All the King's Horses Page 11
After two days of narrowly avoiding teeth and hooves, and sometimes not avoiding them, I decided the chain was worth a try.
While Blue waited on the cross-ties, I took off his lead rope and went into the tack room. There, I found a stud chain—a thick stainless chain about eighteen inches long—which I clipped to the end of his lead rope. I wrapped the chain snugly around my hand so it wouldn’t make a sound. Cautiously, I held it out to him and let him sniff it. His ears pricked forward, and he used his upper lip to play with the links. He licked it a few times. Tried to bite it, but I pulled it away at that point.
Watching his eyes the entire time, I slowly unwrapped a few inches from my hand. He didn’t seem to care, so I wiggled the chain just enough to make it jingle. His eyes widened, showing just the edges of the whites. He snorted. Again.
I held out the chain again and let him play with it. Typical Blue: it scared him at first. Then intrigued him. Then became something he wanted to eat.
About the time Blue was probably calculating how to get the entire chain out of my hand and into his mouth, Dustin came down the aisle with a two-year-old he’d just worked. He smiled, and was just about to continue past me, but did a double take.
Halting the two-year-old, he said, “He’s letting you use a chain?”
“Not yet,” I said, glancing at him before focusing on Blue so he didn’t eat my hand or the chain. “Just getting him used to it, and then I’m going to try a lip chain on him.”
“Probably a good idea, assuming he’ll take it without a fuss.”
“That’s why I’m letting him play with it and get used to it first.”
“Good idea.” He paused, but didn’t move. The two-year-old pawed the aisle beside him, and Dustin corrected her with a sharp “no” and a light smack with her lead rope on her shoulder. She let out an impatient huff, but stopped pawing.
“By the way,” he said. “Dad and I are leaving tomorrow morning for that show in Oregon.”
“Right. I saw it on the calendar.” I tugged the chain out from between Blue’s lips. “Your dad gave me a list of everything you need in the trailer, so I’ll take care of that once I’m done with Blue.”
“Oh, okay. And you’ll be all right handling everything here while we’re gone?”
I glanced up and smiled. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
“Good. Well, just let Mom know if you run into any problems.”
“Will do.”
We exchanged a long look that made my heart skip. Like we were each waiting for the other to say or do something. Like he wanted me to mention the other night just like I wanted him to mention it. But then the filly got impatient and Blue got mouthy, so he continued in the opposite direction, and I continued grooming Blue, all without saying anything about beer and slow dances.
It occurred to me then how bizarre it still was to hear Dustin asking how I was doing with Blue rather than snapping at me to stay a safe distance from the rescues. Something had changed in him. Or how he looked at me. He’d relaxed. He gave me the benefit of the doubt with the horses. He backed off, and that let me release my breath enough to go through my work without sweating bullets that I was a heartbeat away from being sent packing.
Whatever had changed between us, I liked it. And I’d have been lying if I said his attitude adjustment didn’t add to his attractiveness. Exponentially. Of course it did. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been carrying this vague pang of disappointment that he hadn’t kissed me on the porch the other night. That vague pang that seemed to intensify every time I looked at him.
Wow, Amy. You really are losing it, aren’t you?
I laughed at my own thoughts as I took the chain away from Blue again. Dustin was just some eye candy while I got my head together. Just because he wasn’t so insufferable now didn’t mean we were both sitting on go and waiting for the first opportunity to sleep together. It just meant I was a little less miserable here while I sorted out my emotional crap.
But man, right or wrong, for better or worse, that didn’t stop me from wondering what that front porch kiss might have been like.
Dustin and his dad left the next morning with three horses in the slant-load trailer. While they were gone, I had my usual tasks, but working with Blue—as well as Star, though for shorter periods—was quickly becoming the highlight of my days.
Three days in a row, Blue and I played the same game with the stud chain. I let him inspect the chain, lick it, nibble it, play with it, until he didn’t even bat an eye at it anymore. Once he was okay with the sound and the presence of the chain, I threaded it through one side of his halter and carefully drew it around to the other side of his face where I clipped the end to the halter. With the slack of the chain hanging loosely below his mouth, I took his upper lip in my hand and played with it. He played back, trying to get his lip away, then pushing it back into my hand when I let go. It became a game, and it occupied him while I slowly tightened the chain with my other hand.
I pushed up his lip and slid the chain over his gums. There’s a nerve up in there, just under a horse’s upper lip, that works almost like grabbing a cat by the scruff; it won’t hurt them, but it will make them stop and pay attention. Much better than yanking on his lead rope and turning every correction into a big, scary scene.
Very, very gently, I tugged at the rope until it just pulled against Blue’s gums. His eyes widened a little, and his upper lip curled as he tried to get used to the presence of the chain. Or tried to eat it, knowing him. Another tug and he opened his mouth like he was trying to yawn.
“What do you think?” I played with his forelock. “Not too scary, is it?”
Apparently, it wasn’t, because he cocked his rear foot, swished his tail at a fly and otherwise looked bored.
I unclipped the cross-ties and led him down the aisle to see how he handled the chain once we were actually moving. Surprise, surprise, he made it about three steps before he wandered into me, nearly stepping on my foot.
