Slapping Leather

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The Texas summer sun beat down like a blast furnace, the faint breeze doing little except to stir the rich scents of horseflesh, earth and hay. Elizabeth Gillibrand had been working a new cutting horse in the corral and she was tired, dirty and sweaty. Her clothes stuck to her like a second skin, her jeans, the tank top and the work shirt she wore knotted over it. She took off her straw hat, fanned herself and jammed the hat back on her head. Right now the shower she’d been thinking of all day was looking mighty damn good.

“Hey, Liz.” Scotty Masters, her lead trainer, walked out of the nearest barn. “Another horse trailer’s coming down the road. Where do you want it?”

She turned from where she stood at the corral fence and watched the big pickup hauling the trailer approach with wings of dust pluming behind it. They hadn’t had rain for so long everything around was drier and hotter than hell. She looked back at Scotty and shrugged.

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