Chapter 2
Wilder
A dull thud outside of the stables, loud enough to hear inside of this little cubical, had me swinging the door shut and yanking on the handle to keep the jam in place before heading out the back entryway.
Heat hit me instantly as soon as I cleared the awning of the building, the afternoon sun warming me again and forcing me to pull the brim of my hat back down over my brow.
Across the way, pieces of hay littered the ground right outside of the ranch’s feed storage as a large bale slowly rolled toward me.
I kicked my foot out to stop it, catching it right before it managed to hit the side of the stables.
Something like this wouldn’t be making any kind of dent in the steel we’d used to reinforce the outside of the building, but spooking the horses still in their stalls was a kind of chaos I wasn’t in the mood to be dealing with today.
I’d had enough of that wrangling that gelding with Ryder earlier.
“The hell?” I muttered, letting my leg drop back down to the ground.
Coming around the other side of it, another bale was forcefully shoved and dropped down from the top stock, hitting the ground with the same dull thud as the first one.
Stray pieces of hay rained down in a slow flutter in a way I imagined snow did up in the northern states, coating the ground in a fine layer.
The bale rolled a few feet before wobbling twice and then slamming on its side against the dirt.
I raised my brow high enough to graze my hairline.
The feed was usually taken care of by late morning.
We had plenty of it out already in the racks by the pasture for grazing and more than enough stuffed into the stall feeders inside the stables.
Two more bales being pulled out did nothing but create clutter and a mess to pick up later, even if it was meant for prepping early for tomorrow.
The dew that tended to collect on things during the first few hours of the morning would have those bales moldy in two days. We had plenty of mouths to feed but not enough for two entire bales to be taken out at a time. Wasting food wasn’t something we did around here, animal or human.
As I headed over to the storage bay, a familiar pair of boots appeared from up on the top stack, causing me to stop right next to where the last bale had been dropped.
Morbid curiosity would be my excuse this time around as I watched limber legs kick a few times to help wiggle the lean body attached to them out from between the other bales.
Normally, I’d have a lecture tingling on my lips, ready to go, the second one of my ranch hands was within earshot after doing something stupid.
I’d had plenty of talks over the years, teaching moments as Sully would call them, with the greenhorns who had harder times adjusting to how we did things around here.
Funny how that was somehow always thrown out the window whenever this particular one was at the helm of the mess.
My heart leaped into my throat as his body propelled down toward the ground, dropping a good eight feet before landing gracefully, both arms coming out as he stuck it near perfectly. Hay clung to his stained jeans and the worn t-shirt still half-tucked into his waistband when he straightened fully.
He brushed his hands together a few times while glancing up at the tall stacks of bales in front of him.
More bits of hay had woven into the dark, curled ends of his hair that looked wildly unkempt like usual.
A few strands of it were tucked behind one of his ears, the curved tip of the shell slightly red from the sun.
My fingers itched to reach over and pluck his hair clean. Run my digits through those tangled lengths until they were smooth and out of his face.
I really needed to get him a bandana or something to keep that mop from covering his eyes while he worked. Constantly reaching up to brush back the thick strands was distracting. Not just for him but for everyone.
He stopped short the second he turned around and spotted me. “Oh.”
Asher Torres. My newest acquisition.
Just out of high school and all the way over here from Baton Rouge. He’d come in on a bus a little over six months ago with the other applicants for this year’s stint and was now officially one of two people left standing.
He was easy to smile and even easier to coach. A friendly attitude that left no one a stranger. Perfect to hire on as a ranch hand who was eager to learn the ropes of what it took to work a manual labor job like this one.
And undeniably, the one that was going to give me my first ever heart attack.
I let out a slow breath. “Any reason you’re taking down the top stock?”
He shot me a grin. “Yeah. Wanted to drag it out to one of the paddocks.”
“For?”
Asher wasn’t exactly the type to do things without a reason.
I’d come to learn that rather quickly over the last few weeks he’d been here.
While young—very young—he was whip-smart.
Had a natural knack for taking the unconventional and creating solutions where others only saw problems. A real ideas man with the energy to execute it.
Normally, I tended to temper that kind of enthusiasm during the first few months. Not to discourage innovation but to push for learning why we did the things we did. Questioning the status quo was all fine and good, but would get you nowhere if you didn’t have the basics down first.
There was a reason this ranch ran efficiently.
Why we were one of the best in the state and had kept that reputation for the last seven years.
That wasn’t because of sheer dumb luck. My father, and now me, I suppose, had spent years trial-and-error-ing what did and didn’t work.
We had a system set in place and rarely liked to stray off that path unless necessary.
Usually.
I was finding that word was becoming more and more frequent as the days went on.
Asher thumbed over his shoulder. “That new palomino we got a few weeks ago, I think I’ve finally made a breakthrough.”
Excitement made his eyes glitter in the sun, the warm brown of them turning a honey color that was hard to look away from.
My lips parted immediately to ask him how but I quickly snapped them shut as I caught myself.
This past week, I’d been trying to let go of this odd habit I’d somehow let manifest since he arrived that compelled me into over-questioning him.
While we had rules and regulations here, I still had a healthy appreciation for curiosity and trying new methods when it came to the horses and rehabbing them.
I wasn’t so stuck in my ways that there was no room to bargain.
The problem was that for some reason, I’d had this nagging demand inside my head to helicopter Asher wherever he went. Overseeing whatever it was he was up to regardless of who I’d partnered him off with at the beginning of the day.
This was something I’d never done with anyone else that had come waltzing past the ranch’s front gate seeking a job. Had never felt the need to at any point in time.
Training was done by my veterans and overseen by Sully.
I hardly ever had a hand in personally tutoring anyone unless there was some major misstep that needed correction.
