Chapter 4
Senior year
It was damn hot. The air was already thick and stale, and lazy as a rented mule. If
a wisp of breeze could have found its way to the far stall, Katie would’ve wept. As
it was she was pretty darn close already. A person couldn’t sink much further than
sitting in the dirt—and Lord knows what else—rolling apples under a gate, trying to
entice a pissed-off horse.
Sweet Thing had feed in front of her at all times. Now, after three months, she actually
looked like the true blood quarter horse Jett had promised, which meant Katie had
been right: Sweet Thing was beautiful. The mare’s coat had turned a deep red sorrel,
and her chest had filled out, showing off wide shoulders.
Though the mare looked better, it didn’t mean she acted better. Katie had come every
day with gifts of food, yet made little headway. No matter who walked up, the horse
reared back and then cowered into the shadows of the stall. At least now, Sweet Thing
would eat what Katie brought, but only if she stayed a safe distance away—thus the
rolling of the apples.
Her last apple gone, Katie stood and brushed off her backside. Taking a deep breath,
she stepped forward and narrowed the distance between her and the mare. Sweet Thing’s
head shot up, and her nose sniffed the air for danger. Katie drew closer and rested
her arms on the wooden gate. She watched the horse stomp her hooves and whip around
her flaxen mane, but this time no teeth were bared. Progress.
Katie wiped her face with the back of one hand, both of which were filthy from mucking
out Star’s stable and giving her a much needed bath. She brushed the stray straw off
her bare legs. Yes, shorts and cowboy boots were not dress code, or even fashionably
acceptable, but Cole wasn’t here. And if truth be told, she was itching for a fight.
Cole barely said boo to her these days.
In retrospect, the whole white shirt incident might’ve been a mistake.
The front door banged against the barn wall. Boots sounded confidently on cinders,
and Katie’s breath hitched in her chest.
“What are you doing here?” Cole snapped.
Katie smiled, couldn’t help it. She loved the gruffness of his voice. “Half-day, teacher
conferences. Thought I’d get a jump on mucking out the stall, but I didn’t count on
it getting so hot.”
“Yeah.” Cole’s voice softened as he lifted his hat and swiped at his dark hair before
resettling it. “Unseasonably warm for May.”
She nodded, suddenly preoccupied with how crazy her hair must’ve gotten in the humidity.
She quickly hoped for semi-tame, and then tucked wayward strands behind her ear.
The corner of Cole’s mouth tilted up, but to Katie that wasn’t the best part of his
smile. No, Cole’s true smile wasn’t just a turn of his lips, but more of a softening
in his eyes, an easing of stress and fatigue. “Hey, I’m heading into town, gotta pick
up some things from the store. Wanna come?”
“Like this?” Katie glanced down and groaned inwardly at the mud caked to one calf.
Then noticed her nails; black rimmed with dirt, jagged and broken.
His eyes twinkled as he leaned against the stall, apparently in no hurry. “You wouldn’t
have gotten so dirty if you wore jeans.”
Katie sighed, all of a sudden not wanting to fight. It had been too long since they
had just talked, just been easy with one another.
Cole must’ve thought so too, since he shook his head and closed his eyes for a brief
moment. “Never mind, I don’t want to hear it. Come on, I need someone to push-start
the truck anyway.”
He seemed so casual, with one boot crossed in front of the other, a slightly damp
T-shirt smoothed across his chest. And this was what she missed. Things between them
had been tense, not quite right. But now, here, as Cole slung one thumb through a
stretched-out belt loop, Katie could almost believe those heartbreaking moments were
all in the past.
“Sure, if I can charge you time and a half for hard labor. Oh, but that’s right, I’m
not even on your payroll,” Katie said, mirroring his stance.
“Ha, you’re hilarious. Fine, you start it and I’ll push, but I’m driving. I’m not
listening to your music all the way into town.”
They had a rule, the driver controlled the radio, and nowadays Katie’s taste leaned
more to the newer rock-infused country, while Cole gravitated toward the older, more
classic country music. Katie rolled her eyes, then, in a bold move, stepped forward
and slipped her hand into his front pocket. Her fingers brushed his bare thigh through
a small hole in the lining, and for a half a second Katie lost her courage . . . and
stilled.
