3. ATLAS
Chapter three
ATLAS
NOT ALL THOSE WHO BARE THEIR ALL SEEK TO BE SEEN
The last thing I expected to see when I walked into the stables was the city slicker petting Loki.
I’ve been working with Loki since he arrived on the ranch.
He’s deaf and spooks easily, usually resulting in him falling to the ground stiff as a board, like he’s playing possum, and the silly thing will often stay that way until whoever scared him leaves his line of sight.
I’ve really been the only one he’s become comfortable with.
Skye’s gotten close a few times, usually by keeping out of his view, but there’s Matthew, rubbing down his neck, Loki nudging him for more pets as he does with me.
“So, how did you manage this?” I ask. Loki’s head snaps in my direction, and he stomps his foot excitedly.
Matthew checks behind him. “The doors were open, I just… I was looking for you. I got you a present.”
“What?”
“Well, it’s actually a present for the horses more than you, but you’ll get use out of them too.
Here,” he says, kneeling to fumble through a box on the ground.
He pulls out a wooden plaque and passes it over.
Burned into the wood is the name Queenie and the Beaker Brothers logo.
I run my fingers over the indentation of the text, and the scent of ash and rich linseed oil fills my nose.
“You did this?”
“Yeah, I figured with the new additions and the state of the old…” His gaze drifts to the name plate on Loki’s stall, and my cheeks burn.
I’ve made all the name plates for the horses at Beaker Brothers since I arrived here.
They’re not fancy like this one. Usually just a scrap of fence paling or a piece of a plank that I found under the house, the names painted on in whatever color paint I had lying around.
Which is why a lot of them are blue. We built that barn not long after I got here.
I have to admit, though, the letters on most are faded too far to see the names clearly.
But I never really minded. I don’t need the name plates to know the horses.
“I guess this will help the others,” I say, passing it back.
“If you don’t like them, we don’t have to use them,” Matthew says, wrapping the plate back up in the bubble wrap.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like them.”
“You didn’t exactly look excited to see them, though, either.”
“They’re name plates for horses that can’t read.”
“How do you know they can’t read?”
I let out a chuckle.
“Are you saying they can?”
“I don’t know, I’m not a horse, but they seem pretty smart. They go into the same stall every night, right? So they know which one is theirs.”
“Recognizing their stall isn’t exactly the same thing as reading.”
He stands, and Loki doesn’t even flinch when he steps forward and starts gliding his hand down his long neck.
So weird.
“What is reading if not recognizing a familiar pattern?”
I pause for a moment, thinking that over before conceding.
“I guess you’re right.”
“I know I am. So, do you want them, or should I send them back?”
“You can put them up. There’s a drill in the tool shed,” I say, and he turns to me, eyebrows pinched in the middle.
“You want me to install them?”
“You bought them.”
“Technically, Connor bought them.”
“So I should go ask Connor to put them up?” I say, turning on my heel.
“No,” he calls, and I pause, glancing back over my shoulder. “I just. I haven’t used a drill before,” he explains.
“There’s a first time for everything. You managed to pet the most skittish horse on Beaker Brothers, I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” I say, and then I head over to grab hay for the new stables.
I’m about halfway through filling the stalls when Dean walks in.
“Looking good,” he says, grabbing a bale off the pile at the doorway and immediately helping. That’s the thing in this place, not one of these guys would stand by and just watch while someone else was working.
“Yeah, it’s coming together. But you didn’t come down here just to check on the new stables, did you?”
“I have a favor to ask.”
“You’re still struggling to understand the concept of being the boss, aren’t you?”
He laughs, something he’s done a hell of a lot more of since he and Preston got together. It’s nice seeing him so happy. I don’t exactly understand it, but it’s nice all the same.
“I understand the concept, just never been good at holdin’ to it,” he says, and I close up the last stall on this side, ready for the horse’s arrival.
“Well, whatever it is, I’ll do my best. What do you need?”
“The riding trail mapped and cut through the woods, ready for summer.”
“That’s not a small job.”
“I know. But I just got off the phone with Ironbark Academy up in Boston. They normally take their seniors to Camp Karriwood each year, but a fire just destroyed all the lodgings.”
“That’s horrible,” I interject, my stomach sinking at the mental image of that beautiful place turned to ruins. “They keep horses at Karriwood, are they okay?”
