Eight hours later, Seth stepped out of the barn into the early evening light. The scent of the sharp tang of horses’ sweat filled the air. He’d let the hands rotate weekends, but only he and Cull got every Saturday and Sunday off, but he wanted to work with the horse as much as he could. Once he finished with the filly, he could spend more time with the two young horses Kevin wanted him to train. He huffed under his breath. “Shit,” he muttered. He still owed Cull an apology; he hadn’t meant to snap at him like that. He was a good friend, and Seth hated that he’d pissed himoff. But first he needed to wash the dust and tension from his skin.
He pushed through the back door of the house and sat on the rough-hewn bench by the entryway. Slipping off his boots, he leaned his head against the wall, closed his eyes. He felt every ache in his calves and shoulders, since today with the young horse had been a grind, but she was catching on, learning to read the smallest shift in the flag.
In cutting-horse training, the real work begins at two years old. Initially it’s all about basics; teaching the horse to respond to body cues and a fluttering mechanical flag, building muscle control from withers to fetlock, the highly movable, hinge-like joint is crucial for shock absorption and movement, but it is also prone to injuries, with symptoms like heat, swelling, pain, and lameness often indicating a problem.
Then Seth would bring in a live cow, and everything changed. The horse learns to track the cow’s lead and momentum, to pivot in a heartbeat, anticipating each dart and spin. The ideal cutting horse moves almost on its own, reading the cow so well the rider barely needs to touch the reins. That’s the partnership, precision and instinct in perfect balance.
Seth had lived in that partnership for years. He’d shown cutting horses all over the region, hoisted more championship ribbons than he could count, and as he told Ryan, that success had bought him this spread, the barn, the rolling pastures, the log house. But when he broke his collarbone in a compound fracture, he had trouble adjusting his weight on the horse. The doctor told him it healed, but he was sure the older Seth got, the more arthritis would appear. His shoulder ached like it never had before, and he’d made the tough call to step out of the arena and into the pens as a trainer. He was damn good at it, one of the most sought-after in the state, hauling in trophy money and clients who paid top dollars. Over time he’d pushed his earningsinto the eight figures. But for right now what he wanted was simpler, a crisp shower, a cold beer, and a clean slate with Cull.
He stood, shoulders stiff and walked into the laundry room. He dug his phone from his back pocket and set it on top of the washer, then peeled off his jeans and T-shirt, stepping out of each garment like shedding old skin. In the kitchen he plugged the phone in to charge, the screen flared blue against the white tile, then he wandered down the hall to the bathroom. Steam hissed from the showerhead as he turned the knob, and he let the first jets of hot water rain down, massaging the knots in his back. He groaned, tilting his head to let the heat pound into his neck.
He lathered shampoo into his hair, the suds foaming bright white against his dark scalp, then worked a bar of soap over every inch of his body, washing away sweat, dust, and the residue of a hard day’s work. He turned off the water, opened the glass door, and grabbed a plush towel. He patted his hair dry until the strands fell into place, then dried his body and wrapped another around his waist and moved to the sink. He shaved carefully, the blade gliding over damp skin and leaving a trail of clean shavings in its wake.
Back in the bedroom, he pulled on a soft cotton T-shirt and reached for comfy sweatpants. He ran a hand through his damp hair, still scented faintly of soap, and decided it was time to face Cull. He headed for the kitchen, picked up his phone, thumbed the screen awake, and scrolled to Cull’s name. He tapped to call, pacing the kitchen as it rang.
“Seth, what’s up?” Cull’s voice came through the speaker.
“What are you up to?” Seth asked, trying to keep his tone light.
“Nothing much. Why?”
“Why don’t you come to the house this evening? We’ll crack open some beers, watch a movie or two.”
“Is this your way of apologizing?”
Seth laughed, the tension seeping out of him. “Fuck you, Byrne.”
Cull laughed. “Man, do you think I don’t know you?”
“That’s the problem. You do.”
“Damn right, I do. I need to grab a shower first, then I’ll be there.”
“Make sure you put some clothes on.” Seth grinned.
“I’ll have clothes on, smartass.”
“Thank God, I sure as shit don’t need to see that.”
“I can understand that. I wouldn’t want you to get jealous.”
Seth laughed. “See you soon.”
“Later.” Cull hung up, and Seth leaned against the counter, already tasting the first cold swallow of beer.
A couple of hours later, Seth sank into his recliner, the seams soft and yielding beneath him. A low lamp cast a warm glow over the living room’s wooden floorboards. He’d just settled in when a firm rap sounded on the back door, followed by the soft thud of the latch.
“Seth?”
He called out, “Living room.” Inside, footsteps shuffled over the floor in the kitchen, then the distant rustle of a jacket and hat hung on wrought-iron hooks.
“I’m grabbing a beer, you want one?” Cull’s voice drifted in.
“No, thanks. I just got one.” Seth glanced at the amber bottle sweating on the side table.
Moments later, Cull entered, boots thumping gently on the floorboards. He carried a cold beer in his hand and slumped onto the sofa, exhaling a breath.
“Damn, it might be too cold for this. Temperature dropped again.” He took a sip. “But it’s good.”
