Horsetown

This short story was written for the NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge. The prompt was to write a short story in 3 days or fewer that featured:

Character - a lawman / Subject: bankruptcy / Genre: rom-com.

Horsetown

1. Jim

Red Butte was already a dusted-up, beat-down, one-horse town when I first saw it.

I was a kid back then — my dad moved out to the sticks after the divorce — and I spent five sweltering summers mucking stalls and hauling hay on his cattle ranch. Then I went to college in Cheyenne and never spoke to the man again.

Now that I’m back, the place looks even smaller somehow. Or maybe I’m that much bigger, bumping over their cracked dirt roads in my shiny black car, the silver star gleaming on my chest like a beacon of triumph. When I roll through the boarded-up town square, heads turn and leathered faces squint, and I know what they’re thinking: there goes the law.

Last I was here, I was a zit-faced teenager with cow shit on his boots. Now I’m the man who’s come to take Red Butte’s last horse.

2. Nell

Imagine my surprise, on the day that the world is coming to an end, with all hope supposedly lost, amid bouncing checks and folding accounts, phone buzzing incessantly with offers from debt collectors and slimeball loansharks, desperation and ruin looming on the horizon, and without a single kindly soul remaining in town to lend a hand — imagine my surprise as I answer my front door to see none other than Jim Nash standing there in a pressed uniform and a tidy haircut, with a square knot in his tie. He still has that dimple on his chin. Knocking politely, primly, and apparently not recognizing me when I finally open the door. All he says is:

“Are you Ms. Nell Wilson?”

“Are you repo?” I reply.

“Deputy Marshal,” he says, tapping his badge. “But repo’s just behind me. I’m told you’ve been slowing things down some. I’m here to oversee the seizure of your remaining assets.”

“I’m supposed to have til the end of the month to evacuate the premises.” I say it sweetly, batting my eyelashes even, but Jim barely looks up from his notepad.

“Says here you have an outstanding nonexempt property to be liquidated for your creditors. A pinto quarter horse by the name of Hildegard?”

I stay quiet.

“So, you found an excuse to delay the first time they came to repossess… huh, a fabricated breeding agreement, that was clever of you. Then… it says the second time, you were unable to locate the asset.”

He raises an eyebrow as he hands me a pile of paperwork.

I look it over. I’m practically an expert at reviewing bankruptcy documents by now.

When I look up, his hazel eyes are searching mine. I’m waiting for a flicker of recognition, but none comes. Meeting his gaze makes me feel like a teenager again.

I shove the liquidation paperwork back into his hands.

“There is no everloving way I’m letting you liquify my horse, Nashhole.”

I go to slam the door, but he wedges a toe in.

“Who told you to call me that?” He keeps his composure, mouth set in a hard line, but his cheeks are flushing a bit now. Good.

If he doesn’t remember me, I can go ahead and use it to my advantage.

“And I don’t know about any breeding agreement, but Hildegard is pregnant now. So you can’t have her til she foals in the spring. And you’ll need new forms to take the foal. Sorry to have wasted your time.” I try to close the door again.

“If the horse is pregnant, I’ll need proof.” He frowns.

“Dr. McNeil’s the vet. Down the way. He has her records and all that.”

Jim looks astounded. “Nick McNeil is a veterinarian?”

In his surprise, he takes a small step back — just enough for me to shut the door firmly in his face.

“Dr. McNeil does ranch visits in the afternoons. So you’ll want to try him in the morning!” I shout through the door. “You can go ahead and tell repo the same thing.”

His footsteps creak across the porch. Then his car door slams, and, finally, the gravel crunches as he drives away.

3. Jim

I can’t get my mind off Nell Wilson.

She’s beautiful. But that’s not the only reason. She also looks incredibly familiar, and I can’t figure out why.

I’m certain I’d remember her if we met before. That curly hair of hers. And her smirk.

But then how does she know about that ridiculous, juvenile nickname? Nashhole. It’s what the local kids I hung around with back then used to call me. Including their sweaty, hog-faced ringleader, who is apparently now a veterinarian.

I’m standing in Nick McNeil’s office now, as he puffs and pants, reminiscing about the trouble we used to get up to together. Which mainly entailed standing around in fields late at night, drinking grain alcohol with the other youth of Red Butte.

After a while, I have no choice but to interrupt him. “Listen, it’s great to catch up. But I was actually wondering if you could help me out with a case.”

