One Brave Cowboy by Kathleen Eagle Read Free Book Online Page A

“She’s unsinkable.”
    Ordinarily Cougar might have doubted the notion on the grounds that the person simply hadn’t waded in deep enough, but Sally was far from ordinary. And Celia? If he drowned in the woman’s eyes, it wouldn’t be a bad way to go. As long as he didn’t come bobbing back up to the surface and find himself in a mud puddle. He’d been there, and he wasn’t going back.
    He wasn’t looking forward to loading a wild horse into a trailer, either, but Logan had him covered. No pushing, no pulling, no slapping. The closest thing Cougar had ever witnessed to Logan’s display of patience was a dog training session with Staff Sergeant Mary Tutan, which led him to conclude that theirs was a match made in the kind of heaven where dogs and horses—the Lakota sunka and sunka wakan —dwelled side by side with human spirits. The notion made a pretty picture for Cougar to file among the good places he regularly sought for refuge when ugly thoughts crowded his damaged head.
    â€œThe Paint doesn’t have a schedule,” Logan said. “And we won’t try to give him one. If our time runs out, we’ll walk away and come back later.”
    Logan instructed Cougar to approach the trailer beside the horse, not ahead or behind, and to remember that horses were naturally claustrophobic. Cougar had no trouble sympathizing with that particular fear. It was one of several he’d brought home with him.
    It turned out he’d chosen a horse that was compliant by nature, and Logan was able to drive away with him in time to make his meeting.
    And then it was time to take a ride. Celia insisted on packing food for a picnic, which was a foreign concept to Cougar. But he liked the way she hustledaround the kitchen, checking in with him to find out whether he liked this or that. He tried to tell her he wasn’t picky, but she kept asking, and he kept saying “Sounds good” until she had that canvas lunch bag so full she could hardly close it.
    Celia was able to walk right up to the big gray gelding she would be riding, but Cougar had to throw a loop over the buckskin he was assigned. Celia wasn’t going to let him saddle her horse for her until he claimed it to be a man’s duty according to his tradition. He didn’t know whether he was feeding her a line—he figured saddling a woman’s horse had to be covered in some soldier, cowboy or Indian code of conduct—but the way she bought into it made him feel good.
    The horses were two of Sally’s favorites. Tank—the big gray—was the only horse Celia would ride. He’d been Sally’s first adoption, and he was a good example of the mustang-draft horse cross that had developed when farmers had opened the gates and turned their plow horses free to fend for themselves. Hostile times, hard times, changing times, the horse had survived it all.
    So far.
    Cougar rode Little Henry, a horse that liked to play. He was exactly the ride Cougar needed. Coming home to find that he no longer owned a horse had been a staggering blow, the bullet that broke the soldier’s heart. Hoka hey! he’d cried. It’s a good day to die! He’d flipped out, gone on a killer drunk, ended up behind bars and then behind locked doors on the psych ward.
    And all he’d really needed was a playful horse and a good day to ride.
    Celia’s ponytail bobbing around up ahead of him was a nice bonus. The way it swished back and forth from shoulder to beautiful bare shoulder was an unexpected turn-on. His little buckskin danced beneath him, eager to pass the big gray, but there was no way Cougar was giving up this view. It took them nearly an hour to reach their destination.
    Time well spent.
    â€œThere it is,” Celia said of the grassland beyond the three-strand barbwire fence. “That’s Mary’s father’s land. Dan Tutan territory. Here at the Double D he’s known as