Mal didn’t respond. His gaze was glued to the horse and I leaned in so I could really look at him. Underweight and underconditioned. The sheet said three-years-old but he looked younger due to his state. His buckskin coat was dull, and his black mane was matted. But he had sweet eyes and he’d lifted his head when Mal held out a hand. He was so docile, not in the least bit reactive to the horses around him, I wouldn’t have guessed he was still intact if I hadn’t read it on the sheet.
“Bob here is a great horse,” an oily voice said behind me.
I turned quickly and wasn’t surprised to see a somewhat sleazy looking dude. He gestured toward the stall. “Wanna see him?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Mal immediately opened the door and stepped in. The horse barely reacted but did lean into Mal’s touch. Bob’s feet were in rough shape, not too bad, but definitely in need of a trim. I bet his teeth were in the same condition. The horse was clearly neglected but not so bad that I could actually call it abuse. By the standard definition, anyway.
I was ready to walk away. We didn’t keep stallions on the ranch, though that could be fixed with a vet visit. And even though I could see that the horse had the potential to look good with some care and groceries, we weren’t in the market for a stock horse.
But then I really looked at Mal. Though his expression was neutral, his fingers trembled ever so slightly. He kept a hand on the horse at all times, and was murmuring so quietly, I couldn’t hear him. The horse’s ears swiveled as though he wanted to catch every word. And even though he didn’t say it, even though his face didn’t show it, I knew exactly what I was seeing. And exactly what I needed to do.
A few minutes later, I held the keys out to Mal. He shook his head as though he was coming out of a trance and cocked his head in question.
“Bring around the truck while I pay.”
Mal opened his mouth, shut it again, and then finally said, “Pay for what?”
“Bob here.” I shook my head. “You’re going to have to come up with a better name for him.”
Mal blinked. Several times. “What?”
Chapter 13
Malachi
Imarched out of the building and headed toward the end of the parking lot where we’d found space on arrival. There was probably steam coming out of my ears at this point, and the people nearby gave me a wide berth.
What the fuck was it with Crew and buying horses and then implying they were mine? Sure, Jaina was, I’d paid for that fucking gas for his fucking truck, but this one? Bob?What a stupid fucking name for such a good horse.
It must’ve been nice to have money to throw around like that. Sure, something like Bob wouldn’t cost more than a few grand at max if the man selling him was greedy and much less if he wasn’t. I just happened to know the sleazebag, and I knew how he operated.
Crew, however, had no idea. He’d just seen something and decided on a whim to buy another fucking horse. And then he’d implied he was mine to rename?
What the fuck was up with these people?
I got to the truck and then waited in line when someone else loaded a pretty appaloosa into a fancy trailer by the doors I needed to be at.
I parked, then went to open the back door, and tried to calm myself down a bit. I couldn’t bring this energy to Not-Bob. He was already going through hell. Not that he hadn’t before getting to the auction site.
The only positive thing here was that Masterson didn’t recognize me. To be fair, I’d changed a lot in the seven years since I’d bought Jaina. But his MO was still the same, it seemed. He produced barely fed, hesitant horses who’d had no positive reinforcement and were just looking for someone kind to be their person.
I didn’t look at Crew when I got back to the stall. He was chatting with Masterson who looked happy like a pig in shit. I could understand why. He’d have trouble selling horses here with the quality he produced and having someone dump cash on him was a big win for him.
“We good to go?” I asked, looking roughly at Crew’s shoulder instead of his face.
“We’re good,” he confirmed.
“Hey, leave the lead—”
“I remember,” I spat at Masterson, and clipped the one I’d brought from the trailer to Not-Bob’s shitty halter. “Come on, boy; let’s get you home, okay?” I gave him a few gentle but firm touches, and he leaned into them like he was starved for kindness.
Now who did that remind me of? Shut the fuck up, subconscious.
I led the colt through the aisle and realized he was really surrounded by many others like him. The ones that hadn’t sold and people weren’t interested in when there were so many much nicer horses to bid on.
Well, he wouldn’t be unwanted anymore. He wasn’t mine—because I fucking refused—but he’d be in the best place.
