Dark Horse

By Jeanne Harrell

Sam Johnson of the mighty Johnsons of Naples, Nevada (Rancher's Girl), is a horse trainer by profession. He and his father, Colt Johnson (Whisperer), have a training business on the Johnson Ranch and have done well as trainers for many years. A freak accident with a wild horse brought in for training leaves Sam wounded physically and mentally. After his injuries heal, his confidence as a horse trainer is shot and Sam wonders if he'll ever want to be a trainer again. Confused about his life, he leaves the ranch in Nevada to stay with his great grandparents up in Sonoma, California: wine country. His great grandfather slowly begins to engage him with horses again, but it's an uphill battle. One that Sam isn't sure he wants to fight. He meets Ellie Lombardi whose family has owned a winery in Sonoma for generations. She's got trouble of her own. Her parents were badly hurt in a car accident leaving her father in a wheelchair with dementia setting in. Someone is stalking her and the winery has financial troubles. Neither Sam nor Ellie is interested in a romantic entanglement, but circumstances throw them together and they tentatively try each other out. Dispensing Sam's demons and Ellie's stalker become overwhelming and their budding relationship could be over before it really begins. Love must find a way.
This book is the first in a series called Rancher's Legacy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeanne Harrell
• Release date: Dec 25, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370534197

Jeanne Harrell

Jeanne Harrell is an author who lives and writes romantic stories occurring in the Wild West. Her sweet and relatively innocent Western books include the Rancher series, The Westerners Series and Avila Beach Winery Series. Cowboys, Indians, stagecoaches and John Ford movies captured her interest long ago and held it. She lives in Nevada and captures many beautiful Western scenes with photos, found on her website. What she loves best is to tangle two strong characters, emboil them in conflict and let them hash it out. P.S. Jeanne also writes mysteries as SJ Slagle and children's books as Sinda Cheri Floyd.

Book preview

The horse’s stormy eyes were part fascination and part fury. He was close enough to the chestnut mare to see his reflection in the topaz orbs that glared in his direction as if to say, Who are you and what the devil are you doing on my turf? He had seconds to make a decision.

Sam Johnson sunk to one knee before the irritated horse. Pawing at the ground, the animal stirred up enough dust to create a whirlwind in the corral. Cantering around the quiet figure with bowed head, the horse stopped to sniff Sam’s straw hat. A few heavy snorts blew the hat to the ground some ten feet away from where Sam crouched. He knew if he made a move to retrieve it, the horse would bare his teeth and take a good bite. When the mare snorted again in Sam’s hair, the dark strands resembled ocean waves caught in a quick squall.

Sam refused to move. Probably a mistake.

The horse continued to sniff and snort.

In his mind’s eye, Sam saw the angry animal rise up with curled front legs. The expression on its face was unadulterated madness. One thousand pounds of sinew and muscle under skin as tight as a snare drum began to descend on him. Sam’s eyes opened in time to see the first hoof skim his bare head, to hear the swish of sliding skin, to smell the acrid aroma of his own fear and taste the blood streaking down his face into his open mouth.

The fear would never leave him. His death was imminent. Sam fought his way through the fog of nightmare to open haunted eyes that immediately sought the comfort of his reality.

The ticking clock on the nightstand.

An open window with a curtain blowing in the summer breeze.

Why wasn’t he dead?

Sam sat up, rubbing his aching head and glancing suspiciously around the room. Had he tied one on last night? Dripping with sweat, Sam swung heavy legs off the side of the bed and shook his head, effectively clearing the last of the cobwebs from his foggy brain. No. No beer last night. He was pretty good at recognizing panic attacks and this particular nightmare was on a continuous loop.

What was it going to take to wipe his memory of this one horse?

Obviously nothing he’d thought of yet.

Sam wearily rose on legs with crippling muscle cramps that nearly sent him back to bed. He grimaced with searing pain like red-hot pokers and curling toes that strained his arches. Getting out of bed these days was almost like running a 10K marathon. Sam was winded, sweating like a racehorse and bent over with hands on his knees to catch his breath. He felt elderly instead of the youthful twenty-two year old man he was.

