9. Bishop

Standing outside the paddock,I watch the mustang going buck wild all on his own, after tiring out a groom and another hand. Randy gave it a go, likely trying to impress Pixie, but he doesn't have a natural ability and nearly ended up in the dirt for a third time. I sent him off to complete a chore in the stables, and though he grumbled under his breath, he did as I asked.

The mustang is a stubborn one, and I hope Dad doesn't regret bringing him with the new batch of stock horses. He's hoping to use them in the rodeo for the cutting and roping events, but this one might be better as a bucking bronco.

Dad has always loved the rodeo, attends as a spectator whenever it comes to town. It hails back to his younger days. He was one of the best sheep-riding mutton busters around before moving on to larger animals, and he won't let us forget it. Soon enough he became too busy running the ranch to pay those events any mind, but the rodeo piqued his interest again in recent years.

"You think we can break him?" I ask Pixie as she hikes herself higher on the wooden slats to get a better look at the horses in the pen.

"I'm not sure. But he sure is funny to watch."

Pixie also enjoys the rodeo, likely because she's heard so many stories about her late granddaddy, and even more so after her dad took her to a show last spring. She likes contending in the dressage events, but the rodeo showed her the grittier side of competition. If she ever decided to follow in her grandfather's footsteps, she'd have the tenacity to fit right in. But for Randy's sake, and given his recent struggles, I hope not.

Knowing my father, he'd indulge her in lofty ideas, but it's not exactly the right time.

Or maybe it is.

Pixie's father looks downright rough some mornings, and though he still gets the job done, I worry about his general well-being. Nobody seems to want to touch the subject with a ten-foot pole, and Dad has warned me to stay out of it unless it becomes a problem with his performance. I don't know if that's the right way to go, but Dad has the final say. Wade too, since he deals with Randy on a daily basis, so I probably need to mind my own business. It's hard, though, with Pixie involved. She's had to grow up way too fast since her momma left, and she likely cleans up after her daddy as well.

Pixie snickers as she watches the stallion avoid anyone going near him. "He doesn't want to be friends with any of 'em."

"Sounds like someone I know," I mutter.

I stiffen when Porter asks, "That him?" the excitement in his voice coming through loud and clear. I hadn't realized he was this close. They must've just gotten in after fixing the fencing.

"Sure is," I tell him.

Porter positions himself between me and Pixie and watches as the horse circles the pen, wary of the grooms and the other horses. I almost feel sorry for the mustang, but the truth of it is that horses in the wild have shorter lifespans than those on a ranch since we care for them so well and stay on top of any medical issues. At least we try to.

Speaking of which… "I called Doc as a precaution about the injured bull, and asked about the bloat as well."

He glances at me. "And?"

"Just like I thought. He said to keep an eye on them. But no harm in asking anyway. He also said if the bloat oil doesn't work, he'll make a trip down." Doc Roy works several of the ranches in Laurel Springs and is kept quite busy.

"Sounds good," he replies absently, his attention on the stallion.

We watch as the groom attempts to rope him again, but the mustang skirts by him.

"Wanna give it a go?"

I can hear his breath catch.

"You know I do. Why you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Trying to give me the opportunity?"

I can feel Pixie watching us, so I swallow down a snarky retort.

"As your new boss, I've seen your potential, Mr. Dixon." He smirks in my side view. "You weren't hired as a groom, but you know your way around horses better than most of us. If you want the opportunity, be my guest."

He stares hard at me for a long second before nodding.

Pixie squeals with excitement as he heads toward the gate.

"Ready to watch Porter fall on his butt?" I say to her, knowing Porter can hear me.

He flips me the bird before entering the paddock and staying along the border, not wanting to spook the stallion.

He approaches the groom, who looks relieved for the extra help. I can think of one or two over the years who might've been resentful, but we all pull our weight around here. If a groom is interested in riding out with the hands and cattle, nobody blinks an eye. They've helped in a pinch before, and besides, it's a good philosophy to have on a ranch.

The groom hands Porter the rope and moves aside.

I'm transfixed as I watch Porter deliberately move in a wide circle around the stallion, making sure to avoid getting close to his hindquarters. If you get kicked, it could end your life.

"You're okay, boy," he coos to the horse. "You and me, we understand each other."

I feel a stitch in my chest. Truer words were never spoken.

The stallion stands motionless, listening to Porter, seeming just as transfixed by his calm, confident presence. The man has a completely different energy when it comes to the horses, and I'm not even sure he realizes it.

I can't hear everything he's saying to the skittish horse, but it's obviously only meant for his ears. If I thought Porter was good with horses eleven years ago, he's way better now. It's purely instinctual for him, and it's hard to look away.

"I'm not sure if you've been given a name, but I'm gonna call you Storm." He takes a couple of soft steps toward the horse, who allows it. "Because you're wild and unpredictable, but also breathtaking, and deep down, wounded. Aren't you, boy? So wounded you want to lash out. Push everyone away. Rage like that storm inside you."

I rub at that stitch in my chest because it's throbbing now.

"I like that name," Pixie whispers to me.

I swallow the boulder in my throat. "Me too."

