Tempest didn’t buck.
Not at first.
He ran.
One second I was halfway into the saddle.
The next I was hanging over seventeen hands of black fury while the stallion crossed the corral like a cannonball.
Someone shouted.
The fence rushed toward us.
I pulled myself upright just before Tempest stopped so suddenly my teeth slammed together.
Then he bucked.
The first jump lifted me clear off the saddle.
The second twisted sideways.
The third would have thrown me if I had tried fighting him.
So I didn’t.
That was the mistake the others had made.
They grabbed hard.
Kicked harder.
Tried forcing Tempest through fear.
I gave him room.
My knees stayed loose.
My hands remained low.
When his head dropped, I followed.
When he twisted, I moved with him.
He bucked again.
Dust exploded beneath us.
Men yelled.
Catherine didn’t.
I could see her at the fence each time Tempest turned.
Her face was white.
“Come on, boy,” I breathed.
Another buck.
“Get it out.”
Tempest screamed.
The sound wasn’t anger.
It was panic.
He charged the rail.
A dozen spectators jumped backward.
At the last moment, I shifted my weight and touched the rein.
Not a yank.
A suggestion.
Tempest turned.
That surprised him.
His ears flicked toward me.
For three strides, he stopped bucking.
Then somebody outside the corral dropped a metal bucket.
The clang split the air.
Tempest lost his mind.
Suddenly I wasn’t in Dry Creek anymore.
I was back on a battlefield.
Metal crashing.
Men yelling.
A horse screaming somewhere behind smoke.
Sergeant Willis shouting, “Morrison! Down!”
My hands tightened.
Tempest felt it.
He reared.
I nearly fell.
The present rushed back.
Dust.
Sunlight.
Catherine.
Fence.
Horse.
I forced air into my lungs.
“Not there,” I whispered.
I wasn’t talking to Tempest.
“Not anymore.”
He came down hard.
I loosened the reins.
The stallion stood shaking.
I realized we were both breathing like we had run twenty miles.
“Easy.”
His ear turned.
“That sound got you too, huh?”
He snorted.
I almost laughed.
“Thought so.”
The crowd had become silent.
Somewhere beyond the fence, a man called, “Three minutes!”
I had forgotten the clock entirely.
Tempest walked three nervous steps.
I let him.
Then five.
His neck lowered slightly.
“That’s it.”
He walked the rail.
No buck.
No twisting.
A murmur moved through the spectators.
Catherine’s eyes never left us.
Four minutes.
Five.
At six, Tempest began trotting.
I could feel tension leaving his back.
Not much.
Enough.
I didn’t try controlling every stride.
I merely stayed with him.
At seven minutes, I guided him toward the center.
He resisted.
I released pressure.
Asked again.
This time he turned.
A cowboy outside the fence shook his head.
“Impossible.”
Eight minutes.
Tempest’s breathing slowed.
Mine did too.
For the first time since climbing on, I allowed myself to believe we might actually finish.
That was when a stranger near the back of the crowd stepped forward.
Tall man.
Gray coat despite the heat.
Thin mustache.
Silver-topped cane.
He had been watching quietly all morning.
I hadn’t noticed him until then.
But Catherine had.
The instant she saw him, her entire body stiffened.
The man smiled.
Then he whistled.
Two sharp notes.
Tempest went insane.
His head shot upward.
He spun so violently I lost one stirrup.
Then he reared.
I grabbed mane.
“Easy!”
The stranger whistled again.
Tempest came down and kicked.
Not randomly.
Toward the sound.
The crowd scattered.
Catherine yelled, “Stop that!”
The stranger raised innocent hands.
“Just appreciating the performance.”
“Get off my property.”
He smiled.
“If you insist.”
Tempest bucked again.
My shoulder screamed as I nearly lost the saddle.
“Jake!” Catherine shouted.
Nine minutes.
The stranger turned away.
Before disappearing behind the crowd, he looked back at me.
Something cold lived behind that smile.
Tempest spun.
My boot slipped free.
For one terrible second, only my left leg remained hooked over him.
The crowd gasped.
I saw dirt below.
Twenty-five riders.
Twenty-five failures.
Fifty dollars.
None of that mattered.
I thought of Tempest.
If I fell now, another man would come tomorrow.
Another whip.
Another pair of spurs.
Another fight.
I pulled myself upright.
Tempest lunged.
“Come on,” I whispered.
My voice shook.
“You’re not throwing me just because some fool knows how to scare you.”
The stallion’s ears turned.
I found my stirrup.
“Ten seconds!” someone yelled.
Tempest accelerated.
“Nine!”
He turned.
“Eight!”
His stride lengthened.
“Seven!”
I loosened everything.
“Six!”
No fighting.
“Five!”
No fear.
