All the King's Horses (9 page)

Before I could talk myself out of it, I unlatched Chip’s door and slid it open. His ears immediately flattened, and his eyes narrowed as I stepped into his stall.

“Easy, Chip,” I said softly.

His ears stayed down and his nostrils flared. I was on his turf now, and I knew damn well how dangerous a volatile, territorial horse could be.

Without taking my eyes off him, I lowered myself until I could reach the small pile of hay inside his manger. I closed my fingers around a small handful and slowly rose.

I held out my hand, offering the hay. Chip kept his ears laid back, but he sniffed. Again, this time leaning a little closer, and his ears started to come up.

Then he looked at me again and drew back, flattening his ears once more.

“It’s okay.” I kept my hand out. Moving as slowly as I possibly could, I leaned toward him until my center of gravity had shifted too much to go any farther without moving my feet. Then I took a half step, and Chip drew back.

There, I stopped. I didn’t move, didn’t pull back or go any closer, just stood with the handful of hay close enough to him he could reach it if he wanted to.

“It’s okay,” I said again. “I’m not going to hurt you, sweetie.”

A full minute passed with Chip watching me through narrow eyes. Finally, he sniffed the air. His ears came up a little. Another sniff. His ears rose a tiny bit more, just enough that they started to turn toward me. His nose inched toward my hand, and his ears alternated between
almost
lying down again and
almost
coming up all the way.

One piece of hay stuck out farther than the rest, and Chip stretched his neck and used his upper lip to reach for the end of that piece. Then, without coming any closer to me than he absolutely had to, he grabbed the end with his lips and pulled it until he could get it between his teeth. He snatched it away and drew back, quickly gathering that precious morsel of hay into his mouth.

My arm ached, especially since it was the same one he’d bitten—that would be a lovely bruise—but I kept my hand outstretched while he chewed that single piece. After a moment of hesitation, he came back for more, and of course, he had to come closer this time. He managed to grab a few more pieces and decided he was brave enough to come in for a third bite.

And all the while, my stomach sank a little deeper. Moments like this with horses like Chip were supposed to be exhilarating, even when it was something as small as convincing him to eat out of my hand. Earning even the tiniest scrap of trust was a milestone with a horse like him.

Big surprise: I was still emotionally flat-lining.

Relieved he was over his panic? Of course. But that grin-inducing thrill, the kind my sister had once compared to watching her daughter take her first steps, was completely MIA.

“Well,” I said quietly as Chip took some more hay from my hand, “at least there’s hope for one of us.”

Chip stopped chewing. His ears went up, and when he looked past me, I realized there were footsteps approaching, and I cringed as much as I could without startling the horse. There was no getting out of this one. Whoever it was, they were already too close for me to make an undetected exit, especially since any kind of speed would scare Chip all over again, which also meant I couldn’t jerk back the hay I offered without startling him.

Right outside the door, the footsteps stopped.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Dustin’s tone was soft and gentle, but I had no illusion that was for my benefit and not Chip’s. The voice was meant for the horse, the words for me.

With my heart in my throat, I knelt and set the remaining hay on the floor between Chip and me. Then I rose, backed away and stepped through the doorway’s narrow opening.

Once I was outside, I closed the stall door, and Dustin and I moved away so we were out of Chip’s range if he decided to get territorial again. From the rustling and chomping on the other side of the door, I was pretty sure he was otherwise occupied, but no point in tempting fate.

“I know I made myself clear,” Dustin said through his teeth.

“You did.” I put up my hands. “Look, I scared him.”

Dustin stiffened. “Scared him? How so?”

“I got too close to his stall while he was eating,” I said. “What you saw, I was just trying to calm him down.”

“And he could have bitten or—”

“He
did
bite me.” I gestured sharply at my arm. “It’s not serious, but he freaked out. I mean, was I just supposed to leave him like that?”

“As opposed to putting yourself at risk of—”

“Do I look stupid to you?” I snapped.

His eyebrow rose. “Less so now that you’re out of his stall, but—”

“Jesus Christ,” I threw back. “I have worked around horses before, Dustin. Believe it or not, I do know how to keep myself from getting killed.”

Dustin stepped closer. “I don’t give a shit how much experience you think you have.
This
horse”—he pointed at Chip’s stall—“has survived abuse you probably can’t even begin to imagine. He’s not just some backyard pony with an attitude problem.”

“A backyard pony?” I scoffed. “You think I can only be trusted with a backyard pony?”

“I think you can be trusted with fences and pitchforks,” he growled. “I’m not paying you to do anything with the horses besides turn them out”—he pointed out at the pastures—“and bring them in.” Another gesture, this time at the packed-dirt floor at our feet.

“And so if I inadvertently scare one of them,” I said, folding my arms across my chest, “I’m just supposed to—”

“You try your damnedest not to,” he said. “I told you from day one to stay away from this horse. I wasn’t kidding.” He stabbed a finger in my direction. “I hired you to throw hay, fix fences and pick up shit. I’m not going to be liable if you do something outside your experience level and—”

“Outside my experience level?” I narrowed my eyes. “I
beg
your pardon? I do know how to handle a horse.” I nodded toward Chip but kept my eyes on Dustin. “Even the ones who’ve been abused, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Do you now?” He eyed me, clearly unimpressed. “Because since the day I met you, you’ve been like a robot around them. A cold, apathetic robot. The last thing they need, especially the ones who’ve been as mistreated as Chip, is someone who’s completely indifferent toward them.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but the air stopped in my throat.

Cold. Indifferent. Apathetic.

A robot.

The last thing they needed.

He was right, wasn’t he? That was exactly how I felt, and the fact that it showed, that he’d noticed, mortified me beyond words.

“I’m sorry.” I turned to walk out of the barn and, as I left, muttered over my shoulder, “It won’t happen again.”

