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Chapter 3: Catching Fire
Daisy led Gypsy Girl out of the barn Friday at noon. Her eyes traveled over Hank’s big, broad shoulders as he strung up a hay bag in back of the Gallagher Ranch trailer. Her mare crab-hopped up the ramp, snorting and tossing her head, snatching at the hay, eager to head out.
Fastening the trailer’s rear latches, Hank wiped his hands on the butt of his jeans. His steely blue eyes followed her coppery two year old colt thundering down the hill. Flashy white stockings climbed all four of the tall colt’s legs, and his dishy face blazed with more white. Skidding to a stop, he reared at the fence, whinnying for Gypsy Girl.
“Sure is a pretty colt you have there, Daisy Mae.”
“That’s Gone Gypsy, Gypsy Girl’s full brother. He’ll be gelded end of next month, and it sure won’t be too soon.”
“Why not keep him for stud?”
“Heck, I don’t have the room here for any kind of breeding operation, Hank. Stallions bite, ya know? I almost lost a chunk of my arm last week to that goon Ty insists on keeping.”
“You break this guy yet?”
“Ungelded? I’m not that crazy. I’ll break him next spring. No sense hurrying.”
“He sure has Gypsy’s speed and agility. I’m glad you’re gonna hold off breakin’ him, Daize. I hate when they’re started too soon—makes ‘em ornery and balky, like a kid with too much homework.”
That’s just what Daddy always said. Walking away quickly, Daisy grabbed her bags from the porch, but Hank followed. Taking the heaviest, he tossed it on the back seat next to his.
It surprised her how considerate he was. In the five years she’d fought and made up with T.J., the big lug always just sat behind the wheel, calling out to her to hurry, never bothering with what might be called help.
She’d convinced herself that Hank was as bad or worse—spoiled and rotten, as arrogant as they came.
But she couldn’t say that anymore. It seemed Ella Jean Gallagher just might have raised her boy right.
******
Hank stood by the gate at Odessa on Saturday, watching as Daisy caught the last barrel with her foot, knocking it to the ground and blowing her time. Eyes blazing, jaw set tight, she and Gypsy tore through the exit gate. Cursing a blue streak, she swung out of her saddle. He ambled over and took Gypsy’s reins, handing Daisy a water bottle, knowing enough to stay quiet. On their way back to the trailer, Daisy muttered, “Best hope is I finish above the half-way mark in the standings and try again tomorrow.”
“Five faults puts you at 21.21,” he said, pulling her saddle off. “Your time was unbeatable.”
“I guess,” Daisy said, jaw clenched. “Until my foot took that last barrel.”
He brought water buckets and held one for Gypsy to drink while Daisy sponged the mare’s back and legs, then wiped them with liniment.
Later, the riders all chipped in, and a truck took off for the nearest market with coolers, bringing back burgers and steaks and chicken to grill and a keg, which was set up on ice down in the picnic area.
Daisy sat at a picnic table with her girl posse, tossing quarters in a mug. The setting sun glinted on her hair, catching his eye. Someone told a funny story and she broke into raucous laughter. His heart plunged with a desire to be close to her.
Hank got plenty of attention, too, but not from Daisy. Shortly before ten o’clock, she waved a hand his way as she headed back for night check. He shook off the girls that flitted around, and Stump and Travis walked towards the trailers with him, carrying plastic cups full of foamy warm beer.
“You callin’ it quits for the night?” Travis asked.
“Might as well get a good night’s rest,” Hank answered. “Rough week, and I’ve got a first cutting of hay to start Monday morning.”
“Hell, you don’t care about haying,” Stump laughed, licking at his foam mustache. “What you need is some laying, Hank. Aren’t you tired of chasing after her?”
“Who?” Hank asked, feeling his face flush, glad for the cool night air.
“Aw, hell,” Travis smacked Hank’s shoulder. “Daisy goes for dipshit bull and bronc riders. You’re a calf roper, and you just gave up on some sweet little udders, Hank. Let’s go back and get some action.”
“Nice,” Stump grinned. “Think you’ll get a roll in the hay talking like that, Travis?”
They were near Hank’s trailer now. He shushed them, glad when Travis and Stump kept on walking. Daisy had dropped the ramp so the horses could take advantage of the circulating air. The light was on in back and the fans were running, now that it had cooled.
“Refilled hay bags,” she called, coming out of the front door clutching her sleeping bag and a toothbrush. “Water buckets were half-full; I topped them off. Both horses are happy as clams. You crashing in the trailer tonight or at a hotel room with one of your buckle bunnies?”