“Four!”
Tempest slowed.
“Three!”
A trot.
“Two!”
A walk.
“One!”
Silence.
Then the ranch erupted.
Men shouted.
Some pounded the fence.
A ranch hand threw his hat into the air.
I didn’t celebrate.
I leaned forward and rested a hand against Tempest’s neck.
The stallion stood beneath me, trembling but no longer trying to escape.
“You did it,” I whispered.
I dismounted carefully.
The moment my boots hit dirt, Catherine entered the corral.
She moved toward us slowly.
Tempest saw her.
His ears softened.
That told me something.
He trusted her.
Maybe more than anyone.
Catherine stopped a few feet away.
“You stayed on.”
“So I’m told.”
Her eyes were wet.
She looked angry about it.
I removed my hat.
“Ma’am?”
She ignored me and approached Tempest.
Her gloved hand touched his forehead.
“You foolish old devil.”
Her voice broke.
Tempest lowered his head.
For one second Catherine pressed her forehead against his.
The crowd saw the Widow Sterling disappear.
In her place stood a woman grieving something she had held inside for three years.
Then she remembered everyone was watching.
She straightened.
Her face hardened again.
“Samuel.”
The older ranch hand hurried forward carrying a small leather pouch.
Catherine took it.
Then held it toward me.
“Fifty dollars in gold.”
I looked at the pouch.
“That was the deal.”
“Yes.”
I took it.
It weighed more than all the money I owned.
“Thank you.”
“You earned it.”
The gray-coated stranger had returned near the gate.
He leaned against the fence.
“Impressive.”
Catherine turned.
“I told you to leave, Mercer.”
So now I had a name.
Mercer tipped his hat.
“Silas Mercer.”
He looked at me.
“Horse trader.”
“I didn’t ask.”
His smile narrowed.
“You’ve got courage, Morrison.”
“How do you know my name?”
His gaze shifted briefly toward Catherine.
“Dry Creek is a small place.”
He tapped his cane against the fence.
“I offered Mrs. Sterling five thousand dollars for that stallion last year.”
“And I said no,” Catherine snapped.
“You did.”
Mercer looked at Tempest.
“Perhaps you’ll reconsider now that someone has proven he can be ridden.”
“No.”
“Six thousand.”
“No.”
“Eight.”
“Get out.”
Mercer laughed quietly.
“Everything has a price.”
Catherine stepped toward him.
“Not everything.”
For the first time, Mercer’s smile vanished.
He looked at her for several seconds.
Then at me.
“Men who believe that tend to learn differently.”
He turned and walked away.
I watched until he disappeared beyond the barn.
“What was that about?”
Catherine stiffened.
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“He deliberately frightened Tempest.”
“I know.”
“You know him well?”
Her eyes met mine.
“Too well.”
Then she walked away.
I almost followed.
Instead I turned toward Samuel.
“Who is he?”
Samuel’s weathered face tightened.
“Bad weather wearing a gentleman’s coat.”
“That tell me anything?”
“It tells you enough.”
He started leading Tempest toward the barn.
I walked beside them.
“What did Mercer mean about buying him?”
Samuel hesitated.
“Tempest was Thomas Sterling’s horse.”
Catherine’s husband.
That explained some things.
“Thomas raised him from a colt,” Samuel continued. “Horse trusted exactly two people. Thomas and Catherine.”
“What happened?”
Samuel stopped.
He looked toward the ranch house to make certain Catherine was gone.
“Three winters back, Thomas took Tempest into the north pasture during a storm.”
“Yes?”
“Horse came back.”
Samuel’s voice lowered.
“Thomas didn’t.”
A cold sensation moved through me.
“How did he die?”
“That’s the trouble.”
Samuel looked toward the road where Mercer had vanished.
“Nobody knows.”
That evening, I prepared to leave.
The challenge was finished.
I had money now.
Enough for food, supplies, maybe a better saddle.
Dry Creek had been another stop.
Nothing more.
I packed my blanket.
Saddled my gelding.
Then Catherine appeared outside the bunkhouse.
“You leaving?”
“That was the agreement.”
She looked at my horse.
“I never said winners had to leave.”
“No.”
“You looking for work?”
I should have said no.
Every instinct told me to keep moving.
Instead I asked, “What kind?”
“Tempest.”
I looked toward the barn.
“You want him trained?”
“I want him understood.”
That answer surprised me.
“How long?”
“One month.”
“And after that?”
“You ride wherever you want.”
A month.
Long enough to earn money.
Short enough not to belong.
I nodded.
“All right.”
Catherine turned to leave.
Then stopped.
“Jake?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Mercer will come back.”
I waited.
She looked toward the darkening western sky.
“And next time, I don’t think he’ll come for the horse.”
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