“Oh yeah, you in town on official business?” He laughs. “Big horse thief in the area I should know about?”

“Kind of. It’s just a repossession that’s been unnecessarily drawn out. Have you treated a horse belonging to a Nell Wilson? Supposedly a few months pregnant.”

“She — what?” Nick stops laughing.

“The horse, that is.” I say, offering a smile to counter his sudden seriousness. “Should be a few months in foal by now. Pinto named Hildegard?”

“Oh. I’m not at liberty to discuss medical records with you.”

“I don’t think doctor-patient confidentiality really applies here.” I drop the smile and pull the writ of execution out of my case. “Look, this gives me the authority to verify the condition of the assets I’ve been sent to collect. To oversee the collection, I mean. Of the horse.”

He squints at the paperwork, then waves me off. “I can’t share Hildegard’s records with you without Nelly’s permission.”

Nelly?

“Then I’ll need you to come down to her place with me right away and make an assessment. If the horse is in foal—”

“The horse is in foal,” he interrupts me. “Sure. A few months along now, like you said.”

“—I’ll need to record exactly how far along, and who the sire is in case there’s an issue of contested ownership.”

He scowls at me, hoglike as ever.

“So when will you be available to do that, Dr. McNeil?”

“Not until next week. Friday.”

It’s only Tuesday now, but Nick doesn’t budge, so I allow him to pencil me in for the end of next week.

Then I drive back to Nell Wilson’s ranch. Because I just remembered who she is.

4. Nell

Nick called early this morning to warn me that Jim Nash had already been at the clinic, asking questions. My older brother is an idiot, but he could be a useful one sometimes.

It’s because of Nick that I know Jim. He used to run around with Nick and his friends. They were always dicks to him, calling him Nashhole. But it never seemed to bother him.

One night, at a party, Nick and his friends were doing keg stands. I didn’t want to drink anything — I was younger than they were. So Jim took me on a walk and pointed out constellations.

We may have held hands.

All their friends made fun of him later. But that was all that happened.

They started college that fall, and I never saw Jim again.

Until yesterday, when he showed up to take my horse.

I’m halfway out of the stables with Hildegard when I see the government car roll up my driveway. I’m about to jump into the saddle and head out the back trails at top speed, but I stop when I hear him call my name.

Damn it all. If Nashhole knows anything about horses, he’ll be able to see immediately that Hildegard isn’t in foal and never was.

“Nelly McNeil!” He shouts, jogging across my yard. “I knew I recognized you! Your name threw me off.”

“I married Cole Wilson for a year. Did you know him? I kept the name because it sounds better.” I laugh, shooing Hildegard back into the stables.

“I guess so. Nelly McNeil. Not nearly as bad as Jim Nashhole,” he says, grinning. He sprouts a dozen new dimples when he smiles.

Then he turns serious again:

“So listen, Nell. I came by to appraise the condition of your horse since apparently your brother isn’t willing to do so in a reasonable timeframe.”

My heart sinks. Just when I thought there might be a way to wriggle out of this.

“So, I assume that’s the horse? That you were just leading away?”

“Um,” I say.

“Let me just take a look.” Jim steps into the stable, and I watch as he takes a cursory look at Hildegard, making notes on a clipboard.

I stroke her mane. This could be it.

“Okay. So, this horse doesn’t appear to be pregnant,” he says, glancing at me over his clipboard. “But in my opinion, the asset isn’t in good quality, and its resale value wouldn’t be worth the cost of liquidation.”

“What? She’s in great…” I start talking before I realize what he said.

“You can keep Hildegard,” he says. “Sign here.”

Dumbfounded, I read the form he’s handing me. That’s what it says, in plain English, so I sign.

“Thank you?” I look up at him, unable to express what this means to me.

“Well, I should have remembered you right away.” He’s smiling again, all dimples. “So now we’re even.”

We step out of the stable and back into the sunlight. He gestures at the ranch house, mostly emptied out now, and the pastures. “Sorry I can’t help out with the rest of it.”

I shrug. “I don’t care about the house. Or even staying in Red Butte. I just want to keep Hildy.”

After a moment, Jim hands me a business card.

“Well, if you ever need anything, you can call me anytime.” And he walks back down the hill toward his car.

I don’t really want him to go. But I have an avalanche of bullshit to deal with before the end of the month.

Impulsively, I run after him, down the hill, and grab his shoulder before he can get in the car.

And it’s a great kiss. A really, really good one.