Read Online Six White Horses by Janet Dailey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Janet Dailey
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fastened around his belly, back by the horse's hindquarters. Just like a saddle cinch, it can't be fastened too tight or it will interfere with a horse's movement. If that happens, chances are he'll simply stand in one spot and wait until you loosen it." Morgan turned the strap up so they could examine the area that actually touched the horse's belly. "This wool padding on the underside is partially for the horse's protection. But its main function is to tickle the horse's belly. Essentially what happens is that a horse will kick out with his hind feet, trying to stretch away from the object that's tickling him, exactly as a human would do. The result is that he becomes harder to ride, even for a professional rodeo rider."
"You mentioned that Red River came from a ranch. Is that where you find the majority of the rodeo stock?" Carla Nicholson asked.
"For the most part," Morgan agreed. "Dependable bucking horses are a rare commodity and a good one is expensive. That wild stubborn streak is generally being bred out of today's horses to make more tractable mounts."
"Do the people contact you and tell you that they have a horse that bucks?"
"Either that, or when a rodeo is in town, the owner brings the horse in for the stock contractor to try out."
"Have you ever competed in any of the events?" Carla asked.
"When I was younger and more foolish," he replied with a wide, mocking grin.
"What about you, Miss King?" Carla turned to Patty. "You're a good rider. Have you ever given any serious thought to riding a bucking horse? Or trying to, at least?"
"Sure I have, dozens of times," she shrugged. "Strictly as a lark, just to see if I could do it, but I wouldn't ever consider trying it professionally. I find enough thrills and risks in my own act."
"Are those the bulls in that far pen?" the photographer asked.
"That's right. Would you like to see them now?" Morgan asked, and received an immediate endorsement from both of them at his suggestion.
"I'd better go and help Gramps with the horses," Patty said, sliding easily from the top rail to the ground.
The photographer kept a protective hand on his cameras as he swung down. A vaguely helpless look crossed the blonde's face as she still sat on top of the fence rail. In the next instant Morgan, who had been the first to climb down, was reaching up, his large hands closing around her waist and lifting her safely down. Patty had the distinct impression that the feminine maneuver had been deliberate to arouse Morgan's response. She had to conceal her dislike for such trickery as the woman reporter turned to her.
"I want to thank you for your time, Miss King." Carla Nicholson offered Patty her hand, and manners dictated that she should take it. "You have a very interesting and exciting life."
To a stranger, Patty decided it might look like that, but those weren't the adjectives she would have used. The grind of constant travel, practice and almost nightly performances had become monotonous. Perhaps her outlook had become tarnished since Lije had married.
"It was my pleasure, Miss Nicholson," she nodded politely. "I know you'll find the rest of the tour just as interesting. Now I really must go."
"Wait!"
The clipped command was accompanied by a halting hand on her wrist, the hold ostensibly casual, but Patty could feel Morgan's fingers biting into the bone. Without a word of explanation, his gaze swiveled to the grizzled cowboy walking by with his arm in a cast.
"Lefty, would you step over here, please?" The battered-looking cowboy complied while Patty tried furtively to pull free of the punishing grip, without success. "I would like you to meet Carla Nicholson and Fred Kowalski from the local paper. This is Lefty Robbins, a permanent fixture on the rodeo circuit." When the introductions were out of the way, Morgan turned to the blonde. "Would you mind, Carla, if Lefty took you to the bull pens? I want to have a few words with Patty before I join you."
"Of course not." A
"You mentioned that Red River came from a ranch. Is that where you find the majority of the rodeo stock?" Carla Nicholson asked.
"For the most part," Morgan agreed. "Dependable bucking horses are a rare commodity and a good one is expensive. That wild stubborn streak is generally being bred out of today's horses to make more tractable mounts."
"Do the people contact you and tell you that they have a horse that bucks?"
"Either that, or when a rodeo is in town, the owner brings the horse in for the stock contractor to try out."
"Have you ever competed in any of the events?" Carla asked.
"When I was younger and more foolish," he replied with a wide, mocking grin.
"What about you, Miss King?" Carla turned to Patty. "You're a good rider. Have you ever given any serious thought to riding a bucking horse? Or trying to, at least?"
"Sure I have, dozens of times," she shrugged. "Strictly as a lark, just to see if I could do it, but I wouldn't ever consider trying it professionally. I find enough thrills and risks in my own act."
"Are those the bulls in that far pen?" the photographer asked.
"That's right. Would you like to see them now?" Morgan asked, and received an immediate endorsement from both of them at his suggestion.
"I'd better go and help Gramps with the horses," Patty said, sliding easily from the top rail to the ground.
The photographer kept a protective hand on his cameras as he swung down. A vaguely helpless look crossed the blonde's face as she still sat on top of the fence rail. In the next instant Morgan, who had been the first to climb down, was reaching up, his large hands closing around her waist and lifting her safely down. Patty had the distinct impression that the feminine maneuver had been deliberate to arouse Morgan's response. She had to conceal her dislike for such trickery as the woman reporter turned to her.
"I want to thank you for your time, Miss King." Carla Nicholson offered Patty her hand, and manners dictated that she should take it. "You have a very interesting and exciting life."
To a stranger, Patty decided it might look like that, but those weren't the adjectives she would have used. The grind of constant travel, practice and almost nightly performances had become monotonous. Perhaps her outlook had become tarnished since Lije had married.
"It was my pleasure, Miss Nicholson," she nodded politely. "I know you'll find the rest of the tour just as interesting. Now I really must go."
"Wait!"
The clipped command was accompanied by a halting hand on her wrist, the hold ostensibly casual, but Patty could feel Morgan's fingers biting into the bone. Without a word of explanation, his gaze swiveled to the grizzled cowboy walking by with his arm in a cast.
"Lefty, would you step over here, please?" The battered-looking cowboy complied while Patty tried furtively to pull free of the punishing grip, without success. "I would like you to meet Carla Nicholson and Fred Kowalski from the local paper. This is Lefty Robbins, a permanent fixture on the rodeo circuit." When the introductions were out of the way, Morgan turned to the blonde. "Would you mind, Carla, if Lefty took you to the bull pens? I want to have a few words with Patty before I join you."
"Of course not." A
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