Free Rough (RRR #2) by Kimball Lee

work cutting your calf from the others, and then throw those ropes. It’s all in the wrist, Brady,” he says calmly to one boy, and then to another— “Look here, Justin, relax your grip, there you go! Now hog-tie him quick before he works his head loose. Way to go, get after it, Braedon, lemme see each one of you work these calves, tire them out and it’ll be a little easier. You got it going now, keep it up.”
    A larger calf breaks free from the others, knocks over a section of the metal fence and runs for the open pasture. A rider on a gleaming black horse thunders past, and his white cowboy flies off and lands in the dirt. It’s Campbell, and he whistles for the calf to stop, then his rope makes an arch through the air and loops around its neck. The calf stumbles to its knees and with another twist of his wrist Campbell frees the rope, loops it back into a circle wrapping it around his hand and forearm. He secures it to his saddle then lets his reins go slack as his horse noses the calf back into the pen.
    “Whoa, Goliath,” He laughs and reaches down to scoop up his hat and dust it off while his horse huffs and twitches, tossing his head and pawing the ground. “Always one bad girl in the herd.”
    “Thought you’d lost your touch, good to see you’re still decent with a rope now that you’re the boss,” Holt says and they share a good natured laugh. Campbell leans back in the saddle and motions for Lonnie Jim to lead the boys to the house for lunch and then a swim in the Olympic sized pool. The boys shout and hoot, then take off, shouting to Holt that they’ll practice their roping and see him next month.
    “How about some lunch?” Campbell asks, as his horse throws his head back and moves in my direction. “Goliath, settle down, dammit! It’s Sunday, Holt, you know what that means.”
    “Maudie’s chicken and dumplings, that’s an offer I can’t turn down. You ready, Scarlet? Maudie is not only the best cook in Texas, but in the entire world.” Holt says and I nod and reach for my reins.
    Sugar is fidgeting underneath me as the black stallion presses up next to her with his nostrils flared and a deep rumble in his chest. I know the minute Sugar rears onto her hind legs that I’ve jerked the reins too hard and too fast. I see the blue sky swing into view and feel my feet leave the stirrups, and as my body slides backwards out of the saddle Holt is there reaching out one strong arm to swing me onto his horse.
    “That was a great move, Corrigan, her shining knight in a dirty cowboy hat,” Campbell says, jerking his horse’s reins to steady him. “You okay, Scarlet? Need a doctor or glass of whiskey? This damn stallion is nothing but trouble, guess he’d like a little piece of Sugar.”
    I shake my head but no words come out. Holt shoots Campbell a murderous look and settles me firmly onto his lap. “You alright, beauty? No harm done?” He asks, one muscled arms holds me tight, and he turns his horse and clicks his tongue for Sugar to follow as we gallop to the gate of the house.
    *
    The mansion is extraordinary, originally built in the imposing Victorian-Italianate style, and through later additions it has morphed into a grand hacienda, a singularly Texas-style castle-on-the-wild-frontier. The original brick has been painted white to match later additions clad in white-washed stucco. Some parts are straight forward and austere, while others are whimsical follies with turrets and towers, all capped with a roof of red tiles made by hand on the premises. An open air atrium is at the middle of the house, flanked on two sides by wide curved stairways. Hidden courtyards lead off many of the first-floor rooms, and there’s a dining room and a dining hall, ballroom, billiards room, smoking lounge, parlors. A three-story-tall library holds more leather-bound books than could possibly be counted or read in a lifetime. Room after room, opening off a great central hall, seemingly endless, with Persian