Chapter 10
Nicole
I don’t rush Red Ledger once we’re done. I walk him out slow, reins loose, waiting until his breathing settles back into something steady. The horse is already damp with sweat when I swing him down into a long, easy walk.
I loosen the reins a fraction, letting him stretch his neck. His ears flick back toward me, then forward again. I turn the horse toward the gate and let him coast to a stop.
“Good,” I murmur. “You did so good.”
I swing down, landing in the dirt with a soft thud. The horse shifts, then settles again when I gather the reins.
I glance toward the open side of the arena. Harrison is there, leaning on the fence post just outside the gate, waiting like he is giving me the choice to invite him closer or not.
The sun is behind him, and it turns his shoulders into a dark shape against the light. He looks really handsome — the model cowboy. His eyes land on Red Ledger first. Then they move to me.
“That was really something, Nicole. Red Ledger is coming around.”
His voice does something to me. There’s real warmth in his praise.
Harrison’s gaze drops to my boots and then up to the dust on my knees. He looks back up, and his face tells me he is trying not to look too long. His restraint seems deliberate.
I walk the horse toward the gate, and Harrison steps aside to unlatch it. The gate swings open, held by calloused hands that could just as easily have left me to manage it myself. Something is different about him, subtle as a horse's ear twitch but just as telling.
Red Ledger blows out another breath and lowers his head like he knows he has earned his exit. Harrison reaches out, then hesitates, as if he is not sure whether he is allowed. He settles for running his hand down the horse’s neck instead, slow and thoughtful.
“Never seen him do that,” he says, voice lower now.
“Do what?”
He nods toward the horse’s relaxed posture. “Be … calm, yet controlled.”
I keep my expression neutral, but satisfaction fills me.
“He is not a bad horse, Harrison.”
“I didn’t say he was,” he replies, a little too quickly.
I do not push. Instead I lean in to adjust the reins, making it look like I am focused on the tack. It gives him a second to breathe. It gives me a second to breathe, too. When I straighten, he is watching my hands.
“You got him to stop fighting,” he says.
“I got him to stop expecting a fight.”
His eyes narrow like he is turning that over. “That sounds like the same thing.”
“Actually, it’s not.” I start walking toward the barn aisle. “One is strength. One is trust.”
He follows beside me, matching my pace. His shoulder stays a careful distance from mine. But he’s close enough that I can feel his body heat when the wind shifts.
I stop at the wash rack and loop the lead rope around the tie, the horse already stepping into place like this is familiar.
I reach for the hose. Only then do I look at Harrison fully.
He is close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his eyes.
Close enough to see the faint line at the corner of his mouth where tension lives when he is not smiling.
I glance at Red Ledger, who flicks an ear toward me like he’s checking whether we’re still in conversation.
“Bonding comes first. After that, most horses want to please.”
Harrison nods slowly. He doesn’t pretend to understand more than he does. I like that about him.
“People think choice means no guidance,” I continue. “But horses don’t respond to freedom or force. They respond to clarity.”
“And consistency,” Harrison adds.
“Yes,” I say. “Exactly.”
I turn the water on, cool and steady, and start rinsing the horse’s legs.
“You have a wonderful horse here. It’s still early, but I see a lot of potential. Of course, if you race him … and I say that with a big emphasis on the word ‘if’ — it has to be about him, not you.”
Harrison’s mouth twitches. “Hard not to.”
I glance up sharply, and his expression shifts as if he realizes what he just implied. He recovers fast.
“What I mean is,” he says, voice smoother, “I’m the one writing the checks.”
I angle the hose away so water does not splash my boots. “And you don’t like writing them?”
His eyes narrow again. “I like results.”
“Then you’re going to like me,” I say calmly.
Harrison gulps and I watch his Adam’s apple move. For a moment, the air between us changes into something almost electric. He shifts his weight, like he suddenly does not know where to put his hands.
“You always talk like that?”
“Like what?”
“With so much certainty … like you know you’re right.”
I lift one shoulder. “Most of the time. Variables can always arise with situations, but yes, I’m certain about my skills.”
His stare holds mine, and I can see it happening behind his eyes. He is not just impressed. He is a little unsettled. He glances away first, as if he needs to break the contact before he does something stupid. When he looks back, his voice is lighter.
“I admit. I’m very impressed so far.”
He watches me for a moment, as if he wants to say something else. Something less safe. Instead he checks himself, and the shift is so clear I almost admire it.
He reaches out and gives the horse one last slow stroke down the neck. The horse leans into it like he recognizes respect. Then Harrison steps back. He pauses, gaze on me, and for a moment the hesitation shows.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says.
I lift my chin. “Oh, tomorrow. I have another horse I’ve trained that’s running in the third race. His name is Jupiter Rising. Most of my morning and early afternoon will be taken with him.”
Something in his expression tightens, and I don’t know why, but I feel it.
“I didn’t realize I had competition right now.”
I smile, wondering if there is a double meaning behind his words.
“Rest assured, I will get plenty of time in with Red Ledger.”
“I’ll be here,” he says. “For the race. Given your skills, maybe I should place a bet.”
He holds my gaze a few seconds too long. Then he turns and walks away. I don’t usually like being watched while I work. But I do like his company.
It’s not insecurity. It’s control. Early on, observation can change things. Owners want results too fast. Harrison doesn’t press, at least so far. I liked having him here today. More than I expected. More than I want to unpack right now.
After he’s gone, I make sure Red Ledger has everything he needs as I get him situated back in his stall.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, big boy. And your cowboy owner too.”