Page 135 of Nothing Special X: The Last Stand

Syn approached him cautiously. “Will he uh…does he bite?”

“Nimbus? No. He’s a good boy.”

Fox demonstrated what to do on Diablo first, sweeping his hand in slow circular motions with a flexible, plastic brush he called a curry comb, along the horse’s neck and shoulder.

Diablo’s eyes slid half closed as he leaned subtly into Fox’s hand, then more blatantly until Fox had to brace his boots.

“Spoiled bastard,” Fox murmured fondly.

Diablo bumped his massive head against Fox’s chest.

Fox laughed under his breath and pressed his forehead to the horse’s. For a moment, they stayed like that, man and animal breathing together.

Syn watched them, as something quiet within him opened up.

Not sadness exactly. Maybe longing…or envy.

Syn stared at Nimbus, who stood patiently, blinking at him as if saying, ‘you gonna brush me or what?’

Fox handed him a brush. “Start at the neck and follow the muscle. Be firm but not like you’re scrubbing grill grates.”

Syn followed the instructions, mimicking Fox’s movements.

At first, he felt stupid. Too aware of the small brush in his hand and the size of the animal. But he soon found a rhythm Nimbus seemed to enjoy.

Stroke, lift, stroke.

The ache that’d been persistent in his chest became gentler with each repetitive movement of his hand along Nimbus’s smooth coat.

After a while, Fox walked to a mini fridge tucked in the corner and pulled out a Ziploc bag. He came back and pushed several apple slices into Syn’s hand.

“Here. Feed him some of these.”

Syn jerked his hand slightly. “Damn, they’re cold.”

“I know. Colder the better.” Fox fed one to Diablo. “It’s hot out. These are like sweet, healthy horse popsicles.”

Syn looked at the apple slices, then at Nimbus. “Makes sense.”

Nimbus took the first slice delicately, his warm lips brushing his palm in a strange, ticklish way. Then searched for another like a greedy burglar.

Syn was smiling again.

By the time they finished, something in Syn’s shoulders had dropped half an inch and his thoughts were quieter than they’d been in days.

They put the horses up, washed their hands at the stable sink, then walked back to the main house in comfortable silence.

Fox helped him grab his duffle from the truck and carried it inside and upstairs. He led him to a guest room with a big iron bed, a worn quilt, a view of the side pasture, and a bathroom stocked with towels and toiletries.

“You can stay as long as you need,” Fox said from the doorway.

Syn set his bag on the bench at the foot of the bed. “Appreciate it.”

“You hungry?”

“I can eat,” he admitted.

The house was cool when they walked back downstairs, rustic and well-lived-in.