I gave the lead a light tug. Blue halted in his tracks and threw his head back. I held the lead tight, and when he hit the end, it tightened in his mouth, and he froze. Snorted. Stared at me with wide eyes. Then, cautiously and with less force this time, he tried pulling back again. And, of course, he hit the end of the chain once more. The third try, he barely pulled enough to put any tension on the chain before he backed off.
Curling his lip in an effort to push the chain out, he lowered his head.
“You’re a quick learner, aren’t you, buddy?” I stroked his neck and made sure the chain wasn’t too tight now that he’d stopped fighting it. “Let’s try again.”
We started walking. He wandered again, and I tugged the rope again, and he started to throw his head up, but abruptly thought twice.
The third time, he walked beside me. Nervously, still trying to chew on the chain in between eyeing me uncertainly and not quite walking straight, but he didn’t step on my feet and he didn’t try to pull the lead out of my hands.
“That’s a good boy,” I said, scratching his neck as we kept walking. “Very good.”
He’d adapted much more quickly to the lip chain than I expected. His ground manners would still take some work, but he was surprisingly unfazed by this particular training device. Something told me he’d never used one before; I could only imagine what his previous owners had used to ensure compliance. I’d seen some of the horrific equipment places like that used. It was no wonder the poor guy was afraid of his own shadow.
But they hadn’t ruined him for a lip chain, and that gave me an edge to make some headway in breaking his bad habits without instilling fear of something else in him.
Give me some time, Blue. I’ll get you back on track.
As I brushed Blue one afternoon, turning his coat from blue-brown back to blue-gray, he nickered at someone. I looked up to see Dustin approaching with two of the youngsters he’d taken to this last show. After five straight days of not seeing him at all, my heart wasn’t ready, and I b
arely stopped myself from gasping when I met those stunning hat-shaded blue eyes. I coughed, which was entirely because of the dust coming off Blue’s coat. “How was the show?”
“Not bad.” He offered a tired smile. “Jester took reserve champion in his divisions, and Snow won his.”
“What about Hally?” I asked.
“She won her qualifier,” he said. “Didn’t do so hot in the championship.” He shrugged. “But she was already sold by that point, so I can’t complain.”
“Oh, good!” I said. “Congrats.”
“Thanks.”
“Let me finish up with him”—I nodded toward Blue—“and I’ll get the trailer cleaned out.”
“Great, thanks.” He took Jester and Snow back to their stalls, but he didn’t go back out to the trailer. He leaned against the tack room door, arms folded across his chest and one boot crossed over the other. “So how is he doing?”
“He’s turning into a brat,” I said with a laugh.
Dustin’s eyebrows rose. “Is he, now?”
I patted Blue’s neck, sending up a thin cloud of brown dust. “I think he’s getting bored going on walks. He’s starting to get into stuff.”
Dustin laughed. “Well, that’s a good sign.”
“Yeah, it is.” I threw a playful scowl at Blue. “Except he’s turning into a pain in my butt.”
“Is that right?”
“You know how it is,” I said. “Stops being afraid of everything, starts acting like a bratty toddler who has to get into everything.”
“Yeah, I know exactly how that goes.” We both laughed, and as the moment passed, held each other’s gazes.
Oh my God, it’s good to have you back, I thought, and didn’t entirely get why. Wasn’t like I was any closer to touching him when he was here than when he was two hundred miles away. But nonetheless, I was glad he was home.
He cleared his throat and shifted his gaze toward the lead ropes in his hands.
“Well, keep it up.” He smiled and briefly looked at me again. “Must be doing something right.”
“Here’s hoping.”
“In fact,” he said, “I was thinking…”
I looked at him over Blue’s back. “Hmm?”
“When you think he’s ready, I’d like to try him under saddle,” he said. “Once his ground manners are solid, and he’s really calming down. What do you think?”
“It’s worth a try.” I moistened my lips as I kept brushing Blue. “Do you really think he’ll be ready for that any time soon?”
Dustin shrugged. “You tell me.”
“You’ve worked with more rescues than I have.”
He watched Blue silently for a moment. “It’s hard to say until we give it a shot. I’ve had some rescues that are basket cases on the ground and fine under saddle, and some that are flawless on the ground and nuts under saddle.” He paused. “And, when it comes time with him, I’d…like your help, if you’re game.”
The brush stopped in midstroke. “I beg your pardon?”
Dustin cleared his throat. “You’ve been working with him more than I have. He trusts you.” Our eyes met again over Blue’s back. “If he’ll be ready for anyone to ride him, it’s you.”
I set the brush down and dusted my hands off on my jeans. “Um, yeah. Sure. Let’s give him a little more time, but when he’s ready…yeah. I’ll get on him.”
“Great.” He smiled and patted Blue’s neck. “Keep it up.”
As Dustin left, I finished up with Blue. I always gave the horse a treat when I was done working with him, so I took a handful of oats from the coffee can in the tack room and held it out for him. As he cleaned the grain off my hand, I shifted my attention down the aisle in the direction Dustin had gone.
And right then, I couldn’t decide which surprised me more: that Blue trusted me, or that Dustin did.