His eyes widened. Her heart jumped. But Katie remembered herself, and played it off
perfectly as she dangled the truck keys in front of his face. “Good, because I wouldn’t
be caught dead driving that POS,” she said with a laugh and made a run for it before
he could grab her in a headlock and give her a “noogie.”
Humid air blew like a furnace through the open windows. The truck was on the brink
of overheating and turning on the AC would’ve pushed it over the edge, but at least
the stereo still worked.
Katie kicked off her muddy boots and rested her bare feet against the dash. She reached
over and turned down the volume.
“Hey, that was a good song,” Cole complained.
“You’ll survive, and no it wasn’t.” One could only take the sorrowful lyrics of sin
and redemption from Johnny Cash for so long.
“What happened to the driver gets to control the radio?”
“I’m a guest, so it’s my call,” she said, with a perfected arch of her brow.
“Uh, interesting rules,” Cole said. “They seem to change depending on whatever seat
your butt is occupying.”
Katie shrugged, effectively ignoring his jab. “Hush, I have a joke.”
As long as Katie remembered, she’d tried to get Cole to laugh. It had become something
of a challenge. Every day or so Katie would tell him a joke. As the years passed,
his humor got more jaded, and Katie spent more time looking up the latest comedians
than studying for her entrance exams for college.
He groaned. “You can’t tell a joke.”
“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence. You’re probably the reason why I suffer
from performance anxiety.”
“Performance anxiety, huh? And here I thought you liked being the center of attention.”
Cole didn’t take his eyes off the road, but she caught the faintest hint of a dimple
that appeared only when he was amused.
“Do you want to hear my joke, or what?”
“Yes, please.” But there was nothing polite about the way Cole said it.
“Okay, so what do men and parking spaces have in common?”
A heavy sigh. “What?”
“The good ones are always taken and the free ones are either very small or handicapped.”
She laughed at her own joke, but then bit her lip and waited.
A chuckle. “That wasn’t funny.”
“Nope, you laughed. That counts.”
“That wasn’t a laugh, more like a cough.” But Cole was smiling as he pulled into an
open parking space and cut the engine.
Katie let it go. As far as she was concerned, it counted. She shoved her feet into
her boots, and hopped out. They walked side by side toward the Sac and Save. Cole
held the door open for her, and the AC hit with a roar of cold air. Sweat tickled
and cooled the back of Katie’s neck. Picking up a small basket, she headed toward
the produce department, but Cole stopped her with a tug on her arm.
“Nope, other way.”
Katie huffed. “You need salad.”
“I need beer and meat, woman,” Cole said in a mock caveman tone, but Katie’s heart
skipped at his title of address.
Maybe. Could it be?
“Cole? Cole, is that you?” A sugary voice cut the bustling noise of the market like
a knife would a warm pecan bun.
Both turned. Katie gawked; Cole smiled.
“Well helllloooo, Sarah.”
At his tone, Katie sliced her gaze to Cole. It was as if his voice had taken a dive
through a vat of honey and come out coated and sweet. His face softened and the fine
lines around his eyes smoothed as if they’d never been.
Katie’s gaze swept to the woman standing in front of her. If those boobs were real,
Katie would eat her boot. And yet, what did it matter? Katie, who’d waited two summers
to fill out her bra, couldn’t compare to a woman who flaunted her melonlike breasts,
among the other fruits and vegetables, in nothing more than a shoestring tank top.
Life sucked.
“Cole, I thought that was you. Where’ve you been?” Sarah said. Her voice was breathy
and soft as if she’d just run the half mile to the store.
“Apparently not at the same places you’ve been.” Cole’s gaze did a thorough sweep
from Sarah’s feet to her chest . . . and then stayed at her chest. “Lookin’ good,
Sarah.”
And Sarah was, if you went for that sort of thing. Her hair fell past her shoulders
in thick blond waves. Her waist looked incredibly tiny below her double D’s. Sarah’s
denim-encased legs started somewhere underneath her armpits, and only finally ended
in a pair of strappy-heeled sandals.
Of all the days to wear shorts and cowboy boots.
