Chapter 22 Big Horse Energy #2
“There’s no pressure now,” Irene says softly. “Just intention. The horse senses what’s beneath the surface—what we try to hide from ourselves. If you shift your energy, he’ll feel it long before you move.”
The air in the paddock stills.
Irene glances at Allie. “Would you like to try?”
Allie blinks, startled. “Me?”
“Mm-hmm.” Irene’s voice stays calm. “Before you approach, take a deep breath. Let him come to you first. He’ll tell you when he’s ready.”
Allie steps forward and stops beside Beckett, her palms open at her sides. Goose lowers his head, sniffs the air between them, then takes a slow step forward until his muzzle brushes her sleeve.
“See that?” Irene says, glancing at us. “He’s tuning in to your energy. Matching you.”
Allie exhales, takes another step, and Goose mirrors it.
“See how he responds,” Irene says, turning toward us. “He’s not walking with Allie because she had to lead him, it’s because he trusts her.”
Leo keeps his steady hands on the camera. “That’s … kind of amazing.”
I can’t help but agree. There’s something quiet and humbling about the way Goose notices everything and reacts to Allie’s pure sunshine vibe.
“When we work with veterans, this is often the first time they feel seen without judgment,” Beckett adds.
Allie and Beckett walk in a circle through the arena while Irene watches from the center. I’m almost positive Allie is desperately trying to hold back tears which is why I’m envious of her. She’s so open and real. Nothing stops her from feeling everything.
And it’s not that Allie hasn’t weathered her share of storms. She grew up under the careful eye of parents who love her fiercely, but who also watch her like she might break.
After losing her older brother in a childhood accident, her mother and father became protective to a fault.
Allie was expected to smile sweetly, attend the right schools, and never cause a ripple.
So of course, she grew into a woman who craves the opposite—spontaneity, magic, freedom.
She reads palms at brunch, always hangs a dreamcatcher in her windows, and is always chasing the next horizon.
“Can’t believe how that horse loves her,” Topper says to me as we watch Allie continue to walk.
“That’s Alison Whitlock. Everyone loves her,” I say.
“I can see why,” Topper says.
I smile noticing how Topper watches Allie like a puppy dog coveting their favorite toy. “She likes you too.”
Topper gapes at me for a moment, his ears turning red. “Oh, I … well …”
A crunch of gravel under heavy boots gets our attention, and Topper and I turn in unison to see who owns such a stride.
“Uh-oh, here comes the brass,” Topper mutters, stepping away from the fence.
I instantly recognize him. Broad-shouldered, wearing jeans, boots, and a ten-gallon—Stedman Jones, the man in the Bill Pickett rodeo photos I saw in the library.
Topper stands with straighter shoulders as Stedman approaches and so do I, as if he is lining us up for drills.
“Mornin’, Sarnt,” Topper says, half-saluting.
“Westin,” Stedman says. “At ease.”
Topper and Stedman chuckle, embrace and slap each other on the back before releasing.
“You must be the writer,” Stedman says.
“How did you know?” I blurt out. Topper and Stedman both glance at me half-smiling.
Well, you are holding a pen and notebook, genius.
“I mean,” I say, touching my forehead. “Yes, I’m the writer. Roxanne Denning.”
Stedman shakes my extended hand. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. Stedman Jones.”
“Yes, I saw photos of you … from the rodeo.”
“Yes, ma’am. My wife Millie and I just got back from a show in Texas.”
“I’d love to speak with you about your shows and learn more about that organization.”
“It would be our pleasure. We’re here for a stretch and then off to Conyers, Georgia in August. The doctor’s got Goose out?” Stedman leans over the fence next to me.
“She’s just showin’ our new friends how it’s done,” Topper replies.
“I see, and where’s Faraday?” Stedman asks.
The sound of his name sends a prickle of light through my chest. So frustrating and yet, I’ve also been wondering where he is.
“He’s around. He and Rusty went over the books this morning.”
Stedman straightens his hat. “How’s it looking?”
“Not good,” Topper replies.
Part of me wants to probe and understand what “not good” for the ranch means, but Irene and Allie are both calling my name.
“Morning, Stedman!” Irene waves. “Your turn now, Roxanne.”
“Goose is looking good this morning!” Stedman waves.
“He always is! C’mon, Roxanne,” Irene insists.
I hold up my notebook like a shield. “I’m just here to take notes.”
“Go on now,” Topper says, nudging me. “This is good for you.”
I glance at him. My heart thrums in my ears as I hand my notebook to Topper and slowly step through the gate. The first thing I’m trying to understand about this moment is why is my pulse ticking up?
It’s just a horse, Roxanne.
Irene steps to the side to observe while Beckett waves me over to start our walk. Allie joins Topper and Stedman on the other side of fence. When I take a step toward Goose, he rears his head slightly and takes a step back. He grunts as Beckett strokes his side.
Beckett extends his hand. “It’s okay, he’s getting used to your energy.”
“My energy?” I ask.
“Goose is feeling something from you. You’re holding back and not fully open to this experience.”
This should make for a good piece in my story. He stood there in the golden glow of the morning, giving me a side-eye and calling bullshit on my calm exterior. I had no idea when I got on a plane to Colorado that my biggest critic would be a horse named Goose.
Outstanding.
After a few more rounds of encouragement from Beckett, Goose still doesn’t want to walk with me. I call it a loss and make my exit, but not before thanking Beckett and Irene for their time. Leo lowers his camera and chats with them for a few more moments before waving goodbye.
“Well, that was humiliating,” I say as I close the gate.
“Hey,” Topper says. “Not everyone vibes on the first date.”
“I don’t think there will be a second,” I say.
“He’ll warm up,” Stedman says.
I take my notebook and pen back from Topper. “At least the turkey liked me.”
“That’s a feather in your cap,” Stedman says.
Topper escorts us back to the lodge for a late breakfast and I glance over my shoulder, seeing Goose continue to walk with Beckett. My pride is bruised and yet part of me is determined to get that damn horse to like me. Although, I’m not sure I’m talking about Goose or Firebird Ranch in general.