Chapter 12
Problem Horses
Sawyer
I’m already exhausted and there’s still so much more that needs to be done today.
The goats have damaged more of the fencing, and if I don’t fix it soon, they’ll squeeze their way through the small hole that the old billy goat keeps making. Roscoe is an absolute menace.
Unfortunately, I won’t make it much longer without a break or a nap. It’s frustrating when my body betrays me like this. I know pushing myself will only make the flare-up worse. But damnit, I hate not being able to work like I normally can.
Lucifer finally allowed me to mount him, and I’m hesitant to get down. He’s still more skittish than I’d like him to be while I’m in the saddle.
I click my tongue and lead him into a trot around the shaded training arena I had built when I moved onto the property. It’s still outdoors, but I knew I’d need some protection from the sun, which is known to cause lupus flare-ups.
It’s not my ideal training space. I still don’t have a spot to train when there’s ice or snow or rain, but I’ve made it work over the last several years.
This current flare-up could have been brought on by my day out driving cattle and helping with vaccinations.
I did my best to remain covered, but I’m paying the price for being in the sun now.
My joints are swollen and sore, and I’m looking forward to a long, hot soak in my tub to relieve some of the aches and pains.
I hear the rumble of an old engine and glance toward the driveway to see Wes pulling up in Pops’ old truck.
What the hell is he doing here?
I don’t think I have the energy for any back and forth with Wes today.
The engine goes quiet, and I pull on the reins to bring Lucifer to a stop, preparing to dismount. The noise of the truck door slamming spooks the horse, and all hell breaks loose.
Lucifer rears back, nearly unseating me. I squeeze my thighs tight together as his loud whinnies echo in my ears. I lean forward and strengthen my already-tight grip on the reins while my sore joints protest.
“Woah. Woah.” I try to soothe in a gentle tone, but it’s no use now that he’s been set off. He rears and bucks, trying to get me off his back any way he can.
A muttered “shit” from the fence pulls my focus for a split second, and then my butt is out of the saddle. I drop hard on my tailbone. The air is forced from my lungs on impact with the hard dirt, and I try to get my bearings.
I don’t have the chance to react because Lucifer is frantically tearing around the arena, desperately searching for an escape.
Before I can fully register what's happening, he’s circled the pen and is charging right for me at a mad gallop.
There’s no time to get out of the way, and I’m convinced I’m not walking away from this without at least one broken bone.
A strong hand clamps onto my bicep and yanks me out of Lucifer’s path just in time.
I don’t have the chance to say a word before Wes steps in, seizing Lucifer’s reins with a steady grip.
His voice takes on a soothing lilt, and though the horse resists at first, he doesn’t fight for long.
In mere moments, Wes has him under control.
Once I’ve assessed that I’m not hurt, I dust myself off and skewer Wes with a dangerous glare. He doesn’t notice since his attention is still on the horse, so I huff out an exasperated breath and walk over to where he’s talking to the big black demon like it’s the sweetest baby he’s ever seen.
I let my lips tip up into a smile despite myself.
Most people wouldn’t want to go near a horse they just saw throw a rider and if they did, many would try to wrestle it back into good behavior, which would have set him off more.
But Wes uses a calm voice and a gentle hand to ease the horse’s anxiety.
Whether it’s intuition or something Pops taught him as a child, I don’t know.
Maybe a bit of both. But watching him with Lucifer has something inside me warming a fraction.
Wes’ hands soothe the horse, and I wonder what those hands might feel like on my skin. It’s pathetic that watching this man with my horse is making my skin flush and my stomach flutter—evidence I’ve been single too damn long.
Wes glances back at me, and I turn my expression into a seething frown.
"Are you hurt?"
“Are you trying to kill me?” I ask.
“How was this my fault?” His voice is still quiet, but his expression has gone from tranquil to petulant in an instant.
“You slammed the door, and it startled him.”
He winces. “Oh.”
“I finally got him to let me in the saddle too,” I say scathingly.
“Sorry, Red. I didn’t know you’d be working a problem horse when I got here. Are you alright?” he asks, his gaze tracking my movements.
His apology sounds sincere, but the nickname irks me, so I snap at him again. “I'm fine. Why’d you come by, anyway?”
His head whips toward the fence and his face morphs into a startlingly charming smile. “I brought you something.”
I lift a brow. “It better be worth me getting thrown from Lucifer’s back.”
“You named your horse Lucifer?”
I shake my head. “The rescue named him Lucifer. I just haven’t renamed him yet.”
He snorts a little in derision. “He does seem to like to give you hell, but Lucifer feels a bit foreboding, don’t you think?”
Keeping the name feels a little like a bad omen, but I haven’t thought up a better one that suits him. So, for now, Lucifer it is.
“We were doing just fine until you got here,” I point out. “He has noise anxiety. I haven’t had the chance to work with him on it yet.”
“Clearly,” he comments, giving the horse a wary look.
I narrow my gaze. “I’m going to put him back in his stall. If you’re going to be an ass, you can leave before I get back.”
He throws his hands out in front of him in a placating gesture. “I wasn’t trying to be an ass.”
“Well, congratulations. You're a natural,” I quip.
His eyes roll, and he sighs at me. “I’ll wait here for you.”
“Suit yourself,” I mutter.
I put Lucifer back in his stall and untack him, taking a breather to ease my full head of steam.
I’m the stereotypical redhead with a temper. People around here have known me most of my life, so they're never caught off guard when I explode and then calm down again in short order.
Wes is standing exactly where he said he’d be, but there’s a paper bag in his hand now. His hat is shadowing his face, but I can feel his eyes on me as I saunter over to him. “You gonna tell me why you’re here interrupting my training session?”
He smirks and shakes his head before handing over the paper bag he’s holding. His fingertips brush over mine, sending a tingle of awareness through me. I ignore the sudden flip my stomach does at his stupid smirk and clutch the bag.
“What’s this?” I ask, peering at it dubiously.
“Open it and find out,” he taunts.
The bag crinkles in my hand as I open it, the scent of chocolate permeating the horses for a brief moment. “You brought me brownies?” My brows knit together in confusion.
He sighs. “It was supposed to be a peace offering. I saw them when I stopped at the café this morning and it reminded me of how you, Quinn, and Allie would always beg Tripp and me to take you to get some of Mrs. Mackey’s brownies.”
“Oh,” I say, surprised he would remember something that happened so long ago. He’s doing something nice for me, and I don’t know if I can trust it. If I can trust him.
“You do still like brownies, right?” he questions.
“Of course, I do.”
“Good. Did I mess up the brownie peace offering by spooking your horse?” he asks, pulling a reluctant smile from me.
“I’ll let you know after I eat them all by myself,” I say.
“That’s cold, Red. I thought you’d at least offer me one, especially since I saved you from getting trampled.”
I make a show of pretending to consider him for a moment before shaking my head. “Not a chance, city boy. These squares of chocolaty goodness are all mine.”
He ducks his head and tips his Stetson with a damn smile before walking back to the blue Chevy. “Fine then. Now, you owe me one.” He winks. “See ya around, Red.”
I lift the bag in a wordless thanks and watch as Wes Dawson drives off, kicking up dust as he goes.