Come Home, Cowboy. Cathy McdavidЧитать онлайн книгу.
remote regions by a fleet of four-wheel vehicles or sometimes helicopters.
“Give me thirty minutes.” He allowed himself a small grin, certain his confidence would annoy her. “I’ll have the mustangs safe and secure.”
“He’ll run,” Cara said, referring to the black.
“Undoubtedly. All I need is for you to get me close enough.”
The black was fast. Josh had observed him more than once in the sanctuary, tearing hell-bent for election across the grazing land. He was also fiery, smart and a natural leader, qualities Josh sought in a horse. The black had been the reigning king of his harem of mares before being captured four months ago. He wasn’t ready to abdicate his position anytime soon.
Cara chewed her lower lip thoughtfully, distracting Josh. Or was she enticing him? She had a great mouth. Full and lush and wide. He found it hard to look away.
“What if you don’t?” she asked. “Rope him.”
“I’ll help you get the mustangs back to the sanctuary any way you choose.”
Her gaze narrowed. “You swear?”
What way was she thinking? On foot? They’d never catch the black. Maybe Josh should reconsider.
He didn’t. “You have my word.”
She pushed down on the clutch and shifted gears. “Let’s go.”
The next instant, they were flying down the rise. Had he been with anyone else, Josh would have let loose with a whoop and a holler. Cara was a competent driver. Make that a great driver, he amended as they reached the bottom and turned on a dime with just the right amount of daring.
The open Jeep, with its roll bar overhead, allowed him the room he needed to maneuver. Ground flew by at increasing speed. At times, the late-afternoon sun blinded him as they drove into it. The wind grabbed at his cowboy hat. Frustrated, Josh whisked it off and dropped it on the floorboard.
Nearing the mustangs, he unbuckled his seat belt and half stood, bracing his right knee on his seat and his right shoulder on the roll bar.
“Be careful,” Cara said over the noise of the engine. “I wouldn’t want you falling out.”
Was she being sarcastic again? Josh couldn’t be sure. He kind of hoped so, liking to think she hid a sense of humor somewhere beneath all those layers of pain.
The mustangs nervously eyed the approaching Jeep. A young colt ran in a circle around his mother, kicking up his back feet.
“Cut to the left,” Josh ordered, pointing at the black. “He’ll bolt that way.”
“How can you be sure?”
“He won’t take the herd up the ravine. Too many cholla cactus.”
Cara nodded, then swung the Jeep hard to the left. As if someone had flipped a switch, the entire herd collected itself, then broke into a full gallop. The black stayed in front. It was a position that enabled him to both act as lookout and defend against possible danger.
Josh raised the rope above his head, the force of the wind nearly ripping it from his hand. “Move in first chance you get. Don’t worry if the other horses scatter.”
Once again, Cara proved her exceptional driving abilities. She maneuvered the Jeep so they were driving parallel to the black, about fifty feet away from him.
Only a half mile of flat ground remained before the next hill. Josh needed to make his move quickly or kiss opportunity goodbye.
“Get closer.” He didn’t add, Now or never.
Cara seemed to figure it out. Glancing over her shoulder, she eased the Jeep nearer and nearer, narrowly avoiding ruts, holes, boulders and brush. The fifty feet separating them from the black shrunk to twenty. Josh raised the rope...and hesitated.
Powerful, athletic, with a coat the color of charcoal and sleek as satin, the horse moved with breathtaking beauty. Head and tail raised high, he charged ahead, the image of the outlaw horse he was.
What would it be like to ride that magnificent animal? Josh wanted to know. More than that, he wanted to own the black. Train him. Gain his trust. Command him. He would, too, he was suddenly certain.
Lifting his arm, he studied his target. Josh had a drawer filled with gold and silver buckles, testament to his abilities at calf roping, bronc busting and bull riding. Once a rodeo man, always a rodeo man. He had no doubt he’d place the rope precisely where it needed to go—over the black’s head and around his neck.
Moving his arm in a counterclockwise direction, he let out enough rope for a perfect loop and twirled it over his head. Holding the excess loosely in his other hand, he took aim, sensing Cara’s stare on him.
Good. Josh performed best under pressure.
She seemed to read his mind and eased the Jeep into position. Eighteen feet. Fifteen feet. Twelve feet. Josh could now see the whites of the stallion’s eyes.
Still, he waited, fighting the wind for control of the rope. The galloping horses made a thunderous noise, one Josh could feel echoing inside his chest. Adrenaline coursed through him. His nerves tingled as if on fire, and every muscle in him tensed in preparation.
The black pushed for even greater speed. Josh swore the horse knew what was about to happen and was intentionally defying him.
“Steady, boy,” he said, more to himself than the horse. “Easy does it.”
An instant later, the perfect moment arrived. Josh let the rope fly, his entire system on automatic. He grinned with satisfaction. Damned if the rope didn’t sail true despite the blasted wind.
As soon as the rope made contact, the black shook his head angrily, but didn’t break pace. When the rope settled around his neck and Josh reeled in the slack, the horse kicked out his powerful back legs. The other horses faltered, as if unsure about continuing. The ones farther back were already slowing to a trot.
“Take it down,” Josh hollered to Cara. “A few miles at a time.”
She responded quickly. Josh felt the rope grow slack and was careful not to let go. He’d hate to lose the horse now, not after all their hard work capturing him, but he would if the black was in danger of being hurt.
The black fought the rope, swinging his head wildly, bucking and stopping long enough to rear up and paw the air before breaking into a fresh run.
Josh kept his end of the rope wrapped tightly, his hand cemented to the side of his leg. Each of the black’s movements transmitted through the rope like a telegraph signal traveling a line.
“That’s right,” he coaxed when Cara had slowed the Jeep enough that the black trotted alongside them. “No need to fight.”
Except the black did just that. Refusing to surrender, he snorted lustily and pranced, showing off the spirit that made him a rebel and the sharp action of his gait. Josh fell a little bit more in love with the horse. He wouldn’t be satisfied until the black was his.
By now, Cara was driving no more than five miles an hour. They were mere feet away from the hill. Had the capture taken a minute longer, they wouldn’t have made it.
“Should I stop?” she asked.
Josh dropped down into the passenger seat, the rope gripped in his hand. “Let’s turn around and head back.”
With little choice, the black went along. Every few steps, he shook his head, snorted and attempted to change direction. Josh held firm. In this contest of wills, he was determined to emerge the victor.
As he’d hoped, the remaining horses followed their leader. Violet and Joey hopped on their quads and brought up the rear, careful to stay a safe distance behind. Their job was to make sure there were no stragglers.
Thirty minutes later, they had pushed the mustangs through the gate into section seven