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I settled into my chair, propped my feet up on the desk, and rested my laptop on my lap. Then, I opened the meeting link and waited.
“Elena, how you doin’, darlin’?”
“I’m good, Halstead. How’s California treating you?”
Richard Halstead was a buyer out of California, a sharp dealer with a good eye for horses and a reputationfor keeping his cards close. He was personable and easy to get along with and knew how to shake hands like he meant it—but he never tipped his real price until the contract was halfway signed.
He wasn’t a cowboy, not in the working sense, but he knew bloodlines, pedigrees, and which horses could rake in money in the rodeo and performance circuits. We'd done a few deals over the years, and I respected him—he didn’t waste my time, didn’t pretend to know more than he did, and didn’t get all bent out of shape buying a horse from a woman.
Halstead was looking for a broodmare and a working cow horse, and I had exactly what he wanted.
“She’s a hell of a mare, Halstead," I said, referring to Imperial Rose, a foundation-bred Quarter Horse with strong reining and cow horse lines. "You know what she is. She’s got Dash For Cash’s speed up top and Metallic Cat’s cow sense underneath. Bloodlines like that don’t sit on the table long.”
Halstead tilted his head, considering. "That right?"
I nodded, knowing I had him on the hook. "You’ve got the paperwork in front of you. Full genetic panel, clean. Her first two foals are already in training with six-figure trainers, and her third colt just sold to a guy in Texas who’s gunning for the NCHA Futurity. She’s proven—every foal she’s dropped has been sound, correct, and built to work.”
He shifted as if looking at something else on his screen, probably my email with all the attachments. I’d sent him everything—vet records, performance data onher offspring, and a video of her moving in the pasture, heavy with this year’s foal but still stepping like she owned the damn world.
"Al…right," he said after a beat. "Three-fifty."
Oh please!
I didn’t blink. "Five hundred."
Halstead scoffed. “Unless she’s actually giving birth to Peptoboonsmal, I’m not paying five hundred.”
Peptoboonsmal was a winner and an overwhelmingly successful sire whose offspring had earned over $26 million in competition, primarily in cutting and reined cow horse events. Imperial Rose was no Peptoboonsmal.
I shrugged. “Okay. Should we talk about Mistral? She’s?—”
“I don’t need another barrel horse,” he cut me off. “I want Imperial Rose.”
“You can have her for five hundred.”
He let out a low chuckle. “Come on, Elena, you know that’s top-tier.”
I lifted my hand like I was inspecting my nails—not that I actually was. They weren’t even clean right now. "The horse is top tier, Halstead."
Halstead watched me carefully. “I hear Nash’s kid is putting the ranch up for sale.”
I didn’t skip a beat. “You hear all sorts of things.”
“So, this is a fire sale?” He arched an eyebrow.
I smiled, slow and knowing. “Do you think there’s ever a fire sale with me running the horse program?”
He sighed. “Elena, I can’t do half a million. That’s gonna give me an ulcer.”
I stayed silent for a moment, just long enough for him to feel it. Then I casually said, “I have another broodmare, Majestic Valor?—”
“I don’t want Majestic Valor.”
“You can have her for three-fifty.”
“Hell no. If I buy her, I want her for two-fifty.”
“Okay, I’ll make you a deal.” I let the silence stretch before dropping my offer. “Take Imperial Rose and Majestic Valor for seven seventy-five.”