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He comes over and takes it out of my hand. I scratch his nose while he chomps away at it.
“You’re a good boy, yes you are,” I tell him, cooing.Not like those foolish ranch hands. Oh, no, you’re not.
I grab the bucket with the brushes and start working out the gnarls of his tangled mane.
“I think you and Water could be good friends someday.”
He snorts, and I laugh.
Once I get the mane brushed out, I decide to braid it.
“This way it won’t get all tangled again when we ride.”
When I get to the end of the mane, I find my stashed-away ponytail holders in my pocket.
“We’ll just call it a stallion-tail holder. Don’t take it personally. You look dashing.”
I give him a quick brushing, which he seems to love. Even though I’ve only spent a few weeks with him, he trusts me to a degree that shocks me. I don’t quite understand it, but I don’t question it, either.
“How about we try a ride today? Nothing too long. We’ll go around the ring, and if you’re good, maybe I’ll take you out on the trail!”
I put a lot of emphasis on the last word. Fire does not look impressed, but he lets me saddle him up. I saw him knock ranch hands onto their ass, fighting against them, and nearly bite their fingers off, but he doesn’t even nip at me.
I lead him into the aisle of the stall, toward the doorway out.
When I walk right beside him, he whinnies. I don’t know Fire well enough to know if it’s a good whinny or a bad, but when I prod him gently, he starts moving.
“This is going to be great, Fire,” I say, patting his neck.
When we exit the barn, I guide him right towards the ring. He and I move together effortlessly. I’m impressed by his power and how seamlessly he can transition from an easygoing stride to a confident gallop. I pat him on the neck, complimenting him for being such a good boy.
“Hey! What the hell are you doing?”
I look back over my shoulder and pull Fire to a stop.
“Whoa!”
The command isn’t for Fire, who stopped as soon as I pulled on the reins. Nope, it just slipped out when I saw who was yelling at me.
Talk about a perfect specimen,I think. Who is this guy? He’s no ranch hand. For one thing, he’s decked out in full riding attire, possibly couture.
Those outfits are tight-fitting, the better for the judges to see the rider’s form during competition. Right now, I’m thanking whoever came up with that idea. There is very little left to the imagination in an outfit like that.
He’s getting closer, and I don’t know what to say. I can hardly breathe. His hair is as black as midnight, not far off from his horse, and I’m flooded with an urge to run my fingers through it. There’s a small scar over his left eye, but it suits him.
He looks like he could be a Wall Street mogul, he’s that polished. But the scar makes it clear he’s no pretty white boy. He’s gotten his hands dirty once or twice in his life.
“I said, what are you doing? I didn’t hire a woman to take care of my horse.” He stops short, studying me. “Did you actually braid his mane? Who the hell are you?”
The disdain in his voice is obvious but so is the fire in his eyes. In spite of the bristling that rises through me with his ‘woman’ comment – as if no woman is good enough to take of his precious horse – I can’t help but appreciate his passion. This is a man who loves his horse. That alone makes him interesting.
The fact that this passion comes in a package that looks like him, well, interesting doesn’t begin to describe it. I’d like to find out what other kinds of passions he has.
5
ALEXIS
"Step away from my horse!" My tone is forceful for a reason. I fear for the girl’s safety. And yet she acts like she can’t hear me.
