Chapter Seven
Brady
Tuesday morning. Heat already shimmered off the asphalt on the narrow side street in Basin Ridge, rising in thick, wavy bands that made the air feel heavy and slightly distorted. I sat in my car, third in a line of four, going absolutely nowhere.
Up ahead, a dusty delivery truck idled, its engine a low, vibrating growl. A gray, fuzzy mass blocked the grill. I leaned forward, squinting through the windshield.
Not a dog. Not debris.
A burro.
And a smaller one tucked tight against her side.
I sat back, a slow smile pulling at my mouth. In the city, traffic backed up because of accidents or construction. Out here, it was livestock holding a town meeting in the middle of the road.
I killed the engine and stepped out. The driver in front of me had one arm hanging out the window, his fingers tapping the door in a restless rhythm that suggested his patience was nearly gone.
An older man sat on a nearby porch in a nylon lawn chair angled perfectly toward the scene, like he’d scheduled his morning around the entertainment. A cold soda sweated in his hand.
“That’s Matilda,” he said before I could even open my mouth. “She’s a regular in town.”
I glanced at the burro and the little one pressed into her side. “She’s not moving for the truck?”
“Not today.” He took a slow, deliberate sip of his soda. “A honk works sometimes. She’s a stubborn one. Usually pretty friendly, but not with her little one around. You go near her, you’ll likely get yourself a good kick. I’d steer clear.”
The delivery driver leaned out farther, his voice tight with frustration. “You folks always just . . . wait?”
“Burros are protected in these parts. Hell, we like ’em more than we like most people.” The old man didn’t even turn his head. “You can try arguing with her. Let me know how that goes.”
I looked at the truck, then back at my car. The apple I’d meant to eat for breakfast sat right on the passenger seat.
“What’s the usual solution?” I asked.
“Animal control,” the old man said. “But they’re out at the Burley farm. Got bigger problems than Matilda.”
I turned back toward the porch. “As soon as they’re off the road they’re okay?”
A slow grin spread across his weathered face. “That’s what the sheriff says. You think you can move her? Let’s see what you’ve got.”
I grabbed the apple and walked toward the truck, slowing as the distance closed. No sudden moves. No pressure. Just entering their space without trying to take it over.
“Hey, girl,” I said, keeping my voice low and easy. “Nice spot you picked.”
Matilda flicked one ear toward me, weighing the threat. I stopped a few feet away and held the apple where she could see it, but I didn’t push it at her.
Laurent used to say a horse doesn’t care how much you know until he knows how much you care. And caring meant listening. Not with your ears. With your breathing. With your shoulders. With how you enter their space.
Power will move an animal, but patience builds trust and makes them want to move. So I stayed loose, letting her read me, letting her see I wasn’t there to steal her shade or separate her from her foal. I was just offering a better option.
After a long moment, she took a step forward.
Then another.
I stepped back to match her, keeping the distance steady until we reached a shaded, gravel lot. She took the apple, her lips brushing my palm, soft, careful, and surprisingly gentle. Only then did I realize I’d been holding my breath. I gave her neck a light, reassuring pat.
The delivery truck let out a quick, relieved toot-toot as it rolled past. Matilda startled, ears pinning back, but I stayed right where I was, my hand still resting against her warm skin. “Hey. You’re good. You’re okay.”
She settled almost immediately, her tension draining as quickly as the traffic began to flow. I wiped my sticky hand on my jeans and looked up.
That’s when I saw her.
Elise stood on the sidewalk, watching. Not smiling. She was studying me with wide, measured eyes, like she was still processing the scene. For a second, the heat and the noise of the restarting engines dropped away.
God, she’s beautiful.
My face broke into a grin before I could stop it. I lifted my sticky hand and waved. When she didn’t move, I started walking toward her. “Burros and traffic are a crazy combination, am I right?”
“I’m surprised you’re still here.”
“Pleasantly surprised?”
She didn’t answer right away, the silence stretching long enough that I felt the weight of it.
She watched me like she was filing a new piece of data away.
Her gaze moved from my dusty shoes up to my face, and for a beat, our eyes locked.
The air between us felt thinner, warmer.
I caught the faint scent of her shampoo and my pulse kicked hard enough I was sure she could hear it.
The old man from the porch appeared at my side, clapping me on the shoulder with a solid, approving hand. “Well done. I’m Charles and I hope you don’t mind, but after seeing how you handled Matilda, I sent the sheriff a message. Told him he’s got an extra set of hands in town.”
I blinked, momentarily thrown. “What?”
“There’s a cow out at the Burley farm,” he said, lowering his voice like he was letting me in on a state secret. “Got her head stuck in a round bale feeder. Farmer doesn’t want to cut the metal. Those things aren’t cheap.”
I winced at the thought of the panicked animal and the unyielding metal bars. “How far away is this farm?”
“Just outside of town.” Charles rattled off an address.
“Okay.” I turned back to Elise. “It was really nice seeing you again.”
Her brows pulled together in a look of genuine confusion. “Are you seriously going out to a farm to help free a cow?”
“Absolutely.”
“Have you done that before?”
“Never,” I admitted with a shrug. “But I’ve spent a lot of time with horses. You learn a few things.”
“So your plan is still to hope and try?”
“Pretty much.”
She stood there for a beat, looking at me like she was running complex calculations. Then, she surprised me. “Do you mind if I come and watch?”
I didn’t even try to hide the grin this time. “I would love that. Tell the sheriff I’m on my way, Charles.” I looked back at Elise, the heat of the day finally feeling like a good thing. “Should I drive, or do you want to?”