We’d had lots of fights before, about the rodeo stuff and about me not wanting to drag my ass out of bed early enough for him, but this was different. I came home from school that night to find out he’d put my horse down.”
“Oh, God, Cal. I’m so sorry.” Lauren’s brain raced with the possibilities. A broken leg? Or maybe arthritis or neurological disease? There were plenty of reasons why a horse might find itself down and not be able to get up by itself, a potentially fatal situation. Or maybe it had been a quality of life issue. At a certain point, recurring bouts of pneumonia, colic, or laminitis could make euthanasia a kindness. Even dental or digestive issues could leave a horse starving and dehydrated. “What happened to it?”
“Not a damned thing.”
Lauren gasped. “He put a healthy horse down? Why?”
“He said she was too dangerous to keep around.”
Lauren realized she was gripping her wineglass too hard and forced her hand to relax. “And was she?”
“She was a rescue animal,” he continued, “so, yeah, she was a little unpredictable. She’d been neglected—badly—and I brought her home. The bastard I took her from wasn’t too excited about that idea, but he was less excited about the prospect of explaining the mare’s condition to the police if he didn’t surrender her. In the end, he let me trailer her and take her home.”
“But your father wasn’t keen on the idea?”
Cal didn’t look up from his glass of wine. “I kept telling him I could fix her, but he wouldn’t listen. I knew she could be rehabbed, though. She just needed time and patience and a chance to learn to trust someone.”
Oh man, what a situation. Seriously damaged horses could be extremely dangerous, and their rehabilitation could take a very, very long time. She knew from experience it took a lot morethan love to fix an abused or neglected animal, especially a horse. They were big enough to kill if they felt threatened.
“We’d had a few knockdown, drag-’em-out arguments about it over the months that we had her, but I never dreamed he’d up and kill her.”
Lauren heard it in his voice, clear as anything. A lonely, motherless boy raised by a hard-nosed rancher, Cal had probably identified with that neglected mare more than his father could have known. “Oh, Cal.”
“Anyway, I came home after school one day to find he’d put her down. Said she was too dangerous to keep around.”
Lauren flinched.
“The long and the short of it is we fought. I was out of my mind with fury. Hard words were exchanged—I don’t even remember what all I said, except, Fuck you. I’m outta here and I’m never coming back. I remember that pretty clearly. I also remember his parting words pretty well. He said that I was no good, that I never would be any good, because I couldn’t settle to anything. Said I’d wind up busted up in the rodeo or working for wrangler’s wages.”
“I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”
“Oh, he meant it all right.”
“Where is he now?”
“Still running the Taggart ranch, far as I know.” He cricked his neck one way, then the other. “I expect the lawyers would have tracked me down if anything had happened to him.”
Oh man, they really were estranged if Cal was counting on some estate lawyer to let him know when his father died. Something told her not to pursue that thread, though. “I see.” She took a sip of her wine. “So, let me guess—you set out to prove your father wrong by starting this ranch?”
“No.” He gave her a crooked grin. “I set out to prove him right . Made a name for myself on the bullriding circuit.”
Lauren caught her breath. “Bulls? Those big Brahmans like I see on TV sometimes?”
His grin widened at that. “Brahmans make good bucking bulls all right, but they got all kinds. They just have to be big enough, athletic enough, and rank enough.”
Bullriding! She took another swallow of her wine. “And you did that for how
“Oh, God, Cal. I’m so sorry.” Lauren’s brain raced with the possibilities. A broken leg? Or maybe arthritis or neurological disease? There were plenty of reasons why a horse might find itself down and not be able to get up by itself, a potentially fatal situation. Or maybe it had been a quality of life issue. At a certain point, recurring bouts of pneumonia, colic, or laminitis could make euthanasia a kindness. Even dental or digestive issues could leave a horse starving and dehydrated. “What happened to it?”
“Not a damned thing.”
Lauren gasped. “He put a healthy horse down? Why?”
“He said she was too dangerous to keep around.”
Lauren realized she was gripping her wineglass too hard and forced her hand to relax. “And was she?”
“She was a rescue animal,” he continued, “so, yeah, she was a little unpredictable. She’d been neglected—badly—and I brought her home. The bastard I took her from wasn’t too excited about that idea, but he was less excited about the prospect of explaining the mare’s condition to the police if he didn’t surrender her. In the end, he let me trailer her and take her home.”
“But your father wasn’t keen on the idea?”
Cal didn’t look up from his glass of wine. “I kept telling him I could fix her, but he wouldn’t listen. I knew she could be rehabbed, though. She just needed time and patience and a chance to learn to trust someone.”
Oh man, what a situation. Seriously damaged horses could be extremely dangerous, and their rehabilitation could take a very, very long time. She knew from experience it took a lot morethan love to fix an abused or neglected animal, especially a horse. They were big enough to kill if they felt threatened.
“We’d had a few knockdown, drag-’em-out arguments about it over the months that we had her, but I never dreamed he’d up and kill her.”
Lauren heard it in his voice, clear as anything. A lonely, motherless boy raised by a hard-nosed rancher, Cal had probably identified with that neglected mare more than his father could have known. “Oh, Cal.”
“Anyway, I came home after school one day to find he’d put her down. Said she was too dangerous to keep around.”
Lauren flinched.
“The long and the short of it is we fought. I was out of my mind with fury. Hard words were exchanged—I don’t even remember what all I said, except, Fuck you. I’m outta here and I’m never coming back. I remember that pretty clearly. I also remember his parting words pretty well. He said that I was no good, that I never would be any good, because I couldn’t settle to anything. Said I’d wind up busted up in the rodeo or working for wrangler’s wages.”
“I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”
“Oh, he meant it all right.”
“Where is he now?”
“Still running the Taggart ranch, far as I know.” He cricked his neck one way, then the other. “I expect the lawyers would have tracked me down if anything had happened to him.”
Oh man, they really were estranged if Cal was counting on some estate lawyer to let him know when his father died. Something told her not to pursue that thread, though. “I see.” She took a sip of her wine. “So, let me guess—you set out to prove your father wrong by starting this ranch?”
“No.” He gave her a crooked grin. “I set out to prove him right . Made a name for myself on the bullriding circuit.”
Lauren caught her breath. “Bulls? Those big Brahmans like I see on TV sometimes?”
His grin widened at that. “Brahmans make good bucking bulls all right, but they got all kinds. They just have to be big enough, athletic enough, and rank enough.”
Bullriding! She took another swallow of her wine. “And you did that for how
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