Bedtime was a loathsome experience. He ran himself ragged over the immense Johnson Ranch doing chores until well past dark. His worried father, Colt Johnson, begged him to lighten his workload and his sweet mother, Mandy, begged him to go back to his therapist. If she’d told him once, she told him a thousand times that locking the episode deep inside wasn’t helping. He needed to talk about it; let the problem breathe. That would be the only way to get past it.

Maybe she was right.

On legs feeling as heavy as the trunks of Redwoods, Sam made his way to the kitchen and turned on the coffeemaker. Eying the small medicine vial on the counter, he shook his head.

Nope. Not takin’ that stuff anymore, he murmured to the empty room. A brief snort left his lips as he realized his dog had padded into the kitchen with him. Bending down to pat the dog’s upturned nose, Sam smiled. You’re still here, aren’t you, boy? Thank God for you, Heck. The large black and white Australian Shepherd barked once in effect telling Sam that he was ready to begin working the cattle this morning. Head down, Heck slurped water making slapping sounds against the sides of his water bowl. Sam managed to pour the dog’s breakfast into another bowl and sidestepped the pool of water Heck’s slurping made to grab a mug.

Glancing at a wall clock, Sam saw instead the bared teeth of the angry horse from his dreams. A shaky hand tried to maneuver the mug of hot coffee to his waiting lips, but he couldn’t quite manage it. He set the cup back down and wondered if he’d ever be able to drink coffee without spilling it all over himself.

Sam winced, snaked a finger to capture the bottle of aspirin within close reach. On purpose. He wouldn’t take the addictive painkiller prescribed by his doctor, but he’d take a morning aspirin. Crawling out of bed scared and aching was bad enough. He’d be damned if he would add addicted to that growing list of morning complaints.

And it was only the morning that was so horrible. Months of solid physical therapy helped Sam as he worked hard all day happily in the life and on the land where he’d been raised. His love for the ranch was stronger than the nightmares and the pain. It was stronger than anything.

He could lick this problem. He had to or life wouldn’t be worth living and Sam knew it.

* * *

CHAPTER 2

The vista was a heavenly creation. Sagebrush and desert shrub dotted the rangeland still green from winter rains. Swollen creeks snaked through the range with Jeffrey pine and cottonwoods sending roots deep underground. The occasional black locust tree topping at one hundred feet in height had fragrant white flowers appearing in drooping clusters in the spring. Many had been planted by early settlers in the old community of Naples, Nevada, some twenty miles south of Carson City. The picturesque village backed up to rugged, snow-capped Sierra Mountains that jutted high into the forever sky.

Great, great grandfather Johnson had settled his family in the Naples area after coming west to leave city life behind. He founded the Johnson Ranch to breed cattle for an operation that now sold to international markets. Johnson cattle were unique, expensive and sold all over the world. Sam was proud to be part of such an immense operation and thrilled to be one of the many cogs running the well-oiled machine. It was his life, his world and he couldn’t imagine living any other.

Even today, after he’d managed to get his legs and mind in decent working order, Sam, his younger brother Henry, father Colt and a sprinkling of other relatives were riding hard into the face of a wildfire recently kicked up by lightning strikes igniting the pervasive cheatgrass, dry and awaiting trouble.

Flames flickered along the horizon against a backdrop of a muddy brown sky swirling with smoke. Their panicked cattle were black dots fleeing the fire in different directions and bellowing loudly. Smoke filled his nostrils while his ears were inundated with the cracking and popping noises made when fire consumes anything in its path. Their horses were breathing heavily by the time the group was able to reach the cattle to begin rounding them up.

Take the south end, Sam, yelled Colt. His dark hair, streaked with silver, was beginning to lighten as bits of ash rained down. Take Henry with you!

Sam nodded to his father before leading his brother to the back end of the scattered herd. Cows rushing hurriedly away from the fire were separating bleating mothers from calves in their haste, causing more trouble for the cowboys.