He nods. “The staff and horses are all fine. They’re closing up, though, so now the school needs to relocate for their trip, and it turns out we had nothing booked in that week, soooo…”
“Where are the horses going?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Can you?”
“I guess. But we’re pretty full up already, don’t you think?”
“We’ve got some space.”
“Where?” he asks, turning on the spot, arms out, gesturing to the vacant stalls. “Most of these are reserved for the latest adoptees, remember?”
“But not all of them. What if they’ve got nowhere else to go?”
Dean rubs the back of his neck with one hand, and I can tell he’s actually considering my request. As he should. That is the whole idea of Beaker Brothers. It’s a place where anyone can find the home they need.
“I’ll check in with the camp about the horses.”
“Yes,” I cheer, fist pumping the air.
“And my trail?” he asks.
“Consider it done. I’ll start mapping it out tomorrow. Thanks, boss.”
He shakes his head, letting out a sigh that sounds more like a soft chuckle, and I know he’s wondering how he just agreed to possibly take on even more animals to this menagerie.
***
I sip my morning coffee, the sunrise cresting over the horizon and glimmering through the branches of the trees that surround my small piece of perfection.
They’ve grown from tiny saplings to several feet above me over the years, creating a natural wall between my slice of heaven and the outside world.
But now that the horse trail is going to lead through the land surrounding Beaker Brothers, it will likely have to pass close enough to my trailer to maybe see through the branches, so I might need more than just a few trees to shield me, or the guests from me.
I can’t go back to being naked only inside my trailer.
If I don’t sort out the trail, Dean will get one of the other guys to do it, and they might not care how close the guests are getting to my place.
Better that I get it mapped out. I’ll be the one leading them down it after all.
Not that I mind. The horses love it. The ones we use for guest rides do anyway.
There are a few that will never be fit for riding, though, like Loki.
The memory of Matthew petting him like he was just any old horse flashes in my mind.
Loki is skittish with everyone but me, or at least he was, until now.
Maybe he’s just getting used to people. The work I’ve been doing with him has probably just started to pay off.
I bet if Dean or one of the other guys went into the stables right now, he’d just stand there and let them pet him too.
He feels safe in there, that’s it, I tell myself, and then down the last of my coffee and head inside to get ready.
I can’t put off getting dressed forever.
I start with my pants; they’re the easiest part.
Though they’re thick denim, I buy a size bigger to give me a little more breathing room for the boys.
Sure, it can mean having to adjust more than once when I’m in the saddle, but it makes wearing pants at all more tolerable.
I pull on my socks and boots and then pause, holding my shirt from the collar in one hand, willing myself to pull it on.
It’s like when you see someone lift their nails to a chalkboard, your body tenses in anticipation for the noise that will come when they scrape their nails down it. My skin is crawling at the thought of the fabric sliding up my arms and over my back.
I tell myself I’ll put it on when I get closer to the ranch as I slip on my favorite belt with the stallion rearing up on the buckle, grab my hat, and head out.
I make my way across the paddock, enjoying the feeling of the sun warming my skin, but I only get about halfway when I spot Matthew leaning against the rail beside the old smaller stables.
Well fuck. I guess that means this is close enough.
I drop my hat and suck in a breath before shoving my arms through the sleeves as fast as I can, the fabric skimming over the scars that wrap around my left bicep, up my shoulder, and over a third of my back.
I move fast, hoping to minimize the shudder that rolls through me, but it doesn’t work.
My stomach turns, and I gag a little, breathing deep through my nose to try to regain some control.
Doc said it’s normal for the nerves to be super sensitive after what they went through.
He reckons it’ll just take time. But it’s been almost twenty years, and they haven’t settled yet.
Being naked is the only time I don’t feel like there’s something under the scars trying to break free, crawling along the underside of my skin, looking for a way out.
Maybe it’s because I spend so much time naked that they still prefer it that way.
I’m not willing to stay fully clothed for long enough to find out.
“Do you have something for me?” Matthew asks, and I climb over the rail, boots sinking into the soft mud underfoot.
“Was I supposed to?” I ask.
“To do, I mean,” he adds, a soft blush rising to his cheeks. “Connor said you could use a hand with the horses, so here I am. My hands are yours. I mean, like, for work.”
Fuck, I forgot about that.