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Eyes narrowing, Daisy got a curious look as she walked up to the trailer. Then she turned to him, pretend-annoyed. “I wondered why you didn’t call. This isn’t one of your horses, is it?” She was trying to sound like a hard-ass, but she broke into a smile, giving herself away. “What have you got in that trailer, Hank Gallagher?”
“He’s no Gypsy,” Hank said nervously as Daisy opened the front door of the gooseneck, her slim arms and legs tanned and gleaming. Ducking into the back seat for his sweatshirt, he pulled it over her head to ward off the cold before switching the trailer light on.
The paint pawed the floor and threw his head up, whinnying high, showing the whites of his eyes again. “He’s the barrel gelding you told Ty about, from up near Cleburne,” Hank told her. “They let me bring him down to you on trial. He doesn’t have Gypsy’s ground manners, but he should be fine once you get him under saddle. Ride him the next day or so. You like him, we’ll get Doc Timpson out, have him x-rayed, make sure he’s sound before Friday.” He put his arms around her. “You still want to go to Lamesa on Friday, Daisy Mae, win a buckle this season?”
She looked up at him, eyes guarded. “I can’t let you do this, Hank Gallagher. I’m still trying to figure out how to pay you back for Gypsy’s surgery. How can I let you buy me a new barrel horse, too?”
Well, there is that matter of a few years profit on the water and land my Daddy took from yours. But Hank didn’t say that. Instead, watching her face, he said, “We can settle up a coupla ways, Daize. You can listen to me and leave Gone Gypsy uncut. We’ll show him in hand this winter, rack up some prize money. If his temperament stays even, we’ll break him together next spring, teach him to rope and cut, and then compete on him, make him into a real well-known breeding stallion.”
“You mean, like business partners,” Daisy said, gently butting her head into his chest. He could tell she liked the idea.
He buried his nose in her hair. Putting his hands under the sweatshirt against her thin little nightie, he felt her warm belly. “Sure,” he whispered. “I’ll cover Gypsy’s surgery and Gone’s show and training fees, and you can call me a half-partner.”
He couldn’t help what she was doing to him, standing so close, barely covered. “What do you want to call our breeding operation, Daisy Mae?”
“Hah,” she grinned, swatting his arm. “What about this gelding?”
“Well, if you like him, I’ll buy him, and you race him. End of season, we can keep him or sell him, whatever you want.”
“This gelding is hot, Hank. If I put him in with Gone, they might go after one another. I might wake up to find my fences all broken to pieces in the morning. I don’t want them drawing blood.”
“I thought of that. You want me to take him over to my place?” he asked, a little disappointed. He wanted to unload the horse, then slip into Daisy’s room and lay with her on the bed.
“I don’t know yet,” she said. Pulling away, she grabbed a lead shank and clipped it to the paint’s halter.
“Don’t do that in flip-flops, Daisy,” he cautioned.
Smiling sweetly, she said, “My boots are just inside the door, Hank.”
She’d put Gone into a stall by the time he brought her boots out. Slipping into them, she led the paint into her round corral and unclipped the shank. The gelding dropped his head and bucked, once, twice, kicking his leg out. He took off like a fire-shot, stopping quick at the fence.
“Sheesh, he’ll be fun,” she grinned, swinging the rope easy, so the gelding loped in a smooth circle. “I like the way he moves, real free in the shoulder and hocks,” she called.
“I thought so,” Hank agreed, leaning on the fence, pleased that she seemed to like his gift.
“What did they call him?”
“Ah, something long and cheesy. Strike X Lucky Cat, I think.”
“Well, that’s his show name.” She swung the lead, and the paint bucked again, before loping in a smooth circle, balanced and flexed, nimble on his feet. She smiled at Hank, letting her eyes glow so he could see how much she appreciated what he’d done for her. “How about we call him Lucky Bucky?” she laughed. “I’ll need all the luck I can get to finish this season in the money, and Daddy’d like that name.”
Hank grinned, feeling his chest break wide open with his affection for her. “I do, too. Suits him, that’s for sure.”
“I’ll put him in the last stall and leave Gone in at the other end of the barn. They oughta be okay. You gonna stay tonight, help me out if they go after one another?”
“Hell, yeah,” he told her. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”
“Daphne works late, so she’ll want to sleep in tomorrow morning. Can you stick around, though? I’ll want you here when I ride Lucky.”
He grinned. “Sure, Daize, I’ll stay.”