His grandfather, Sandy Johnson, had taken wire-cutters from his saddlebag to cut the wire fences so painstakingly erected. Cowboys surrounded the frightened cattle to herd them towards the exit Sandy created. Unfortunately, it was incredibly difficult to move the cows towards safety and time and again, Sam, his brother, cousins and uncle rode parallel to the approaching fire close enough to redden skin.

Sam clutched the bandana tied across his mouth and nose to pull it higher. His eyes grew teary from the smoke and he could see brother Henry having trouble with his frightened horse. Although their horses were trained to herd, all animals would prefer to run from a fire than towards it. As anxious cows blindly ran into one another, Sam and Henry had to maneuver carefully to keep the cattle from crashing into them as well. With fields blazing, Sam would think later of the current year’s forage going up in smoke and the fact they would have to graze the cattle on the river meadows sooner than he knew his grandfather would like.

Sam rubbed a hand over his face. He could see a ranch off in the distance and the fire heading for it. With considerable effort and in slow motion, the cowboys were able to herd the cows away from the fire to a lower meadow. As the day ground on, Sam could see progress made as the fire disappeared in the distance and cows slowed to a walk. Still breathing heavily, the animals hung their tired heads and began nibbling at the native vegetation at their feet. A creek in the meadow provided much needed water. He could feel the strain in his neck and back. His horse was snorting with effort and would need as much care as Sam would when all was said and done.

Sam and Henry rode over to where Colt and his brother had stopped.

Dad! Uncle Jesse! We leavin’ the cows here? Sam yelled as soon as he was within hearing range.

Colt took off his hat, wiped sweat off his forehead with a damp bandanna and shook his head. Adjusting the hat back on, Colt looked at Jesse. Gotta move on beyond that range, don’t ya think? When Jesse nodded, Colt turned to Sam.

You and Henry push from the back again. We need to move them down another mile south. They’ll be back on our land by then and we can all breathe easier, especially since the fire is heading north.

Henry flicked an exasperated look at Sam, but both boys dutifully took their positions and did as their father asked. Walking their horses behind several meandering cows, Henry turned to Sam. With Henry’s auburn hair to his black, it occurred to Sam they didn’t look much alike.

Sam, you feelin’ better?

Sure.

No more nightmares?

Sam’s wary glance widened his brother’s eyes.

So you’re still up nights.

Most every night.

Sorry. Anything I can do?

Sam smiled. I’d suggest you buy me a beer, but you’re still a pup.

Green eyes lit Henry’s youthful face. I bet Grandma Lily would give me one.

Only if you’ve been a very good boy.

Hey! I’m going to college soon. That should make Mom and Grams happy.

Oh, it will.

Their young bodies swayed to the rhythm of the plodding horses. Stepping over brush and critter holes, the clip-clopping sounds echoed in the landscape suddenly devoid of sound. Sam breathed a relieved sigh when he saw Colt wave his hat in the air. The cattle would be all right on this river meadow; although hayed for winter forage, the meadow was an emergency alternative when the ranch’s native range was destroyed by fire. They had long avoided overgrazing by using the hay from river meadows and any available native range for winter forage. Wildfires were always a problem and grazing lands were shuffled as necessary. It was important to protect the land as best they could since the ranch’s livelihood depended on it.

After settling the herd and riding on to Sandy and Lily’s ranch house, Sam wondered briefly if he was a disappointment to his family. Henry was going on to college to study rangeland management, while Sam had always trained horses with his father. Colt was known throughout the area as a horse whisperer, a man who could train any horse. Colt had always said Sam had the gift too, but the incident last year made Sam doubt the wisdom of his father’s words.

Was horse training the best career option? Should he be a rancher and forget about training? Maybe he’d go to college like Henry.

By the time he swung a leg off his horse, fed and watered him, Sam was ready for that beer.

* * *

CHAPTER 3

Who’s thirsty? Lily called out to the throng of people streaming in her back door. Nearly every soot-covered head nodded dropping soot on her clean floor.

