Chapter 10 #2
I dusted my hands on my jeans and nodded toward the wide center aisle. “All right, city girl. Lesson one—this is the barn. Stalls on either side. Tack room on the left, feed room on the right. Hayloft up top, but you don’t go up there unless you like sneezing for a week straight.”
Her laugh rang soft and quick, bouncing off the wooden beams. “Duly noted.”
I guided her toward the tack room first, pushing the door open to reveal rows of saddles, bridles, halters, each one lined up like soldiers in formation. The smell of leather and oil filled the small space. Emberlynn’s hand trailed over a saddle horn, fingertips brushing the worn leather.
“It’s… beautiful,” she murmured.
“It’s work,” I corrected gently. “Every piece has a purpose. The horse trusts you to use the right tool, and you don’t betray that trust.”
She glanced at me then, eyes flickering with something sharper. “You take that seriously.”
“Damn right I do.” I held her gaze. “Trust is everything. Without it, you’ve got nothing. Not with animals. Not with people.”
Her lips parted as if she wanted to reply, but she didn’t. Instead, she followed me into the feed room, where the scent shifted to sweet grain and sun-dried hay. Barrels lined one wall, neatly labeled.
I tapped the lids with my knuckles. “Oats. Sweet feed. Pellets. Supplements. You mess up one ration, you’ve got a sick animal on your hands. Or worse.”
She stepped closer, her shoulder brushing mine as she peered into the nearest barrel. “So you have to measure everything?”
“Exactly. Control the portions. Keep the balance. Too much or too little, and everything falls apart.”
Her head tilted, and she looked up at me through her eyelashes. “Sounds like you like being in control.”
The air thickened. I held her gaze, slow and steady, letting the weight of her words settle between us. “I don’t just like it,” I said, voice low. “I need it.”
Something in her expression softened, then sparked again—like a door opening, like recognition. Her lips curved into the faintest smile.
“I think,” she whispered, “I need that too.”
The moment stretched, sharp as barbed wire and just as binding. Then a goat bleated somewhere outside, shattering the tension. Emberlynn laughed, nervous and bright, while I scrubbed a hand over my jaw.
“Lesson two,” I said roughly, forcing my voice steady. “Never let the goats think they run the place. They’ll try to. Every damn time.”
Her laughter warmed the space, but her eyes stayed locked on me, burning with a promise neither of us had spoken aloud yet.
Emberlynn stepped up to the fence, her hand brushing along the rail as if she needed something to anchor herself. The horse nudged my arm, restless, and I used it as an excuse to look away from her for half a second.
“So?” she asked, her tone too casual to be innocent. “What’s the verdict? Do they all pass your inspection?”
I lifted the clipboard, flipping a page like I actually needed to double-check. “They’re solid. Well-fed, coats look good, hooves aren’t neglected. Whoever had them before knew what they were doing.”
“You’ve been here five days,” she said softly, “and this is the first time you’ve actually come to see the animals. Why?”
I met her stare, steady. “Because I do things on my time. Not anyone else’s.”
Her eyes searched mine as if she were trying to decide whether to push further. “So what now? You ride around, make notes, and call it good?”
I almost smiled, but it didn’t quite reach my mouth. “No. Now I figure out what belongs here—and what doesn’t.”
The words hung between us, sharp enough that even she seemed to catch the double meaning. The horse shifted beside me, impatient, but I didn’t move. Neither did she.
I gestured for her to follow me out of the feed room, leading her back down the barn aisle. The smell of leather and hay clung to us, heavy and grounding. Diesel snorted from his stall, watching like he knew he’d started something between us that neither of us could walk away from.
“Lesson three,” I said, my voice carrying in the quiet barn. “Pressure and release.”
Her brows knit, curious. “Pressure and release?”
“Every animal responds to it. You apply pressure—your leg against a horse’s side, your hand on a lead rope, even your voice—and they move. You release the pressure when they give you what you want. It’s how they learn. How they trust.”
I stopped by Diesel’s stall and laid my palm against the wood, leaning in just enough to keep him close without crowding him. “It’s about timing. You give too much pressure too fast, you break trust. But if you never push, you get nowhere.”
Her lips parted, and her gaze locked on mine. “So… it’s about control again.”
“It’s about control,” I agreed, my tone low, steady, deliberate. “But more than that—it’s about knowing exactly when to let go.”
For a moment, the air between us pulsed, thick and electric. She swallowed, her throat working, and I could almost feel the way she was turning my words over in her head, applying them to more than just animals.
