“You look good to me,” he said, his eyes raking appreciatively over her. “I think ranch life must suit you.”
“Thanks. You look good to me too.” He was dressed in his customary faded jeans and a worn denim jacket, but Keith would look good in a burlap sack. “Um, how do you want to do this?” she asked.
He nodded to the trailer behind his truck. “How about we start by unloading the horses?”
“Horses?”
“Yes. I brought three. The two mares are a gift for you…from Mitch,” he quickly clarified. “You may have to check fences and might need to ride out among the herd from time to time, so we hoped they’d be useful to you. One of them is Sadie, the horse you rode in Nevada.”
“I remember her. She was a great little horse.” Miranda gave a gleeful squeal. “Wow. I can’t believe this. I don’t even know what to say.”
“Say you’ll accept them.”
“Of course I will! That’s so generous of you…of Mitch. I can’t even tell you how badly I’ve missed riding since I’ve been here.”
“I also brought Blue Eye.”
“Blue Eye? The mustang you adopted? You didn’t take him back?” she asked in surprise.
“No, I didn’t,” he replied. “We’ll need to keep him separated from the mares and any other horses you have, at least until I’ve decided what to do with him.”
“What do you mean by that?” she asked. “Aren’t you going to train him?”
He shrugged. “If he’ll be trained. Some refuse.”
“Horses are a lot like people, aren’t they?” Her gaze sought his. “You have to earn their trust.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “But trust comes much easier to some than to others.”
She knew he wasn’t just speaking of the horse.
“There shouldn’t be any problem keeping them apart,” she said. “We have a large, round pen we can put him in. It’s where I learned to ride.”
“Is there room to back the trailer up to it?” he asked. “The trailer is partitioned, with the mares together in the front and him in the back, so I have to get him off first.”
“Yes. There’s plenty of room.”
Miranda showed him to the small corral. A few minutes later he backed up flush against the gate. “You’ll need to stand on the other side of the panel and out of his way,” he instructed. “I still don’t trust this horse any farther than I can throw him.”
“Even now?” she asked.
“Yes. Even now. The chemical castration was ineffective. I have a good hunch they tried the drugs on him because no vet cared to risk his life cutting him. He’s aggressive as hell. I’ve been on the road so much that I haven’t had time yet to teach him any manners, but at least he’s accustomed to fencing. I doubt he’ll try to go through it, and hope he can’t get over it.”
He opened the gate to the pen and then moved to release the trailer door. In a few swift and efficient movements, he released the latch and stepped behind the door. The horse stuck his head out, made some low grunting sounds, craned his neck, and raised his upper lip, but made no move to get off the trailer.
“Why isn’t he getting out?” Miranda asked.
“I’m guessing he doesn’t want to leave the mares.”
“What’s that funny thing he’s doing with his lip?”
“It’s called flehmen. Horses have a special olfactory organ located above the roof of the mouth. Raising the lip helps a stallion to determine if a mare’s in season for breeding. It’s the wrong time of year, as mares only cycle from spring to early fall, but that won’t stop him from hoping he has a chance. Gelding him is the only sensible thing to do. Keeping him intact is only going to frustrate the hell out of him.”
As if on cue, the horse looked Keith’s way with a glare and a snort.
“Horses get sexually frustrated? Like we do?”
“They do,” he replied slowly, maybe even cautiously. “A stallion’s sex drive is a powerful force.”
“He’s so proud and full of himself,” Miranda said. “I love watching him.”
“He’s full of himself all right,” Keith remarked dryly.
“How are you going to geld him if nobody can go near him?”
“It’ll probably take a tranquilizer gun to get the job done.”
“Will it really help his behavior?”
“It should, but who knows. He’s already had large doses of medication to lower his testosterone, but he still thinks he’s a stud. Sometimes it takes a while for the testosterone levels to drop, but he should have already settled down.”
She nodded to the stallion. “He’s still not getting off the trailer. What are you going to do?”
He leaned back against the corral panels, propping a boot heel on the steel rail. “I’ll give him a few more minutes to figure things out before I interfere. Would you do me a favor and grab the bungee cord out of my truck?”
“Sure? Where exactly is it?”
“Under the passenger seat.”