Wild Horses (Sadie's Montana #1)(32)

Maybe she should have asked Richard Caldwell to accompany her this first time to the tack room. She had wondered if Richard Caldwell would be here to help her, but she knew his business, the many hands he managed on the ranch, and numerous other ventures kept him extremely busy. She supposed Nevaeh was only a small blip on the screen of his life.

What to do? She looked past the cabinets to the row of gleaming, leather bridles, then walked over quietly, her hand reaching out for the one closest to her. It looked like an average size, and it had buckles along the side so she could adjust it. Well, she had to start somewhere.

The opposite end of the room sprang to life when the door burst open, and a small man charged through it. He had a huge, black mustache, a greasy, filthy coat, and a slouched leather hat.

“Hey, girl, whatcha doin’ in here?”

Sadie put her hands behind her back, the color seeping from her face.

“Ain’t you s’posed to be in that there kitchen helpin’ the old lady?”

“N-not now. I have an hour to ride Nevaeh, the black and white paint.”

“Richard Caldwell, the boss, know this?”

“Yes. He…he is the one who wants me to ride him.”

“Yer gonna need a saddle then.”

Sadie’s eyes narrowed as she picked up courage.

“And a bridle. And a blanket.”

The black mustache lifted from its long, droopy shape to a higher, friendlier look, and a massive brown hand went out.

“Lothario Bean! Master of the Tack Room.”

Large white teeth flashed below the mustache, looking for all the world like a giant Oreo cookie. His skin was the color of a Brach’s Milk Maid caramel that Mam used when she made a turtle cake.

Sadie shook hands, wincing as her sturdy, white one was crushed in the huge hand of Lothario Bean.

“Ain’t you the prettiest thing? You remind me of m’ daughters, only whiter. Got five daughters. ’Fore every one was borned, thought sure God give me a son. Never was. All daughters. All five of ’em. Felida, Rosita, Carmelita, Frances, and Jean Elizabeth.”

He ticked them off on thick brown fingers, his beady, brown eyes polished with love and pride.

“All girls. Love of my life.”

Sadie smiled warmly, instantly liking this individual with his thick Latino accent.

“Jean Elizabeth, you know? She named that to break up Jean Bean!”

He laughed uproariously, slapping his leather chaps so hard, Sadie felt sure his hand stung afterward.

She laughed genuinely. Poor Jean Bean.

Lothario squinted at Sadie, cocking his head to one side like a large, overgrown bird.

“You know Christmas is coming? You celebrate Christmas? Your religion believe in Jesus’ birth?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Good. So do we, so do we.”

“You know Christmas is coming. Me and my darling Lita, we is planning a huge surprise—a huge one! No presents this year, none. A trip! We gon’ take a long trip back to the ol’ country!”

He spread his arms, joy crossing his face, and the Oreo cookie became bigger and wider as he told Sadie the wonders of returning to South America.

Sadie finally glanced apprehensively at the large clock on the wall of the tack room. Twenty minutes had already gone by, and she hadn’t even seen Nevaeh yet.

“I must go, please. I have only one hour.”

“Oh, oh, oh, I am please to be excused. Forgive me fer keeping ya here. Here. Here. This is your bridle, and this? No, this? This one? This is your saddle.”

Moving as swiftly as he talked, he pulled off a saddle, snatched a bridle, and collected a blanket. Keeping up a constant chatter pertaining to his mother’s corn tortillas, Lothario swept through the door and into the stable, released the latch of Nevaeh’s stall, then stepped back. He bowed deeply, one arm across his back, in a manner so genteel, it warmed Sadie’s heart.

“Thank you, Mr. Bean. Thank you so much!” she said smiling.

“No, no Mr. Bean. Lothario. Lothario. Just like the romantic hero in the book!”

Sadie laughed, then went into Nevaeh’s stall as Lothario Bean hurried off to do what masters of tack rooms did.

She was still smiling as she led Nevaeh out and began brushing his coat—which was still not as glossy and smooth as Sadie hoped it would be by this time.

Nevaeh was a perfect gentleman for grooming. He stood quietly, allowing Sadie to brush every inch of him, down to his grayish-brown hooves. He never pranced away or refused to budge, the way Paris had always done.

Sadie slid the horse blanket gently over Nevaeh’s back, lifting and settling it down a few times to let him get used to the feel of it. His head lifted, ears flickered back, then forward, and Sadie knew he would readily accept the saddle if that was all he had to say about the blanket. Standing on tiptoe, she threw the beautiful brown saddle up and over his back. Nevaeh still stood quietly, ears flickering.

“Good boy. What a braufa gaul. Good boy.”

Sadie kept up the soft speech while she stroked and patted, adjusted straps, and tightened the cinch strap beneath his stomach. Sliding her hand between the strap and the stomach, she checked to see if it was too loose or too tight.

Nevaeh seemed comfortable, keeping a good-natured stance. He lowered, then raised his head, but in a calm manner so that Sadie felt more relaxed, her erratic heartbeat becoming more normal.