“Then he’s telling you something’s up. If they’re stiff and forward, then there could be danger ahead. If they’re stiff and pointed back, then he’s worried about something behind him and might kick out at it. If he pins his ears flat against his neck, then he’s really angry and ready to fight.”
“All that just from his ears?”
I released her hand. “Don’t have to be Dr. Doolittle to understand animals. Horses also communicate with their tails, their lips…any part of their bodies really. But you don’t need to know all that to enjoy today’s trail ride.” I clucked my tongue, setting both horses off at a walk.
“What do I need to know then?” Her fingers remained relaxed over the reins, and she let herself glide with her mount’s gait.
I smirked. “Nothing more than to keep your eyes wide open.” Lightning lengthened his stride. “Wouldn’t want you to miss something wonderful right in front of you just because you were too afraid to take a peek.”
7
Jocelyn
My chest expanded as we topped the rise. The rolling ground cascaded around us in an endless landscaped masterpiece of greens and blues, the sky seeming to go on forever without end. Until now, wide open spaces had only been lyrics to a Dixie Chicks song—one I never thought I’d relate to. But as I sat atop Domino, watching a butterfly play tag with the wind, flitting back and forth on fragile wings, a stirring awakened in my breast as if the butterfly whispered for me to come and play. To spread my own wings and soar.
Malachi had been right. Straddling a horse did unlock a whole new perspective, and Domino’s ears were a perfect frame through which to see the world. If I’d allowed fear to win, I would have missed out on the splendor around me.
A cow mooed a few yards away—long and low at the beginning but rising in both pitch and volume. A blue tag hung from one of its large ears, which stood out on the side of its head like a satellite, but the short, knobby knees that bulged under a round belly didn’t appear strong enough to support all that weight. The cow looked at us like a grumpy old man, a long blade of grass sticking out of its mouth.
The thing really shouldn’t be cute, with all its awkward attributes, but when I looked into its large, placid eyes, my heart melted like chocolate left in the car on a hot day.
“How many head do you have on your spread?” Bill asked.
Malachi tipped the brim of his hat up out of his eyes with a crooked finger. “’Bout a hundred. We’re a cow-calf operation with a good percentage of our heifers about to drop.”
Drop? Like drop dead?
I whipped my gaze back around to the vocal cow. A poster diagram from one of my favorite farm-to-table restaurants flashed in my mind. Now instead of a silky red coat marred by patches of dried mud and hovering flies, I saw dotted lines like my favorite dress patterns just waiting to be cut out. Chuck. Rib. Sirloin. Round.
My stomach rolled. I’d never be able to eat beef again. For a moment, I envisioned myself the embodiment of Fern Arable, jumping in front of the bovine the way the little girl saved Wilber from her father’s ax.
“Looks like one already did.” Henry pointed to a small calf standing half behind its mother’s legs.
Oooh.Thatkind of drop.
“Nate.” An unfamiliar bite vibrated in Malachi’s tone.
Nate flinched. “Sorry. Must’ve missed one.”
Malachi swung down from Lightning and rifled through his saddle bag. A long rope trailed from his hand as he made his way to the mother-offspring duo. Nate dismounted as well and followed. The Thomas brothers ran their hands over the mom and baby before looping the rope around the cow’s neck. Nate led the mama at a sedate pace, and the little calf tracked behind.
I stood in the stirrups to watch them go, resettling in the saddle as Malachi led Nate’s horse to Lightning and secured the second horse’s reins to Lightning’s tack. “I take it home births with ‘home’ being the range are frowned upon in these parts?”
My attempt at a joke smoothed out the worry lines creasing Malachi’s forehead, one corner of his mouth taking a short hike northward. “Only when the midwife isn’t called.”
“Do you think we can take a break before heading back?” Henry asked as he absently rubbed the inside of his groin area.
I dipped my chin into my shoulder, stifling a laugh. My inner thighs were screaming as well—they hadn’t stretched this much since ballet camp at the YMCA when I was six—but I’d already admitted to being scared today. My pride couldn’t take the hit of confessing my physical discomfort as well.
Malachi nodded. “Stretch your legs and we’ll head back in ten.”
Henry slid his feet out of the stirrups and slanted forward over his horse’s neck. I winced, imagining how the saddle horn must be giving him the Heimlich. He swung one of his feet back, kicking his horse in the rear.
The horse’s ears flattened. I opened my mouth to call out a warning, but Henry managed to get his leg over with his second attempt. His body draped over the saddle like a rag doll, gravity lazily pulling him toward the ground millimeters at a time.
I really hoped Mr. Whalen had added a bonus to whatever the Double B was charging for us to be here. We were the horse-riding equivalent of the Bad News Bears. A bunch of misfits better suited for a petting zoo than a real working ranch.
Henry finally managed to slide down the side of his horse, a tellingsquelchmaking his contact with the ground a little less firm.
