Chapter Twenty-Four
…y ou look at her like I’ve never seen you look at another woman. Ever.
Jackson’s words played through Tucker’s mind like a recording on an endless loop. At least, until Splatter bopped him on the shoulder with his head, hard enough to knock him off-balance.
It took a quick step back for him to stay on his feet. He growled at the horse, who looked annoyingly pleased with himself, “We’re definitely gonna need a new name for you, soon.”
Shortly after Tucker had met the horse Jackson had said it should be Jackass, only half joking. Tucker had zinged him back saying people might get them confused, both starting with Jack. Thankfully Jackson’s sense of humor was even better these days, thanks to Nic.
The pinto snorted and tossed his head as he swung his hindquarters around so he could face the half-open stall door, warning Tucker someone was coming. He wasn’t surprised when the very person he’d been thinking about appeared.
“Think we’d better let him out, crowd or not?” Jackson asked.
Tucker looked at the animal. One of the main parts of the strategy with the beast was to make sure he got tired out every day.
But today that was a problem, since they usually let him out into the main corral to blow off steam before they tried to deal with him, and neither of them was sure that was wise with a lot of people clustered about.
“Why don’t I go out in the corral with him, and run interference?” Tucker suggested.
“As long as you’re not going to ride him. We’d have every guest on the property clustering around to watch.”
“Not like he’s a bull,” Tucker protested.
“You underestimate your reputation, my friend.”
Tucker laughed. “Look who’s talking.”
Jackson rolled his eyes and stepped back as Tucker led Splatter out of the stall. They walked down to the far end of the barn, where the sliding door opened into the main corral. Jackson looked first to be sure no one was actually inside the corral, then nodded.
“Cut him loose. And if we need help bringing him back in, I hear the police chief is a pretty good rope man.”
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” Tucker said wryly as Jackson headed out to go back to his main job today, being the face of Thorpe’s Therapy Horses .
He unfastened the lead, and barely had time to step back before the black and white horse exploded into a run, circling the corral full tilt.
The flash of movement, the head tossing and snorting, drew the attention of some, and he decided he’d just walk the fence line to make sure everyone stayed clear.
He knew Jackson and the Baylors had been discussing housing the touchy critter at the main barn at their place rather than here where there were so often so many kids around.
But they hadn’t made the move yet since right now there was enough downtime to deal with him when there were no visitors.
The way Thorpe’s Therapy Horses was growing, though, that might not last much longer.
He watched the flashy horse trotting—in his mind it was strutting—along the fence line, and had to hustle to stay between the animal intrigued by all the people and those people. But after a while it was making him laugh, because it had become like a game of tag as the horse tried to get past him.
It was the laughing that undid him. It made him miss a last-second swerve and a head-butt that caught him right in the ribs.
The worst place, for him. The titanium reinforcements held, but the blow still distracted him enough that he went down on one knee, fighting off memories of when a hit like that would have made him dizzy with pain.
Memories of the time a hit like that from an even crankier animal had nearly killed him.
He thought he heard someone call his name, loudly, as if scared. But that was blasted out of his head when a black, furry rocket went by him, growling fiercely. Splatter danced away, startled. Tucker shook his head and tried for enough breath to get to his feet.
Lobo. It had been Lobo, who now had the horse backed up against the fence, watching him warily. Every time the horse tried to move, so did the dog. Shepherd , he thought. German shepherds might be thought of as military or police dogs, but their history was still as shepherds.
Another motion caught the corner of his eye and he looked in time to see Emily vaulting gracefully over the top rail. It had been her, he realized belatedly. She’d been the one to yell his name. Now he stood up in a hurry, rather abstractedly noticing that at least he could.
And then she was there, her hands on his upper arms, squeezing gently, as her golden eyes scanned him as if looking for blood.
“Are you all right?”
She sounded so anxious it made his throat tighten. “Fine,” he managed to get out. “He just cut back when I didn’t expect it.”
She was still holding onto him. He didn’t move, afraid if he did, she’d realize it and let go.
And he didn’t want her to let go.
“I was afraid…where he hit you…”
He let out what had been supposed to be a chuckle but sounded to him more like a gasp for breath. “Yeah. That’s the spot. That’s why I froze. I think I was expecting the pain. But it held. The scaffolding, I mean.”
Her head tilted slightly. “Scaffolding?”
His mouth twisted wryly. “That’s what the surgeon called it. All the titanium plates. For the ribs. In a ‘flail chest’ injury.”
He was sounding ridiculous, talking in short, choppy sentences, but he couldn’t seem to concentrate when she was holding onto him like that.
But neither did he want her to let go. He spared a fraction of a second to make sure horse and dog had reached a balance of power, but looked back at her quickly once he was sure bloodshed wasn’t imminent.
“But it still must have hurt horribly, when his head hit you there.”
“Not so much.” He managed a better smile this time. “When they did the surgery, they also froze some of the nerves under the ribs. Cut way down on the pain, afterward.”
She studied him for a moment. Then she smiled, and only then did he see just how worried her expression had been.
And that hit someplace so deeply buried inside him he wasn’t sure he’d ever known it was there.
But then she let go of him and took a step back, looking him up and down as he contemplated how much he missed just that simple touch.
“So, you’re a walking medical miracle, then,” she said, her smile even wider.
“I’m walking, anyway,” he answered, barely realizing he was smiling back. “But those doctors were good. Really good. I could have ended up on a ventilator, and in rehab for months, maybe years, if they hadn’t gone the way they did.”
