He hollered into the still morning air as Jake caught up to him.
“Eight. We bought her several years ago at a big horse sale in South Dakota.” Jake passed over the guard with a big grin. “Rides like a choo choo train, don’t she?”
Gil had to admit she was a bit rough — like pegs poking into the ground, but the girl had speed. “Any particular reason you bought her?”
“You know your dad’s fondness for mares. He liked her eyes. Said they were honest and packed lots of heart. She’s got cow sense too, and is quick on her feet.”
Gil laughed. “Dad always was a sucker for a pretty face.” Come to think of it, Gil had a soft spot for a pretty face as well, especially if it boasted little reddish freckles against fiery green eyes. He spun the mare in time to see Mattie dig her heels into Tulip’s side, careening her up and over the metal cattle guard as though the horse was good and primed.
Fool woman — the horse could have balked, got her foot caught in-between the pipes, thrown her rider.
“What were you thinking?” He yelled at her, his whole body heated at the thought of Mattie’s small frame lying in a heap on the ground. “You could have been hurt pulling a stunt like that — or worse, hurt the horse.”
The woman drew Tulip in a circle and smiled, fueling his anger. “But I wasn’t, which leaves you holding the gate.”
Gil exchanged looks with Jake, his temperature rising.
“I guess she got you.” The old-timer howled and slammed his fist against the door of the truck in a lighthearted gesture.
Gil shut the gate, then took off into the next pasture, the sturdy mare practically jarring him from his seat.
So much for pretty faces.
NINETEEN
MATTIE KNEW GIL WOULD CATCH UP WITH HER IN AN INSTANT. He didn’t disappoint. Within seconds, his horse’s hooves pounded against the hard earth.
“Are you always this feisty, or is it only when you’re riding a horse?” He strode up beside her, his mount faster paced than Tulip and about a full hand taller.
“I like to enjoy my rare time away from work.”
Gil gazed ahead. “Still, you could have run into real trouble back there.”
“I can take care of myself.” Mattie hated it when men, particularly male ranchers, patronized her because of her size and gender. Had one of Gil’s teammates jumped that guard, he would have thrown his hat in the air with delight. “Have you figured out what you’re going to do with the bull? We could try to drive him to his pasture.”
“I figured I’d try something else first — a little trick someone taught me as a boy.”
Mattie recalled a few of her father’s narrow escapes trying to force a bull to go a certain direction when it didn’t have a mind to do so. “Are you sure?” A bull could be as mean as firecrackers if a person got too close.
“I’ve penned ’em before. I’m sure it’ll all come back to me.”
Mattie prepared herself for the trouble that could occur from such assurance.
Twenty minutes later, they arrived in a pasture where close to thirty Black Angus heifers milled about several large bales of hay. Among them stood an eighteen-hundred-pound brute, majestic and black as ebony, looking as though he didn’t want to be messed with.
Jake stopped the truck about three hundred yards away and unloaded his horse from the trailer. He swung the gate open wide. “I figure Mattie and I can hold the young ladies while you slip in and drive him from the herd and into the trailer. If that doesn’t work, we can always rope him.” The ranch hand mounted his gelding and slapped Gil on the back, his confidence evident.
Mattie followed single file behind Jake and Gil. They meandered through the unsuspecting bovine, and Gil ducked in between the bull and heifers, singling him out from the rest. A few young cows followed, but soon peeled off to rejoin the others. Standing watch over the herd, Mattie kept an eye on Gil’s progress.
The big beast didn’t care to be on his own and began cutting back and forth in an effort to return to the females. Gil’s mare was too agile for that to occur, always on his tail, making the bull’s progress difficult.
Tiring of this, the unwieldy creature drove a few yards, then tried sashaying to-and-fro, fighting a bit harder to return to the group. His back arched as he flung his hind