“Why thank you, Cole.” Sarah’s pink nails fluttered to the lacy neckline of her shirt,
drawing even more attention to her cleavage, as if that was needed. They all but screamed,
“Ask me who my plastic surgeon is.”
Jealousy took seed in Katie’s heart and bloomed into a thorn bush of rage. But she
couldn’t look away, and a painful glance at Cole showed he felt the same way—his dimple
out and flashing like the damn North Star.
Sarah moved and talked as if each expression was an art form in femininity: a tug
of lip between white teeth, a lowering of mascara-thickened lashes, a flutter of well-placed
sighs and laughs.
Uncomfortable, Katie moved the plastic basket in front of her pale legs. Where had
Sarah learned that? The slight tilt of her hips that drew your attention to the way
her jeans rode low on her waist. Had her mother pulled her aside and showed her the
intricate dance of seduction? Were all motherless girls as awkward as she? Or was
it that girls like Sarah would always outshine girls like Katie?
Katie pushed her hair back behind her ear for the thousandth time, and wished she’d
at least put on lip gloss. She felt in her pocket for her cherry lip balm, and applied
with relish.
Was this the kind of woman Cole wanted?
Katie’s gaze went back and forth between the two as they bantered. Her eyes stung
as she watched Cole throw his smiles away for free when she had to work so hard for
one flash of a dimple. And even worse, he seemed to have all but forgotten that she
was there. They both had.
“Well, call me,” Sarah said, winding up the conversation.
Cole nodded. “I’ve got your number.”
Oh God, I’m gonna throw up.
Sarah turned to leave, the scent of lilacs in her wake, as Katie tried hard to get
the world to stop spinning.
Cole reached over and ruffled her head. “God, your hair’s crazy. Come on, kid, if
we hurry I’ll get you an ice cream on the way home.”
Chapter 5
Desperate times called for desperate measures, and if this situation wasn’t desperate
then Katie didn’t know what was. It was time she stopped taking orders from everyone.
Well, everyone that included Cole and Pa. It was time to prove she was ready to come
into her own. So she’d ditched school today, and had hidden in an empty stall until
Cole left for work. Her heart thudding in her chest the whole time. The wait hadn’t
helped her nerves any. Her legs still trembled, barely able to support her weight,
as she walked toward the tack room. The other ranch hands were around, but no one
would bother her . . . or help her either.
The scent of honeysuckle followed her through the open barn door, sweet amidst the
smells of horse sweat and manure. Horses rustled in their stalls and nuzzled their
gates, eyeing Katie and looking for an easy handout. But there were no treats hidden
in her back pockets. She didn’t want Sweet Thing nipping at her clothes looking for
a carrot or an apple. It was time to work; any treats would be for later.
Katie swallowed hard as she scooped up a lead rope. Sweet Thing was ready. For a little
over a week Katie had been working the mare in the round pen, and as long as Katie
didn’t bring in any tack with her, the horse was alert, but calm. At the sign of a
harness or a lead, Sweet Thing would retreat and stomp her hooves, tossing her head
like a crazed devil.
Katie paused before the stall. Horses sensed fear. Katie looked deep within herself
and found the confidence that was always there when it came to horses. She tucked
the lead rope behind her back and stepped forward.
“Come here, gal,” Katie called in a voice low and smooth.
Sweet Thing walked over, ears peaked forward, and head bobbing with contentment. Her
nostrils twitched in anticipation of her daily treat.
“Hi, baby gal. This is a big day for you,” Katie said. The horse nuzzled her palm,
looking for her daily treat.
Never taking her gaze off Sweet Thing, Katie unlatched the gate and slipped inside,
then quickly closed it behind her. Sweet Thing’s nose flared, and her head snapped
to the side in response to Katie’s invasion.
Alert, but not aggressive. So far, so good.
Katie continued murmuring in a deep, calm voice that she’d learned from years of working
with her father. She went up and patted the mare’s withers, then turned her back,
letting Sweet Thing know she had nothing to fear from her. She carefully let the looped
rope rest at her side. The horse paused. Katie turned back around. With a steady hand,
she put one arm over the mare’s neck and passed the rope under with her other. Sweet
Thing flicked her mane, but otherwise stood still.