“You ever go back and visit them?” she asked.
“I did, a couple of times. To thank them. And to do a PR piece for the hospital once.”
“That must have felt good.”
“Visited a patient in the kids’ ward,” he said, remembering for the first time in a while. “He wanted to be a bull rider.” His mouth quirked. “Not sure if I talked him out of it or into it.”
“I’ll bet you convinced him he could recover. If you could after that…”
“Maybe.”
“It must have been hard to go back there, though. After all the procedures you went through, and all the pain. It had to be awful for you. It makes me feel horrible just thinking about it.”
Something in the way she was looking at him, or maybe something in her tone of voice made him frown. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he didn’t like it. He searched for a distraction from the feeling.
“Your dog,” he began, then stopped, not sure what to say.
“He was going to protect you,” she said. “I didn’t even have to send him. He was not happy when he saw you go down.”
“But he barely knows me.”
“He obviously knows enough. And he had fun this morning, something sadly lacking in his life before Chance got him. You were there for that fun, therefore, you’re to be protected. All I had to do was not stop him. Which I wasn’t about to do until I knew you were all right.”
Would she have sent the dog in if he hadn’t taken it upon himself? It sure sounded like it. That cop protective instinct again? Or…something more? Something personal, maybe? If she—
Before he could complete the thought, he heard a horsey snort and a doggy yip, and spun around.
Splatter was dancing on his front hooves, side to side in an almost rhythmic way.
Lobo was in front of him, head and tail up now, no sign of the ferocious growl he’d heard before.
In fact, the dog almost seemed to be teasing the horse now, darting forward, then backing up.
Then the paint made a similar move, toward the dog, and in that instant Tucker tensed, ready to dive between them; if he landed a hoof on the dog he could really hurt him.
Then he felt that touch on his arm again, and heard a quiet, “Wait.”
Lobo backed up. Splatter danced forward.
Then Lobo darted forward again, and the horse backed up, all in that flashy, strutting kind of movement.
Then the big paint came forward again and Lobo backed away again, head and wagging tail up.
Then the dog crouched down in front, looking up at the horse as he gave another little yip that seemed so odd coming from the dog who had sounded like he wanted to tear the much bigger animal’s throat out.
“Are they…?” Tucker began, staring in disbelief.
“I think they are,” Emily said, sounding as bemused as he felt. “They’re playing.”
“They went from a snorting, teeth-bared standoff to playing?” He was sure he sounded the same, because he was gaping at them both, the collision between him and Splatter completely out of his head now.
Lobo suddenly darted to his right, and Tucker’s breath caught as he ran toward the big paint’s hindquarters. He started to move. The dog could really get badly hurt if he kicked out, and—
He stopped dead as Splatter spun on those hindquarters so that he was again facing the dog, who looked delighted that his big companion had figured out the next step in the game.
“I don’t believe this,” he said with a slightly awed shake of his head. “That horse has been a pain in the backside since Jackson got him, and now he’s out here playing with a dog. A police dog at that.”
“And Lobo clearly has skills even Chance didn’t know about. I can’t wait to tell him.”
“Might want proof of that,” he said with a grin.
“Good point.” She pulled out her phone and started to video the dancing duo. They were gathering an audience now. People were lining up along the fence to watch, and before long were laughing and applauding. Which made Splatter prance even higher.
And then Jackson was there, clearly curious. And by the look on his face, as astonished as Tucker was. “What the…?”
“Yeah,” Tucker agreed.
When Lobo darted directly under the horse’s belly to make his track a figure eight, and the horse spun all the way around on his right hind hoof, the applause got even louder.
“He’s got an actor’s ego. Who knew?” Jackson said, shaking his head in disbelief.
“I’d be checking his pedigree for some Lipizzan blood somewhere,” Tucker said with a laugh.
An echoing laugh beside him made him turn to see Emily right there, smiling so widely it was impossible not to smile back.
“Maybe Nic needs to check him out a little closer,” Jackson said.
“Definitely,” Emily said. “Reining or cutting potential there.”
“Cutting, definitely,” Tucker said. “He sure put me in my place.”
As Jackson went off in search of his fiancée, Emily held his gaze with those impossibly golden eyes. “I’m just glad he didn’t hurt you.”
His amusement vanished. “I’m not fragile.”
She looked puzzled. “I didn’t say you were.”
Her earlier words ran through his mind. It had to be awful for you. It makes me feel horrible just thinking about it. His stomach churned.
“I don’t want your pity.” It came out hot, angry.
Her eyebrows shot upward. “Pity? That’s what you think this is?”
“What else?”
Even as it came out, he hated that he sounded that way. Snarly. And her expression bounced it back at him, as did her tone of voice.
“How about respect, and even a little awe? How about the fact that you make me feel inspired? That what I feel is admiration, and…and other things…”
Her voice trailed away, sounding entirely different than when she’d started that well-deserved retort, and he noticed with a little jolt of shock that her cheeks were pink.
He felt a little rush of embarrassment himself when he realized, far too late, that they’d carried on this very personal-seeming conversation in front of a now-staring audience.
Not knowing what else to do but fairly positive he should keep his mouth shut, he grabbed the clasp end of the lead line and went after Splatter.
And if Lobo bit him in annoyance at interrupting his playtime, it would just put the capper on his afternoon.