Chapter 5
Tammy
I arrived at the stables twenty minutes before dawn, my hands shaking as I killed the side-by-side's engine.
The air was cold enough to sting my lungs.
I'd worn jeans, the stiffest pair I owned, and a long-sleeved t-shirt under my jacket.
My hiking boots felt clunky and wrong, nothing like the worn leather cowboy boots I'd seen on the ranch hands.
It was late May, but up here in the mountains it often felt like February back in North Carolina.
The kind of cold that seeped through layers and settled in your bones.
Back home, the azaleas would be blooming, the air thick and humid.
Here, frost still clung to the grass in shadowed patches, and I could see my breath with every exhale.
The stable loomed dark against the lightening sky. I could hear horses moving inside. The soft sounds of hooves on straw, the occasional snort, something that sounded like teeth on wood. My stomach twisted.
I'd never been on a horse. Not once. Not even a pony ride at a fair.
What the hell was I thinking?
The eastern horizon bled pink and gold. I wrapped my arms around myself and waited, watching my breath fog in the cold air. A coyote, or maybe a wolf, called somewhere in the distance. The mountains rose up around the ranch like sentinels, their peaks still dark against the dawn.
Then I heard footsteps. Heavy. Steady.
I turned.
Ripplan walked toward me from the direction of the main house, and my breath caught.
He wore jeans that fit him like they'd been made for his body, a dark flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a leather vest that looked old and well-worn.
His hair was pulled back. Boots that had seen years of work.
His hat, an actual cowboy hat, sat low on his head, shadowing his face.
He looked like he'd stepped out of one of those old westerns Grandma used to watch on Sunday afternoons. The ones where the hero rode in at sunset, all quiet strength and unshakeable resolve.
My grandmother would have loved him.
The thought hit me sideways. She'd been gone three years now, and I still missed her with an ache that never quite faded.
After my parents' divorced when I was eight, Grandma had been my constant.
Mom remarried within a year, a dentist from Asheville with two kids of his own.
Dad found someone new six months after that.
They built their new families, had new children, new lives that didn't quite have room for the daughter from the first marriage.
But Grandma had always had room for me. Her house had been my refuge, her kitchen table the place where I'd done homework and learned to bake biscuits and talked about everything that mattered.
When she died, it felt like losing the last person who'd chosen me first.
She would've taken one look at Ripplan and declared him "a real man," then probably asked him to stay for supper and fix the porch railing while he was at it.
"You're early," Ripplan said.
"Couldn't sleep." I tried for casual but my voice came out thin. "Turns out impending doom is bad for rest."
His mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "It's a horse. Not a firing squad."
"Tell that to my nervous system."
He studied me for a moment, and I couldn't read his expression in the dim light. Then he turned toward the stable. "Come on."
I followed him inside. The smell hit me first. Hay and leather and horses, warm and earthy and alive in a way that made my pulse jump.
It was overwhelming. Animal and sweet and musky all at once.
Stalls lined both sides of the wide center aisle.
Horses shifted and nickered as we passed, their bodies massive shadows in the half-light.
Some were enormous, big enough for Orcs to ride.
Others were smaller, but still intimidatingly large up close.
One stuck its head over a stall door as we passed, and I flinched.
"Easy," Ripplan said. Not to the horse. To me.
"I'm fine."
"You look like you're about to bolt."
"I'm considering it."
"Don't. You'll spook them."
"Great. So I'm the problem."
"Usually are." But there was something almost amused in his voice.
Ripplan stopped at a stall near the middle. "This is Daffodil."
The mare inside was beautiful. Reddish-brown coat with white spots scattered across her hindquarters like paint splatters, a white blaze down her face that made her look friendly. She looked at me with dark, intelligent eyes that seemed to be assessing whether I was worth her time.
"Appaloosa," Ripplan said. "Gentle. Good temperament." He opened the stall door and stepped inside, his movements easy and confident. His voice changed, softened. "Hey, girl. Got someone for you to meet."
I watched him run his hand down the mare's neck, his movements slow and deliberate. He murmured something too low for me to hear. The horse leaned into his touch, her eyes half-closing, completely at ease.
Something in my chest loosened.
He was gentle with her. This massive Orc who'd glared at me for days, who'd barely spoken to me except to give orders, he was gentle.
"She likes you," I said.
"I feed her." He glanced at me. "Come here."