Chapter Ten
Dustin
Another trip into town, another truck full of everything the farm couldn’t live without for the next week or so. Bags of grain. A bag of nails. A handful of insulators for the hot wire fences. Light bulbs. A stack of boards and a few posts.
The weekly errands were probably my least favorite thing to do aside from the farm’s books. Anything that wasn’t working with the horses pretty much fell into that category. But it needed to be done, and after two long road trips to long competitions, I really couldn’t complain. At least I’d be home today and sleeping in my own bed tonight.
I walked out of the hardware store with the last bag of miscellaneous things I’d had to pick up on this trip.
“Why on earth do you need a truck that big?” my aunt had asked when she visited last year.
I slammed the tailgate and eyed the securely tied pile of necessities. “That’s why.”
After a few more errands, I topped off the tank and headed home, all the while muttering to myself about the skyrocketing price of diesel and when in God’s name were they going to repave that one stretch of road between the river and downtown.
Great. I’m turning into my father.
I chuckled and continued along the endless strip of deteriorating pavement and, after a few miles, dusty gravel. Along either side of the road, massive equipment sprayed water over the corn, wheat and alfalfa fields. With as much as I was paying lately just to keep water troughs full, I was sure the farmers out here were paying a fortune for irrigation this year. It hadn’t rained in a while now.
That wasn’t all that unusual for Eastern Washington, but the arid heat would get less and less bearable—not to mention more disastrous to agriculture—the deeper summer sank its teeth in. Weatherman said the rain would come soon, and I hoped he was right. In fact, I’d picked up a stack of sand bags while I was out today because when that rain came, if it was anything like last year and the year before, it wouldn’t be just a little bit of drizzle like the people on the other side of the state got all year. No, when it rained here after a dry spell, especially in the summer, it meant Noah’s Ark–style business.
Driving down that long, familiar stretch of country road, no matter how much I tried to think of the farm and the weather, my mind kept going back to Amy. I hadn’t been able to keep her out of my mind lately, even when I was away at a competition or just trying and failing to sleep while she lived right next door.
I was going crazy. No two ways about it. I knew damn well better than to get involved with a woman whose wounds were raw, and no matter how well she hid it—or how badly she hid it—Amy had no shortage of very fresh, very deep wounds. Part of me wanted to help her through that, and part of me just plain old wanted her. Didn’t matter which of those two things was stronger, because they both added up to stay the hell away, Dustin. Stay away.
I rested my elbow below the window and rubbed the back of my neck as I continued down the long road. I wanted to tell myself it could be different with Amy, but I knew better. She was hurting, she was healing, and that had proven to be a dangerous combination for me too many times in the past. Several times bitten, a hundred times shy.
She was attractive. Beyond attractive. But she wasn’t ready for anything. She couldn’t possibly be, not when her husband wasn’t cold in the grave. And I knew from experience the only thing harder than wanting a woman was wanting her back, so I’d just keep my hands off and let her get through everything she wasn’t talking about. I’d keep my distance, and wouldn’t delude myself with thoughts of her staying here instead of going back to that other life she didn’t know I knew about.
She’s not a rescue.
Somebody hurt her.
She’s not a rescue, Dustin.
A rescue? Of course she wasn’t. She wasn’t an animal, for God’s sake. But she was hurt, and I was sure if anyone knew about this train of thought, they’d give me a knowing look and remind me that I saw every wounded or traumatized animal as a rehabilitation project. Everyone who knew me had done plenty of loud speculation that that wasn’t far from how I went into relationships with women.
Okay, so my ex-wife had been fresh out of an excruciating breakup when we’d started dating, and the veterinarian I’d slept with for a little while last year had just left her jackass of a husband. It wasn’t like I went looking for women with raw wounds, and I’d been burned enough times to know better—one would hope—than to fall for another woman who wasn’t emotionally ready to stick around once she had her feet under her again.
And for God’s sake, being concerned to the point of distraction about someone who’d been hurt like she obviously had been didn’t mean a damned thing. Anyone with an ounce of compassion would have been worried about her. It didn’t mean I needed to make it my mission to put her back together like some kind of rescued horse.
Nor did any of that make her any less attractive.
Or me any less tempted.
Forty-five minutes after I left town, I pulled up and parked in front of the duplex. The two-horse horse trailer caught my eye. It was facing me in its usual covered parking spot and wasn’t hooked to the truck, but its rear and escape doors were wide open. I eyed it, wondering if Dad had asked Amy to clean it out or something. He was picking up a couple of broodmares this weekend and needed it, but I was pretty sure it was still clean from the last time we’d used it.
Whatever. I was sure Dad and Amy had it under control.
I jotted down the miles I’d driven, then picked up the handful of receipts and went into the barn. The office door was open, and when I stepped in, Dad was at the desk with his glasses almost falling off the end of his nose.
“Working on the books?” I asked.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Great.” I set the thin stack of receipts on the desk. “Mind putting these in while you’re at it?”
He glared at the stack, then looked up at me. “I’m just about done here, so you can add those when you have time. By the way, did you get a water tank?”
I swore under my breath. “Damn it. I completely forgot.”