A mishandling of one of the animals or someone getting seriously hurt from not following proper protocol.
There was too much on my plate to babysit, and honestly, I didn’t have the kind of passion for it like Sully did.
Well. Until Asher Torres.
Our first few weeks together were some of the roughest I’d had in a long time.
A greenhorn coming in with lofty goals wasn’t exactly new to any of us seasoned veterans.
We’d seen it plenty of times and were used to the inevitable crash and burnout that eventually happened when reality finally dragged those same wishful thinkers back down from their clouds.
I’d been prepared for the same thing happening with Asher. Hell, had already prepared my farewell speech once he came around to the main house to turn in his things and apologize for having to leave on such short notice while a cab waited for him back at the bunkhouse.
That was how it always went with his type.
Usually.
Unfortunately, what I never planned for when first hiring him on and showing him around the property on that first day, was that I’d somehow stumbled onto procuring a damn horse whisperer.
Four days into his first week, he’d somehow gotten a hold of the overly energetic stallion we kept in one of the back paddocks and successfully lead-trained him into behaving like a gentleman when passing by the herd of mares he was usually busting through the fences to get at.
A week after that, Asher had not only groomed our famous bucking gelding but saddled him without getting a hoof to the face in the process.
And now, apparently, he was working his magic on our skittish palomino and doing... well, whatever it was he had his mind set to now.
Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that any of that was possible. We took in these abused horses with the hope of giving them a better life and providing them the peace they never got to see before stepping out of the trailer and onto our property.
If all that happened was them having a warm barn to sleep in at night and enough feed to bulk up their frail physiques, then that was more than enough of a reward for us. Anything outside of that was a lucky extra.
What Asher was doing was going above and beyond that.
And somehow, it was actually taking.
“Why hay bales?” I asked.
“I think she’d love barrel racing. Actually, I have a theory that that’s what she was trained for before she got surrendered.”
My lips hurt from how hard I pressed them together. The growing need to throw a thousand questions at him was hard to curb. Even harder to force myself not to take him by the arm and have him walk me back to that palomino’s stall so I could oversee what the hell he was doing.
So far, he hadn’t done anything outside of respecting our horse’s comfort levels. He was attuned to them in a way I’d never seen before. Wanting to supervise him was... just some strange fixation I needed to break.
“You saddled her?”
“Not yet,” he replied. “I was going to take her on a lead around the hay bales and get her used to the idea. I figured circling around food was a better motivator. You ever watch a dog show before? The one where they run the courses.”
I ran my tongue along the back of my front set of teeth. “Can’t say I have.”
“Usually, when you’re first training them, you have to lead them through their first few runs on a leash so they know where to focus. Having a bunch of those props around gets over-stimulating and tends to freak them out. I figure it’s kind of the same for horses, you know?”
No, I wanted to answer. I didn’t.
But at this point, what did I know?
Asher was unbelievable at figuring out what made our difficult horses tick. His impossible patience and determined spirit in learning about them and getting them to trust him wasn’t simply remarkable, it was absolutely miraculous.
If I hadn’t seen it first hand myself over the past few months, I never would have believed it in the first place.
Moonlit Sanctuaries took in many tragic cases through the year. By the time they came to us, most horses were too beaten and broken to do much more than endure whatever it was they believed they’d be getting once arriving on the ranch.
Hard work and diligence went a long way. The process was always a long haul, but felt worth it in the end when you started to see the first glimmers of hope and trust coming from the animal that was once so lost in its own trauma.
Asher had done all of that with each one of our most difficult intakes in a matter of weeks of their arrival. Taking them from scared and angry shells to what they were now—mostly functional animals.
“Is that what you’re planning on doing? Training her to barrel race?” I asked.
He shrugged at me. “Why not?”
I didn’t have any real reason to discourage him outside of practicality.
What were we going to do with a barrel racer?
I threaded my fingers through the hay next to me.
“I’d suggest using those old drums that are sitting in storage and fill them up with sand if you’re going to be doing any of that kind of training.
Dragging a couple of bales out to the paddocks and then back in when you’re done is going to be a pain in the ass. ”
“Yeah. So, I tried those drums. I think she’s scared of them.”
“She’s... scared of the drums.”
How was that possible when we hadn’t pulled them out of storage in years?
“You know that crinkling noise an empty water bottle makes when you crush it? Yeah, she hates that.”
I lifted my hat off of my head and ran a hand through the sweat soaked strands a few times, brushing them back.
How in the world did he figure that out?
Trial and error, I suppose.
Or maybe simply dumb luck with being at the right place at the right time?
I was dying to question it like usual. To tell him to show me how the hell he even thought about crinkling a plastic water bottle around her to test what upset her and go from there.
I wanted to lean more toward dumb luck but knew better. He was much smarter than his years gave him credit for. I’d made the mistake of underestimating him one too many times, and at every turn he’d come to prove me a fool.
Asher was a good kid. Determined as hell. I doubted me standing in the way of him was going to discourage him from figuring something else out. He’d get our palomino out to that paddock eventually, with or without my blessing.
“I promise I’ll bring it back.” He patted the bale next to us as he spoke.
Without meaning to, I let out a snort. Not exactly the issue I was focusing on. Then again, Asher wasn’t the type to look too deeply into why I sometimes grew quiet on him. From experience, he took things at face value unless told otherwise.
“All right,” I said with a sigh. “Have Dallas help you drag these out there and back in. If Ryder’s around, have him help you, too. These things are a pain in the ass to roll by yourself.”
He grinned, practically bleeding happiness. “Thanks, boss. Will do.”
My stomach suddenly flipped.
What the hell was that?
Swallowing thickly, I stepped away from him. “Let me know how it goes.”