I stepped into the stall. The space felt smaller with both of us in it, and suddenly the horse felt enormous. I could see the muscles shifting under her coat, the rise and fall of her breathing. She was so much bigger than I'd expected. So much more there.
Ripplan took my hand. His palm was rough and warm, callused in a way that sent small tingles up my arm. He guided it to the mare's nose.
"Let her smell you," he said.
Daffodil's nostrils flared. Her breath was hot against my palm, surprisingly soft. She made a sound, not quite a snort, more like a question.
"What's she saying?"
"That you smell nervous."
"Perceptive horse."
He moved my hand to her neck. "Now stroke here. Firm but gentle. She's not made of glass."
The horse's coat was softer than I expected, sleek and warm. I could feel the heat of her body radiating through my palm, the solid muscle underneath. She was so alive. So powerful. The realization made my heart race, half fear, half something else. Something like wonder.
"She's beautiful," I whispered.
"She's yours. For as long as you're here."
I looked up at him. He was close enough that I could see the flecks of bronze in his amber eyes. Close enough to smell him. Leather and woodsmoke and something else, something that made my pulse quicken.
"Thank you," I said.
He stepped back, breaking the moment. "You need to learn to saddle her. Can't rely on someone else to do it for you out on the trail."
"Right. Because I'm going to be doing this alone in the wilderness."
"You will be."
"That's a terrifying thought."
"You'll manage."
"Your confidence is inspiring."
He almost smiled again. "Pay attention."
For the next thirty minutes, he walked me through it. The saddle pad first, positioned just right. "Too far forward and it'll rub her shoulders raw," he said. "Too far back and it'll lay too heavy on her spine."
"No pressure."
"There's always pressure. That's why you learn."
The saddle itself was heavier than I expected. I tried to lift it and nearly dropped it.
"Jesus," I muttered. "What's this thing made of?"
"Leather. Wood. Metal." He took it from me easily, demonstrating the motion. "Swing it up. Use your momentum."
I tried again. Got it halfway before my arms started shaking. Momentum my ass.
"You're fighting it," he said. "Let the weight work for you."
"Easy for you to say. You could probably bench-press a car." Or at least push one up a mountain. I knew that from experience.
"Probably." He positioned himself behind me, his hands covering mine on the saddle. "Again. On three."
His body was warm against my back. Solid. I could feel the rumble of his voice when he counted. All kinds of tingles erupted down my spine, which in the circumstances was highly aggravating.
"One. Two. Three."
We lifted together. The saddle settled onto Daffodil's back with a soft thump.
"There," he said. "See?"
He showed me how to cinch it, how to check the fit, how to adjust the stirrups. The bridle came next, and I fumbled with the bit, trying to figure out how it was supposed to go into her mouth.
"She's not going to bite you," Ripplan said.
"You don't know that."
"I do know that. She's the gentlest horse we have."
"What if I hurt her?"
"You won't." He took the bridle from my hands and demonstrated, his movements patient and methodical. "Thumb here. Slide it in. She'll open her mouth."
I tried. Daffodil tossed her head.
"She doesn't like me."
"She doesn't know you yet." He steadied the mare with a hand on her neck. "Try again."
It took three more attempts before I got it right. When the bridle finally settled into place, I felt a ridiculous surge of pride.
"There," Ripplan said. "You'll get faster. Takes practice."
"How much practice?"
"Depends. Some people get it in a week. Others take longer."
"Which one am I?"
He looked at me, his expression unreadable. "Too early to tell."
When Daffodil was ready, he handed me a bag of apple slices and carrots. "Spend some time with her. Walk her around the paddock. Let her get used to you."
"What if she decides she doesn't like me?"
"Then you'll have to win her over."
"Great. No pressure."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it keeps being true."
I led the mare outside into the growing light. The sun had crested the mountains now, painting everything gold. The cold was already starting to burn off, replaced by the kind of crisp, clean air that made my lungs feel bigger.
I fed Daffodil an apple slice. She took it delicately, her lips soft against my palm. The crunch was loud in the quiet morning.
"Okay," I said. "So you like apples. That's a start."
She looked at me with those dark eyes, chewing thoughtfully.
"I'm Tammy. I'm from North Carolina. I've never done this before, so if I mess up, it's not personal."
Her ears swiveled toward me when I spoke.
"You're a good listener," I continued, feeding her another slice. "Better than most people I know."