Hey! Drop those hats and coats outside, boys, then clean up while I get out the beer.

Sam had already dropped his hat and jacket outside and, knowing his grandmother’s penchant for neatness, brushed off his jeans as well. He stood smiling next to her reaching out his hand to get the first beer she opened.

She glanced up at him holding the chilled bottle. I swear you’re taller than your father. Colt’s six feet tall, so that must make you…

…Thirsty, Grams, very thirsty.

Lily playfully elbowed him as she handed the bottle over. He drank most of it with one long swallow. With his head tilted, her eyes tracked the scar running from his hairline to his temple. Her body involuntarily shuddered. She knew the horse had nearly done him in and it scared her anew.

Sam set the bottle on the counter. Cold?

Lily smiled, shrugged. Just happy to see you, Sam. How bad was the fire?

Bad enough to spook the herd, but it’s probably out by now. It was heading towards the area with all the creeks north of town.

Good. Open you another?

Quit babying your favorite grandson and point us towards the beer, Grams, teased Henry. He’d come up behind Sam with cousin Jason, Uncle Jesse and Colt. Not quite as tall as Sam, Henry had a playful streak countering Sam’s seriousness. She knew Sam took his position as eldest grandchild seriously, perhaps too seriously and his accident had rocked his world. Checking outside, the rest of the group, Sandy with a few hired hands, had gotten comfortable on the patio.

Grab one, Henry, and the rest of you head outside. Mandy and I will bring it all out to you.

Soon a makeshift party was in full swing. Lily and Sandy furnished food and drink for everyone who helped with the emergency roundup and it disappeared faster than water in the high desert. The late afternoon deepened bringing a slight chill, so Sandy lit the fire pit in the open area where they’d gathered. Camp chairs surrounded the pit with a bar and grill set off to one side. Fragrant smells of roasted beef, potato salad and freshly baked bread filled the night air. Long shadows overtook the comfortable ranch house darkening all but brightly lit windows. Exhaustion softened the hard edges of the weather-beaten cowboys. Good food in their bellies made them sleepy and soon nearly everyone had drifted away except for Sam, Henry, Lily and Sandy. After Henry bade them goodnight, Lily glanced over at Sam. Moonlight reflected shades of blue in his dark hair. With his eyes slit with fatigue, she knew his glossy exterior hid the depth of his feelings. Sam had always been the grandchild they worried about the least. Many of the other kids had broken this or that, scraped, bent or sprained something, but Sam escaped real harm—until he didn’t.

Sandy stirred the fire. Her husband had been a rancher all his life and was still the epitome of the western cowboy. She took in his shaggy blonde hair now with glints of silver, lean angular body with thick shoulders and long legs encased in denim. The cowboy hat under his chair and boots so worn they could speak illustrated the hard-working rancher to the core. They’d been married a good long while and their life was as good as it gets. He looked up from the fire.

How you feeling these days, Sam? Any problems?

Not really, Grandpa, but thanks for asking.

With your sisters and now Henry in college, what are you and Quinn gonna do for fun? Sandy’s eyes danced when he leaned back in his chair.

Funny. It’ll be quieter for sure, but Quinn’s still in high school and I live away from Mom and Dad anyway. I’m sure the empty nest crept over them when Lucy and Livy left for college.

But you’re over a lot, Mandy says, you know, said Lily, for dinner.

Sure, but I hang out with my friends when I have time.

You still seeing Maggie Townsend?

Sandy shot Lily a look followed by a quick shake of his head. Sam caught the action and chuckled.

It’s okay. No, we broke up. It just got…too hard.

Sandy was quiet and Lily couldn’t think of anything to say.

I had all that…physical therapy to do and we kinda…

Drifted away from one another?

Yeah, somethin’ like that, he agreed. Must not have been a forever sort of thing.

Like Colt and Mandy, said Lily.

Or you and Grandpa, Sam added.

Or any of your other aunts and uncles. Lily had the watchful eyes