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And if you get it wrong?”
I held her stare, not letting her look away. “Then you’ve got a fight on your hands.”
Her breath caught had faintest sound, and she stepped back half a pace—just enough to steady herself, not enough to break the charge between us.
The barn creaked in the silence, a slow groan of old wood settling, but neither of us moved.
I unlatched Diesel’s stall, sliding the door open with a quiet scrape. The gelding’s ears flicked forward, his dark eyes steady on me as if he already knew what I had in mind.
“Come here,” I said, handing Emberlynn the lead rope.
She blinked, surprised. “Me?”
“You wanted to learn,” I reminded her. “Lesson three isn’t something you can just listen to. You’ve got to feel it.”
She hesitated, then took the rope from my hand. Diesel shifted, nostrils flaring as he sized her up.
“Pressure and release,” I said quietly, stepping behind her, close enough that my breath whispered along her ear. “You lift the rope, put the slightest tension on it, and he’ll move. The second he does what you want, you release. That’s how he learns to trust you.”
Emberlynn lifted her hand, cautious but steady. Diesel took a single step toward her.
“Good,” I murmured. “Now drop your hand, loosen the rope.”
She obeyed, and Diesel stilled, watching her as if he approved. She let out a laugh, soft and nervous.
“He listened.”
“He respected,” I corrected. “There’s a difference.” I closed the space just enough to let her feel the strength in my voice as much as the words. “He doesn’t follow because he has to. He follows because you were clear, firm, and then you let go.”
She looked up at me, her lips parted, her cheeks faintly flushed. “And if I hadn’t?”
“Then he’d test you. Push back. Animals always do. People too.”
Diesel shifted again, ears flicking at the sound of my voice. I reached around Emberlynn, covering her hand with mine on the rope, guiding her through another subtle tug. Diesel stepped back, smooth and obedient. I let her feel how little it took—just the right pressure, then release.
Her breath caught when I didn’t pull away immediately, my hand still firm over hers. “It’s all about control,” I said low against her ear. “Knowing when to hold on… and when to let go.”
She swallowed hard, the rope trembling slightly in her grip. But Diesel stayed steady, like he knew exactly what was hanging between us wasn’t about him at all. I stepped back, letting her hold the rope on her own. Diesel shifted slightly, waiting, and I watched her.
“Go ahead,” I said. “Try it.”
Her eyes flicked up to mine, sharp and curious. “Try what?”
“Apply the pressure again by yourself,” I said. “See how he responds. Then release.”
She hesitated, then squared her shoulders, her fingers tightening on the lead rope. Diesel’s ears twitched forward. She gave a small tug.
The horse didn’t budge. Her eyebrows furrowed, and I leaned closer, voice low and even. “More. Just enough to get his attention—don’t overdo it.”
She adjusted carefully but deliberate. Diesel stepped back just as she let the rope slacken. She froze, glancing at me, lips parted. “Like this?”
I nodded slowly. “Exactly. That’s respect. Not fear. Control isn’t about force—it’s about clarity.”
Her chin lifted, a spark in her eyes I hadn’t seen before. “And what if I don’t want to follow the rules?” She teased lightly, tugged the rope again, testing Diesel—but more than that, testing me.
I met her gaze, feeling the heat in the air between us. “Then I’d hope you know there are consequences,” I said, letting my words linger. My hand hovered near hers again, ready to guide, but not touching—letting her choose.
She didn’t flinch. She gave another subtle tug, smirking. “I enjoy knowing I have choices. Makes it more interesting.”
The corner of my mouth lifted, admiration mixing with the low burn of desire. “You’re going to make this interesting, that’s for sure.”
Diesel shifted, as if sensing the tension, but stayed calm. Emberlynn’s grip on the rope relaxed slightly, but her eyes never left mine. The barn felt smaller, hotter, more alive with every glance, every subtle movement.
“Lesson three, city girl,” I murmured, finally stepping closer, “is about pressure, release… and learning who’s really in charge.”
Her lips curved into a smile, teasing but serious. “And do you think you’re in charge, Hardison?”
I didn’t answer immediately. I let her words hang, letting her feel the weight of them—and me—between us.
Then I leaned just close enough for her to think that I was going to kiss her.
“For now, kind of,” I said, voice low. “But that can change… if you’re willing to follow the rules. Can you be a good girl for me, kitten?”
Her laugh was soft, almost breathless, but her eyes sparkled with challenge. “We’ll see about that.”