And I got out of there before he could stop me.

Chapter Six

Dustin

Any other day, I’d have flipped my lid if a barn hand—or anyone, really—just turned around and walked off in the middle of a conversation, especially when I was already livid she’d been in the stall with a horse even I had to keep an eye on, but not this time. For a good thirty seconds, I stared at the empty doorway, wondering what had just happened.

Something about the conversation rattled her, and it wasn’t the fact that I’d told her to back off from Chip. One minute she was the same blank-eyed woman who’d been here when I came back from McBride’s place. The next, I couldn’t decide if I’d hurt her, struck a nerve, startled her. Though I wasn’t sure how or why, some of the ice around her had cracked, if only for a moment.

That didn’t negate the fact that she’d gone against my very clear instructions to stay away from Chip. Farmhands who didn’t do as they were told pissed me off anyway, but something like that made her a liability. A nasty bite or a busted rib waiting to happen, if I knew Chip.

I tapped my fingers on top of Chip’s door and chewed the inside of my cheek. I could let her go. Give her the few days’ pay she’d already earned, maybe a week on top of that to soften the blow, and find another farmhand.

She intrigued me, though. She roused some curiosity I couldn’t quite define. From the day she’d set foot on the ranch, she’d been so indifferent about the horses, I’d wondered if she was a damned sociopath. Or one of those people who just didn’t connect with animals, which wasn’t far from a sociopath, as far as I was concerned.

But right now, with our conversation still echoing in my ears, I wasn’t sure just what to make of her.

And I had no clue what to make of the fact that Chip
was
calmer now. Not because she was gone, either. I may have been angry the moment I saw her in the stall with him, but I couldn’t deny he’d been uncharacteristically quiet and calm while he’d eaten out of her hand. He shouldn’t have been that relaxed around her, and wouldn’t have been if she’d made him as nervous as every other person in the world did.

For that matter, if she was as indifferent about horses as I’d initially thought, would she have even bothered trying to calm him down? The Amy I thought I’d met the other day didn’t seem to care one way or the other. This one was in the stall with a horse who’d tried to take her arm off, gambling with her own neck that she could ease his fears.

I officially had no idea what to make of this woman.

Had I jumped the gun? Maybe she was just adjusting to being here when I’d given her the tour. New home, new job; maybe I was an asshole for taking her indifference toward the foals and other horses as a definitive sign of something beyond simply being overwhelmed by new surroundings.

Whatever I’d thought or whatever signs she’d given off, the fact was, Chip had felt threatened enough to bite her, but then she got him to eat out of her hand. Replaying that entire scenario in my head, I couldn’t make sense of it. Any of it. Especially now, with my obviously false assumption that she didn’t care about the horses.

Maybe Mom was right. Maybe there was more to Amy’s story.

And I was lying if I said I wasn’t insanely curious.

The next day was, as they often were, busy as hell, and I couldn’t even get near my rescue horses until late. Around seven thirty, after the horses and I had eaten, I returned to the barn to work the two of them before calling it a night. Blue was well-behaved, Chip was as cantankerous as ever, and it was nearly nine thirty before I got to Star.

I was just putting the filly away when Amy came into the barn, probably for the late-night feeding. We’d both been so busy today, we hadn’t crossed paths at all the entire day, and as soon as she saw me now, Amy spun on her heel. Back to me, she unlatched the feed-room door, and I couldn’t be sure, but I thought her hands were unsteady.

Guilt tugged at my chest. We hadn’t spoken since yesterday’s argument.

“Amy,” I said.

Her hands stopped, and she turned her head slightly, but she didn’t face me.

I swallowed. “Listen, I wanted to…” I paused. “Could you please turn around?”

Her posture stiffened. For a moment, I thought she might insist on making me speak to her back instead of her face, but then she set her shoulders back and slowly turned toward me. As the shadows left her face, I realized she wasn’t wearing her ever-present makeup this time, and one shadow didn’t slide off her cheekbone. With a sick feeling in my gut, I realized it wasn’t a shadow after all. And it wasn’t dust, either.

I damn near forgot how to breathe. “Amy…”

Her dark eyes held a mixture of contempt and what I could only imagine was…fear? Like she refused to break eye contact but wanted nothing more than to look anywhere that wasn’t right at me.

She set her jaw and pushed her shoulders back. “Was there something you needed?”

“I…” What was it? Christ, had Chip left that bruise? Or had she had it all along, or—

“Dustin?”

I quickly cleared my throat. “I, um, wanted to apologize for yesterday. For the way I talked to you.”

Her eyes darted toward the ground between us. “Oh. Um…” She looked at me through her lashes. “I’m sorry. I should have listened to you and stayed out of his stall.” She folded her arms across her chest and shifted like it was a nervous move and not a defensive one. “It won’t happen again.” Then she turned toward the feed room, shielding the bruise on her face out of my sight. “I need to feed.” She disappeared into the feed room, leaving me in the aisle to wonder once again what the hell to make of everything.

As hay rustled and grain clattered into coffee cans, I stood there slack-jawed and watched Amy’s shadow moving on the open feed room door.

What happened to you, Amy?

The conversation bugged me. Long after I’d gone back to the duplex, showered and slipped into bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about Amy. The way she’d spoken. The way she’d walked out when we’d argued outside Chip’s stall yesterday and when I apologized beside the feed room. The bruise on her face.

So she had more experience than met the eye. So she had a mark she obviously didn’t want anyone to see. So my mom was sure Amy had a story she wasn’t telling.

I didn’t know much about her to begin with, but it seemed the more I was around her, the less I knew, and I was beyond curious now. Where did she come from? Who was she in that world? And why, why, why was she here of all places? Sometimes I wasn’t even sure why
I
was still here.