Porter begins swinging the rope behind him in a slow arc as he pads lightly in front of the horse, reminiscent of a matador and bull. It seems to go on forever, and when he finally lifts the lead, it's so fast and smooth that the stallion is taken by surprise. Before he can retreat, Porter gets it around his neck. He bucks at first, running to and fro, trying to shake him, but Porter keeps up and follows his lead, turning up a dust storm as they go.

When the stallion eventually comes to a standstill, his ears are back, his tail swishing wildly. He doesn't like the rope, but as if knowing it's no use, he relents.

The groom in the pen with him straightens, total awe in his expression.

Pixie knows better than to whoop and holler with a skittish horse around, so she clamps a hand over her mouth and wiggles in excitement.

Porter's cooing-clicking cadence seems to relax the horse further as he approaches him from the side. The idea is to get a halter on him, but Porter wouldn't dare attempt it now. He knows better. This is a multistep process, and when he tries again on another day, the stallion might be even more resistant. He might need to rope his front hoof and bring him to heel, getting him to lie down in the dirt, which is considered submissive.

For now, Porter just stands there with the horse, the end of the rope hanging as loosely in Porter's fist as it is around the horse's neck. Not bad for the first go-round. But I have a feeling this mustang will give him a run for his money. Porter might've caught him by surprise this time, but the horse will see him coming next. We all remember mustangs who could never be tamed, but I'm hoping for the best with this one.

Porter stretches his fingertips toward the horse, then leaves them suspended. The stallion's tail grows still now, which is normally a sign of fear. In response, Porter relaxes his stance further as if to comfort the horse and tell him he's no threat.

The next couple of minutes feel like an eternity, and then the horse steps forward, close enough to allow Porter's fingers to graze his muzzle. Likely the horse is curious more than anything.

Curiosity satisfied, Storm snorts, stomps his hoof, then backs away.

But not far enough to pull on the rope.

"Holy cow, that was something to watch," Dad says from behind me.

I was so intent on watching Porter, I was oblivious to anything else around me.

"Right?" I reply, my gaze never leaving Porter. "I'd heard, but to see it in action…"

Dad joins me against the holding pen. When Porter glances at me and Pixie with a cocky smile, it falters for a brief moment upon seeing my father.

"I wanted to talk to you about Porter working with the horses," I tell Dad. "Not full-time. That's not what he was hired for, and obviously, he's good with the cattle as well."

He's good at everything and would probably run this ranch better than me.

I push that thought away, but nerves kick up in my stomach as I wonder what my father would think of the idea. As if we're those kids again.

"Would never want to hold anyone back from their passion. As long as the work gets finished."

I can't keep the grin off my face. "I'll let him know."

"Daddy!" Pixie jumps down and rushes toward her father as he's leaving the stables. "Did you see him? Did you see Porter taming Storm?"

He sweeps her up in his arms as she excitedly tells him about the stallion. I don't miss how his jaw clenches when he glances at Porter in the paddock.

He sets Pixie down and tells her to gather her things for home.

"Why does he get a shot?" Randy asks, approaching me and Dad. "He's brand-new 'round here."

Not exactly, and Randy is well aware of our history with the Dixons.

"And as you can see, he's a natural." Dad's tone is firm. "Heard rumors but wanted to see it with my own eyes."

I throw Randy a pointed look. "Not like you and a few others weren't already given a chance."

Randy averts his gaze. "Weren't done trying, is all."

"There'll be plenty of other opportunities," Dad says, knowing Randy is interested in the horses just like Pixie—or maybe for Pixie, who's a natural. Randy's father was a natural as well, but it doesn't come as easily to Randy. His talents lie elsewhere, especially during planting and harvesting season, but you can't blame a man for trying.

Randy nods, then motions for Pixie to follow him to his truck.

We wave our goodbyes and watch them walk off together.

I look at Dad. "The other night Randy was here late, playing cards with the men while Pixie was asleep in the truck."

"We've already discussed this. As long as he's able to?—"

"Right, I know you don't want to get involved in the employees' personal lives, and Pixie was safe right outside. But if it becomes a pattern?—"

"Then you take it to Wade. He knows these men best."

I sigh. "Yes, sir."

There's a chain of command, and Dad has been running things his way for a long time, just like his father before him. I personally don't think addressing an issue before it gets out of hand is a bad idea. I also think it's important to get to know your employees while still keeping a healthy boundary. Dad never crosses that line, and I'm not sure that's the way to go anymore. But until the ranch is mine, it's a losing battle.

After Dad heads off to look for Mom at the house, I meet Porter at the gate. The groom has hold of the rope and is trying to lead the stubborn stallion toward food and water. But he's not having it and rears up, not realizing what's good for him. The rope slips out of the groom's hand, and he moves away, leery about trying again. Two steps forward, one step back.

"Damn impressive," I say.

Porter smirks. "Thanks, boss."

"Dad says you can work with Storm as long as everything else gets done."

"Yeah? Good to know because that one will need extra work."

His smile is blinding, and again I have the urge to close the distance between us and take his mouth.

As if he knows exactly what I'm thinking, he clears his throat and looks away. "Well, better get to it, then."

He gives me his back, and that isn't such a bad view of him either.