“I see. And Ringo is going to be…what?”
“Mr. Will’s horse, for riding to work the ranch and the herds.”
“What is Will like?” I ask.
Hector doesn’t answer. “He is…himself. Mr. Will knows horses better than anyone I know. He has done wonderful good work with the herds. He is boss, so…what is he like? He is boss.” He ends this with a shrug.
Not helpful.
We watch a few more minutes, and then Hector shows me another much smaller section of stables and, like the saddle room, this area has the feeling of being…not quite sacred, but…special. Hector has to enter a code into a keypad to get in, for one thing. The stable here is smaller, cleaner, and quieter. The stalls are bigger; the overall fit and finish of the stables more luxurious—this is the Audens’ personal stable, where their private mounts are housed. I’m not sure that’s the correct terminology, but whatever. Each stall has a large exterior window, open to let in daylight, and there’s another tack room, this one open to the air and unlocked—the everyday saddles and bridles and such. One stall is empty, obviously Theo’s horse Cupcake came from here.
“So, even though they own all the horses, they have a few that are their personal favorites?”
Hector nods. “Most of our horses are unbroken, or green broke, which means only trained to take a bit and saddle, but has very bad manners. These in the main barn are the ones we have trained, either for sale to collectors, racing owners, or breeders. Each cowboy camp has its own stable with several head of horses and tack, feed, and so on. And this, where we are now, is where the best horses are kept.” He points at a stall near the end, where a huge black head with a white spot on the forehead peeks out, watching us over the top of the stall door. “See him? He is named Gemini. He is not belong to the Audens, in which I mean he is not a personal, private horse. He is bred from the best of our thoroughbred studs to the best of our thoroughbred mares, and will be one of the best horses we have ever produced out of Bar-A. He is too valuable to be stabled even with the rest in the main stable.”
“So where is he going to end up?”
Hector shrugs, leading the way over to Gemini, reaching up to stroke the horse’s nose; Gemini whickers quietly, nudging Hector’s hand, ears swiveling forward. “We will sell him to a private collector, I think. He is young, only a year and a half. He could be a magnificent racehorse, but I think his value is better as a stud, in a collector’s barn.”
“A collector, meaning someone who just owns expensive horses just to own them?”
Hector bobs his head side to side again. “Eh, not so much that. He will rent him out for stud, most likely—sell his sperm. The offspring of a horse like Gemini is very desirable.”
I make a grossed-out face. “Sell hissperm? That’s nasty.”
Hector just laughs. “Perhaps to you. To us, it is common practice.”
“I don’t even want to know how you go about getting it.” I shudder. “What a weird world.”
He shrugs. “It is our world.” He smiles politely at me, then. “I have much work to do, now.”
I recognize the dismissal for what it is. “Thank you for your time, Hector.”
“Is nothing.”
He takes me back to my car at the Big House, then, and I head back to Auden Town, my mind racing. Hopefully Henry, Eileen, and Theo will able to convince Will, who sounds like a real hard case, to at least listen to me. In the meantime, I have to find this Charlie, and a room.
The saloon is exactly what I’d imagined: low-ceilinged, a bar on the left wall, tables in the middle, a staircase running up the right side to a short balcony with a couple doors for rooms to rent, and a bathroom. The saloon smells of sweat, booze, and history, with an ancient old man tinkering at a piano, hard-eyed local men in cowboy hats bellied up the bar sipping whiskey neat from dirty glasses. All that’s missing is a poker game and a cloud of cigar smoke, and I assume that will happen later in the evening. Charlie is the bartender, and fits the bill—medium height, a little overweight, wearing suspenders, with a towel thrown over his shoulder, and gold-rimmed spectacles. God, this place just sells itself, doesn’t it?
He's pouring salt from a large container into shakers when I arrive at the bar; he glances at me briefly, then away. “Don’t really serve white wine. Beer or whiskey is it, I’m afraid.”
I sigh. “As wonderful as a nice glass of chardonnay sounds, I’m actually in need of a room for the night.”
He snorts, giving me another once over. “You won’t like it.”
I frown. “I’m afraid I’m inclined to agree, but I’m finding it somewhat necessary. I have business here tomorrow, and I’d rather not make the drive back to Colorado Springs tonight and back tomorrow.”
He nods. “Yeah, I get’cha. Well, I normally just let the locals pass out in there, so I wouldn’t even know what to charge you.” His eyes take in my purse, my suit, my hair, my watch. “A hundred bucks for the night?” He says it hopefully, as if he feels he really reaching.
“Fine.” I arch an eyebrow. “I hate to sound…spoiled, but is it at least clean?”
He laughs. “I’ll check on it. Spruce it up, a bit.” He pours a pint of beer, slides it to me. “On the house. Be right back.” He bustles away, then, heading for the room with a broom and dustpan in hand.
I sip the beer—I normally only drink white wine or champagne, but the beer is cold and refreshing. Fifteen minutes later, Charlie returns.
“Cleaned ’er up for you.” He rolls a shoulder. “It is what it is. No room service, of course, but I’m here fairly early, and my ol’ lady’ll fix you breakfast if you’re inclined. She makes a mean plate of bacon and eggs, and you could float a horseshoe on my coffee.”
I smile faintly. “Thank you, Charlie.”
