m glad she wants to stay in the running for her barrel buckle that bad, though. Her times are right behind Jillian and Hasty. She’ll edge one of them out, with any luck. Did she say what ranch, near Cleburne?” Hank asked.
“Yeah, I put it in my phone,” Ty said, scrolling on his touch pad.
“Maybe we can swing by there, too.”
“Daisy’s a doozy, Hank. How’d you manage to get all wrapped up in her these past few weeks?”
“Aww, hell, I don’t know if I ever wasn’t wrapped up in her, y’know?” Hank answered, unable to keep from grinning.
“Well, your old girlfriend Janie Dupree’s pretty, and she strikes me as a lot less work,” Ty said, glad he didn’t have a horse in this race. Hank might not know it, but to Ty’s mind, he faced an uphill battle.
“Yeah, but she’s not Daisy,” Hank laughed. “Why don’t you date Janie, Ty? She’s a real sweetheart. A little uptight sometimes. Definitely looking for a ring, though, so beware.”
“Janie’s not my type,” Ty grumbled, feeling out of sorts. Wiling away all of his hours alone on the ranch was starting to get to him. He didn’t let on how uneasy it made him feel, but the older he got, the less he knew what his type was, and he sure wasn’t getting any closer to finding her.
“I got to do something about that six hundred acres, Ty,” Hank was saying. “I gotta make that right, especially because of how hard it was on Buck.”
“Hell, no offense, but losing that land damn near killed him,” Ty sighed. “It’s a done deal, isn’t it?”
“I haven’t brought it up with my family. My daddy’s sure to think so,” Hank said, recalling how Daisy pulled away from him, closing off whenever his father’s name came up. “Sooner I figure out how to make it right, the better.”
Ty glanced his way, grinning. “You got your work cut out for you, that’s for sure.”
Hank grinned right back. “Think I’d have it any other way?”
********
Hank was disappointed by the four year old near Abilene, so they made time towards Cleburne to look at the gelding Daisy had mentioned to Ty.
He was a brown and white paint, muscular and dense-coupled like Gypsy, and just as quick, but he shied coming out of the barn, skittering sideways. Even so, they saddled him alright.
The trainer sent a young girl out on him to ride the cloverleaf. She clocked at seventeen and a half seconds, and it looked like the gelding was taking his time; the girl wasn’t anywhere near the rider Daisy was.
“Same body type as Gypsy, he’ll give her the same kind of ride,” Ty said, watching closely. Nodding in agreement, Hank took out a roll of bills and left a deposit.
It wasn’t until he was loading the gelding on the trailer that he got nervous about how he’d talk Daisy into accepting such a gift. Once he’d latched the ramp, Ty slapped Hank’s back. “Hell, you do have it bad.”
“Uh-huh,” Hank answered, breaking into a smile.
They were through Beeville and out on Hobble Creek Road before dark. Hank dropped Ty off, then took the rig down Daisy’s washed-out driveway, skidding on loose stone. When he pulled in, Gone Gypsy whinnied from his pasture, antsier than usual. The colt was lonely and on edge; he’d been without Gypsy Girl’s company for a few days now.
The brown and white paint in back answered, squealing as Hank cut the engine. All the commotion brought Daisy out on the porch, wearing nothing but a short little flouncy pajama thing, flip-flops on her feet.
“How’s Gypsy?” he asked, coming around the front of the truck.
“Gypsy’s fine. She looks real good, thanks for asking, Hank.”
The night air was cool. Daisy wrapped her arms around her chest and smiled at him. He’d turned the air off in back when he’d dropped Ty off, sliding open the trailer’s windows. The gelding kicked the divider impatiently, rolling his eyes so even in the dusk, his whites showed.
