All the King's Horses (4 page)

And Dustin King? Oh, yes. Physically attractive wasn’t even the half of it. When I first laid eyes on him, that custom-shaped, well-worn black cowboy hat had tilted just so, the brim masking his face as he stood next to the trailer, stroking Blue’s neck and speaking quietly to the agitated gelding. A man who was good with animals was sexy in his own right, and that black cowboy hat was the icing on the cake.

Then he’d turned around and faced us, and I’d pulled in a lungful of arid, summer air. He was scruffy and looked exhausted, but even his unshaven jaw and the circles under his eyes couldn’t undermine his leg-liquefying features. Just his blue eyes were enough to bring a few long-dead nerve endings tingling back to life.

And now? Now I was following him around the property, and thank God John had already shown me the place because I only caught about half of what Dustin said as we walked. If there was one thing I hadn’t counted on when I came here, it was trying to work for someone who made me trip over my words
and
my feet.

Oblivious to my distraction, Dustin went over some instructions as we walked through the corridors between pastures.

“Any mare with a foal at her side goes in this pasture”—he gestured at the one on the left—“or the one at the bottom of the hill. We’ve made sure everything in there is extra safe for the babies, so I don’t like them in any other pasture until they’re at least a year or two.”

“Good to know,” I said.

“And foals who are being weaned don’t turn out at the same time as their dams,” he said. “Mares in the morning, foals in the afternoon. They don’t like it, but—”

“But then they don’t see Mom and try to crash through the fence to join her. I know.”

He glanced at me, either annoyed I’d cut him off or surprised I knew what he was talking about. “All right. Then let’s—”

A squeal stopped him, and we looked to see two of the weanlings galloping toward us. Their mothers looked up. One went back to grazing while the other strolled after the babies.

“Hey guys!” Dustin squatted by the fence and reached between the boards as the pair of foals skidded to clumsy halts in front of him. He scratched their fluffy necks, and one nuzzled his face with its long-whiskered nose while the other nibbled the brim of his black hat.

“None of that,” he said, nudging the mouth away from his hat. “Be nice, you little brat.”

The mare, a gentle-eyed bay with a wide blaze, put her head over the fence beside me, so I absently petted her as I watched Dustin playing with the youngsters.

There was a time in my life when a pair of foals that age would have had me swooning and cooing. Now, I was keenly aware of the lack of that response, of the empty place in my chest where a swell of “aww, babies!” should have been. That the only warmth I felt at all besides the sun on my back was the mare’s body heat as I halfheartedly stroked her mostly white face.

I glanced at Dustin, and even as he petted and scratched the babies, he was looking at me. And something in his eyes was…different. His expression had hardened. Even as he turned back toward the foals and laughed at one trying to chew on his sleeve, there was less feeling behind it. His eyes darted toward me, and the laughter faded away almost entirely.

Something else caught attention of the foals, and they took off trotting. The mare jogged after them, nickering softly as they bucked and played.

Dustin rose, throwing me an odd look. Then he adjusted his hat, and we kept walking between the pastures. “Watch some of the horses when you’re leading them out here.” Like his expression, his tone had changed. Cooled in favor of something I couldn’t quite put my finger on, and it stayed that way as he continued. “Some of them will try to take advantage if you’re not paying attention. Don’t let them walk all over you, and make sure—”

“I’m well aware of how they should behave while they’re being led,” I said with perhaps more irritation than an employee should present to her employer.

Dustin’s lip twisted, and I couldn’t decide if he was amused, annoyed or both. “All right. Well. I guess I don’t have to go over that, then.”

Go ahead. I dare you. And I swear to God, Dustin, if you tell me not to walk them through a field full of prairie dog holes or something, you’re going to be pulling that hat out of your ass.

Fortunately for both of us, he just gestured toward the barn. “Let’s head back down, then, and I’ll show you where all the show gear is. All of that needs to be cleaned before the next competition.” He glanced at me. “You know how to clean tack?”

I didn’t want to dignify that with a response, but to be fair, I’d given him no reason to assume I knew a cinch from a stirrup, so I calmly said, “Yes, I do.”

The more we walked and talked, the more I regretted my decision to come here. He’d been friendly and pleasant at first, and then abruptly shifted to cold and terse for no reason I could discern. Nice one minute, then playful with the babies, and then, out of nowhere, there was an icy wall between us.

I didn’t need that. I’d had my fill and then some of volatile Jekyll-and-Hyde types. There was no way I could work for one.

So as we walked, I put a few extra inches of distance between us. Overreacting, maybe, but it just seemed safer that way. Especially as he showed me through the barn, and I swore to God Dustin got colder every time he introduced me to another horse. Like I needed that on top of reminder after reminder that I had become so disconnected from the animals that had been, as long as I could remember, my passion.

He sharply warned me away from Chip, one of the abuse cases that had apparently lived here awhile. That conversation in itself was weird. Dustin started out with, “You’ll want to be careful around this one” and by the end of the short discussion, he’d switched to, “Stay away from this one.”

Probably just as well. If it was possible for numbness to hurt, and on some level I think it did, it was worse when we stood in front of Chip’s stall. That horse had been through hell. Another mistreated Tennessee Walker from the same farm that had left Blue a terrified mess. And good lord, if there was anything I could relate to anymore, it was the feeling of being scared and powerless and always on edge, waiting for a Sword of Damocles to fall. Just like a skittish horse. Just like Blue, just like Chip.

And yet, looking across the stall door at the bright red chestnut as he pinned his ears and tried to look menacing even as his knees shook, I felt
nothing
. Sympathy, yes, but beyond that, just deep, resonating numbness that made me wonder if I’d ever connect to anything again, human or animal.