There were days before Pa had retired that he would come home from work beat up, bruised,
and a few times bloody. In his line of work he had confronted a lot of angry bulls;
sometimes he lost, most times he won, but always afterward he’d tell her he’d just
danced on the edge of his grave. Today, Katie understood the sentiment.
The rope hung loose and unacknowledged around the mare’s neck, but one false move
and Katie could get a large chunk taken out of her arm. There were stories of cowboys
who’d been caught in a stall with a wild horse and ended up being stomped to death.
It happened, even to people experienced with horses. She stroked Sweet Thing’s white
forelock. Yeah, a bite or a lot worse.
A handler had better control over a horse with a halter, but she’d never get the leather
over Sweet Thing’s mouth and so a lead rope was her best shot at control. Control
or the illusion of it. In a contest between a twelve-hundred-pound horse and a hundred-pound
girl, Katie was just a fart in the wind.
This is crazy.
Logic competed for space inside her head. But there was another voice that was soft,
sure, and always there. Some people described it as a gut reaction, but to her it
wasn’t that simple. At times it hummed in her blood and rushed past her ears in a
wave. At others it was just a whisper of her mother’s voice, a gentle scratch at the
door of her mind.
When Katie listened, she knew things. She knew Sweet Thing was ready, knew Cole loved
her. But there were other noises, other voices that screamed of fear and failure.
There were times when she had backed down and let her insecurities triumph, but not
today. Today she had to win.
Katie pushed the stall door open and started down the aisle, the lead rope firmly
in hand. The horse followed.
“What are you doing, senorita?”
Katie recognized the thick Spanish accent as belonging to Lupe. Even though he spoke
calmly, she startled. Sweet Thing pulled back and neighed aggressively. Quickly, Katie
turned and held firm to the lead rope. Quiet shushing sounds came from her mouth and
she stroked the spot between Sweet Thing’s eyes. Kind words and a gentle touch worked
on horses and men, or so her father had always told her.
Damn, she’d forgotten about Lupe. Out of all the ranch hands, he was the only one
who would stand in her way. Lupe was the first person Cole’s father had hired when
he’d opened Logans’ Horse Ranch. Lupe had been old, even back then, but Cole’s father
had taken a chance on him and Lupe had never forgotten it.
“I’m taking her to the round pen. She’s ready to ride.”
But am I?
Katie closed her eyes to silence her doubts, focused inside, and kept walking.
But Lupe wasn’t easily put off, and quickened his shuffling gait alongside her. “That
horse is loco, and you’re gonna get yourself killed.”
Katie didn’t reply, part of her thinking he had a point.
With a quickness she wouldn’t have believed, Lupe used his hunched frame to block
her way to the round pen.
“Get out of the way, Lupe.” Panic laced her words. To a horse, survival and moving
forward were one and the same. If she forced Sweet Thing to stop, the mare would see
it as a form of control, and Katie wasn’t in position to control anything.
“Boss man’s not going to like this,” he said.
“Cole’s not here,” Katie countered.
Lupe wasn’t a stupid man, though some would argue the fact. As a retired farrier,
he’d never learned to read or write. He would carve a notch into a stick to keep track
of how many hooves he shod at the end of the day. But Lupe knew horses. So now, even
though his vision was too poor to hit a nail straight, he always had a place with
Cole as a man who could read a horse better than anyone alive.
Responding to the tension in Katie’s voice, or more than likely the look in Sweet
Thing’s eyes, Lupe unlatched the gate and moved out of the way.
With quick movements, Katie slipped the slack rope off Sweet Thing’s neck, and just
in time. The mare bolted to the far end of the round pen.
Katie stepped out and slammed the gate. Her legs shook a bit at the thought of calming
a horse who wouldn’t think twice about killing a man. But would Sweet Thing act like
that with her? Katie was counting on their connection to keep the horse calm.
“You think you’re going into that pen?”
Katie sliced her gaze to Lupe. She couldn’t read the older man. His face was partly
hidden by the brim of his sagging hat. He’d come from a different generation, one
in which you didn’t buy new clothes until the ones you wore fell off.
“You’re not going to stop me,” Katie said with more bravado than she felt.
