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All of this has just come in a long stream while he stands, arms on the fence, looking out at the pasture and the grazing horses. He’s just suddenly opened up like a font of information. I’m not sure if that’s more shocking or the implications of all he’s saying.
“So…” I put together the bits and pieces he’s told me as I look over my shoulder and then scan the few outbuildings and paddocks all around us. Apart from the first separated paddock where Samson was isolated, they all create a loose hexagon shape. “You basically run this place to take care of old or abused horses. This is a horse rescue.”
I have to blink a couple times as the concept sinks in.
He doesn’t so much as twitch at my pronouncement. “Close your mouth,” he finally murmurs. “You’ll catch a fly.”
Then he starts forward again, delivering one sharp jerk on the rope to signal me to follow, as always.
Like I could frigging forget.
Yeah, he’s really got a heart of gold. The rescuer of all the poor, needy animals who also just happens to like keeping women tied on a leash like a dog. Right. Pardon while I go get a hanky for the touching scene.
I’m surprised when he actually opens the gate to the pasture. We haven’t gone up close to any of the horses except those in the stable who were securely closed up behind stall doors. But he’s just heading straight in, no buffer at all between us and the horses.
Um, hello? Doesn’t he remember lesson one? Two thousand pounds and all that?
“These are two of my gentlest, both mares,” he says, apparently not worried in the slightest. He explained earlier the difference between mares—females, geldings, and stallions. Geldings and stallions are males, but geldings have been castrated. I’ve been learning all kinds of fun facts like that all morning.
Xavier pauses to close the gate behind us. “Hot Lips is pregnant, though, so if she shies away from you, we won’t press it. But Sugar is the gentlest on the ranch. Some more basics. Always approach a horse from the front left shoulder and make sure to let them get a look at you before coming close. Never come at a horse from behind or when he’s agitated.” This last part he says sharply, looking me in the eye.
I raise my hands. “Got it. Don’t come up behind a horse.”
“Which side do you approach from?” he quizzes.
“Left shoulder.” Geez, he just told me two seconds ago.
“Good, and only after you’re sure they’ve seen you. Above all, horses can sense your mood. If you’re tense, they go tense. Breathe and be calm. The more you project calm and serene, the more the horse will respond to you.”
With that, he turns on his heel and starts across the field. Not wanting him to tug on the damn rope, I hurry on his heels. He locks the gate behind us and then we’re off across the uneven ground of the paddock. It’s full of divots and—oh yep, that’s a giant horse pie. I dodge out of the way and then jog to keep up before the line between us pulls taut.
He approaches the two mares with a carrot extended in each hand. We only go halfway through the paddock before the interested horses amble toward us.
These two aren’t frenzied like Lulu, though they too nuzzle Xavier first thing. Their huge, sloppy muzzles come for his carrots, exposing large horsey teeth.
Holy crap those are big teeth.
I can’t help taking a step back. Isn’t he afraid he’s going to lose a finger?
But no, he just keeps his hands out for them to nibble and lick at far after the carrots are gobbled up. A serene smile tugs at his lips. I take the opportunity to look the horses over. And wow, sure enough, the honey-colored one does look extra fat in the belly.
Pregnant.
Even as I think it, Xavier rubs down her left side and down to her belly, where he strokes her engorged stomach.
“How far along is she?” I ask, watching the gentle, almost reverent way his hand moves with the grain of her thick, coarse hair. Then I scrunch my eyebrows together. “Is it nine months for horses, too?”
“A normal, healthy equine pregnancy will be eleven months long. Hot Lips is six months in. And she’s doing beautifully. Isn’t that right, my lovely lady?” He scratches and rubs her some more, up and down her long body, from shoulder to flank. She turns into his touch, nuzzling her head into his shoulder. He bows his head and cradles her long neck so that for a moment, it looks like he’s having some sort of spiritual communion or praying with the horse. I can just barely hear him muttering little noises of praise to her.
I can’t help staring on in fascination. It’s so bizarre to see this side of Xavier. I imagine him being as gentle with a little newborn colt.
Or holding his own baby in his arms.
The thought is a jarring one.
Because while I usually cringe at all things babies, the idea of Xavier holding a small baby is only… charming. Thinking of the giant man cradling a tiny baby? My heart goes all gooey in my chest at the thought.
I blink several times. I am not a woman who goes gooey over babies. Or men. So the combination should produce zero goo.