It was an unsettling feeling. A feeling of unfeeling, I supposed. So weird and so disturbing because that was not me. Never had been. And I was more than a little glad when Dustin decided it was time to move on to somewhere other than beside Chip’s stall.

We had just stepped out of the barn when a woman who I assumed to be John’s wife stopped us.

“You must be the new hire,” she said, her Texas accent softer than her husband’s.

“Yeah.” I extended my hand. “Amy.”

“Amy, I’m Gretchen.” She shook my hand, and her eyes twinkled as she added, “I’m this difficult one’s mother.”

I glanced at Dustin. He chuckled and rolled his eyes, and that black cowboy hat didn’t hide the color blooming in his cheeks.

“And how are you settling in, Amy?” Gretchen asked.

“So far, so good,” I said.
When your son isn’t going from pleasant to irritable for no apparent reason.

“Good, good.” She gestured at the duplex. “By the way, the doors lock behind you, so make sure you’ve got your key with you whenever you leave. If you forget it”—she pointed at the other house—“I’ve got a spare.”

“Good to know,” I said. “Thanks.”

“Hey, Dustin!” John called from inside the barn. “Need to borrow you for a minute.”

“God, what now?” Dustin grumbled. Then he turned to me. “Would you excuse me? I’ll be right back.”

“Sure.”

As he walked away, I couldn’t help relaxing a bit, like I didn’t have to be on guard anymore.

Gretchen smiled after him. “It’s good you’re here now. He’s been running himself into the ground keeping up after the last hand left.”

“Glad to help,” I said softly. It occurred to me that maybe before I came here, I should have asked why the other farmhand left. Could have been for a million reasons, but at this point, I’d have laid money on a boss that was unpredictable and difficult to work with.

Slow down, Amy. It was just one time, and it could have been because of anything.

Just like it was the first dozen or so times with Sam.

“So where were you before this?” Gretchen asked.

Hell.
I gave a quiet cough. “Western Washington. Just…working some odd jobs.”

“As a farmhand?” She tilted her head a little. “I’ll admit, you’re not the kind of girl who usually responds to an ad like ours.”

I laughed. “Well, this isn’t my usual line of work, but it seemed like a nice change.”

“Is this your first time working with horses?”

“Like this? Yes.” I paused, unsure just how far to tip my hand. “But I’ve been around them.”

“Do you ride?”

“I have, yes.” Lowering my gaze, I added, “Some.”

“Oh, well, good,” Gretchen said. “Dustin sometimes needs help working with the horses.”

I laughed again, but with less humor. “Somehow I doubt he’ll ask me.”

“Well, why not?” she asked. “If you know which end of the horse bites and which end kicks…”

More worried about your son in that respect, quite honestly.

“I guess we’ll see,” I said.

“So what brought you all the way to this side of the mountains?” Something about the way she looked at me, the way her eyes narrowed just slightly, made me wonder how much she really wanted to know. “Seems an awful long way to go to pick out stalls and feed horses.”

“I just…” I swallowed, certain I had suddenly become completely transparent. Heart beating rapidly, I cleared my throat. “Needed a change of pace, I guess. A change of scenery.”

“Well, you found it here.” She made a sweeping gesture out at the rest of the property. “Doesn’t get much more different from the western side of the state than a place like this.”

I managed a soft laugh. “No, it doesn’t.”

She opened her mouth like she was going to say something further but then looked past me. “Oh, here comes Dustin. I’ll leave you to him, but it’s wonderful to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” I said with a hopefully convincing smile. My hackles were back up before he was ten feet away.

“Anyhow, if you need anything,” Gretchen said, “you know where to find me.”

I kept the forced smile on my face. “I will. Thanks.”

She left, and Dustin rejoined me. He ran me through a few more of the basic tasks his dad had already covered, making sure to tell me exactly what differentiated a clean stall from a dirty one—
really, dude? Seriously? Fuck you
—and giving me a few tips for staying out from under the feet of clients when they were around.

“Any questions?” he asked.

“No, it’s pretty straightforward,” I said, cursing my inability to look him in the eye. “I should probably get the stalls picked out before it gets to be feeding time, though.”

Dustin looked at his watch. “Good idea. Usually you’ll want the stalls picked out before noon,” he said. “But it’s your first day, so I won’t worry about it.” He nodded toward the door marked Office. “I’ve got some paperwork and everything to catch up on, so I’ll leave you to the stalls.”

“Great. Thanks for the tour.”

As I went about my work, I couldn’t stop thinking about Dustin. I told myself repeatedly I was overreacting. The man had just come back from an apparently stressful trip, he had two new horses to look after, and that was probably all there was to it. A little moodiness on his part didn’t mean anything. It was just my hypersensitive fight-or-flight instinct spooking at the first sign of unpredictability.

Dustin didn’t come across as even a little bit violent. Then again, neither had Sam. But I was just working with Dustin, anyway. I wasn’t involved with him. And I was just working with him long enough to get my head together, figure out where I went from here, and then I’d go home.

Eventually.

I’d just finished picking out stalls the following morning when I caught a glimpse of myself in the window of one of the horse trailers outside. Even in the semitransparent reflection, it was obvious sweat and dust had done wonders to my makeup. Ten o’clock in the morning and I already looked like hell, so I ducked into the tack room with the bottle of concealer I kept in my pocket, and tried not to meet my own eyes while I touched up my face.

I felt more than a little ridiculous doing this. Under normal circumstances, the only time I wore makeup anywhere near a horse was during a competition. Otherwise it was just a massive waste of time. Really, what was the point when it was going to get smeared and dusty and make me look like I’d rubbed mud all over my cheeks?

Dabbing at the concealer to smooth the edge, I flinched when I hit the tender spot under my cheekbone. At least it wasn’t as sore as it had been. Harder to conceal, though it was fading slowly, but my eyes didn’t water when I touched it now.