“Don’t have to,” Lupe said. “Boss man will.”
And they both knew it was true. Lupe’s loyalty to the Logans ran deep; sometimes he
would even forgo his paycheck for a six-pack to help Cole out. In turn, one call from
Lupe and Cole would come running.
“Wait.” Katie stepped in front of the old man to prevent him from walking toward the
house and calling Cole. “I can do this.”
Lupe spit out a stream of tobacco and adjusted the wad in his lower lip. “You’re not
ready.”
Anger flashed at the man who all but acted like he owned the ranch. Lupe had never
been a tall man, but now his shrunken form barely reached Katie’s shoulder. Needing
every advantage, she straightened to her full height. “How do you know? You don’t
know me.”
Lupe pushed up the brim of his hat so she could see his face. “I’ve seen you. I’ve
seen the way you act with Boss man. I’ve seen the way you are with your pa. Both of
them are strong men, and when they push, you run.”
Katie felt the words rather than heard them. She wished she could deny Lupe’s claim,
but the truth was harder to dismiss, especially when it was thrown at you by a crotchety
old man. Pa always pushed, with college, with how he wanted her to live her life,
never taking her opinion into consideration. And Cole . . . Cole simply pushed her
away, not wanting to acknowledge what could be between them. Well, Katie was ready
to push back. “I’m not going to run, Lupe. I want—need to do this. Help me.”
Lupe tilted his head so Katie could catch a glimpse of upturned lips. Relief eased
her chest and her eyes stung with moisture, but not wanting to show weakness, she
bit her lip instead. She might have won the first round, but Sweet Thing made Lupe
look like a doting grandfather.
“This is no game, girl,” Lupe said.
“Just tell me, what do I need to do?” She was breathless as rabid butterflies pounded
their wings against her stomach.
Lupe folded his sun-baked arms and rested his elbows on the fence. He shook his head
as he watched the horse quiver with the power of its gallop. “You’re thinking, right
here and now, that this is about the horse. That it’s about getting this horse under
control. But you’ve got it backwards. This horse is watching you. Every move you make,
every breath you take is the way you’re speaking to her. This is her language. She
sees you as a predator and herself as the prey. To that horse, what goes on in the
round pen is real, there’s no practice run. She’s fighting you for her life. So my
question is . . . are you doing the same?”
Katie faced the arena and watched as a thousand pounds of horse whipped and kicked
around the pen. Sweet Thing kept her distance, her gaze pinned on Katie. Her ears
were laid back and her long teeth showed behind curled lips.
Katie’s palms dampened at the thought of walking straight toward a spirited horse
in the middle of a swirling cloud of dust. She reached for her lip balm, and smeared
it on like liquid armor. “Yes.”
“No!” Lupe said, and slapped his crumpled hat against the fence. A puff of dust floated
into the air. “The answer is no. You need to prove you are the better horse. Let her
know she can trust you, that you’re strong enough to lead her. When you walk into
that pen, you’d better have the confidence you need. You’ve gotta tell her what you
want and what you don’t want. There’s no in-between with horses. You’re either gonna
win or you’re not. So, whatcha gonna do?”
Heated blood flowed through Katie’s veins, more potent than a sip of red wine, more
of a rush than her first kiss.
She studied Sweet Thing, each toss of her head, each high-pitched neigh, and she knew
what she was up against. A few of the ranch hands had taken their share of kicks.
They’d gotten to where they didn’t walk other horses past Sweet Thing’s stall.
“I’m gonna win.” Katie placed her hand on the gate and drew a breath.
Lupe nodded. “I wouldn’t let you do this if I didn’t think so. But remember, whatever
you do, don’t let this horse run you out of the pen. Like in love, once you commit,
you don’t walk away ’til it’s over.”
Katie slowed her breath, hoping to influence the beating of her heart.
Lupe slid over and squeezed her arm. “Every relationship you have is mirrored, right
here, right now, with this horse. So you gotta ask yourself, what do you want most?
What do you long for, Katie?”
Katie couldn’t take her gaze off of Sweet Thing. In her mind’s eye she saw herself
with Pa . . . with Cole. And in a moment of clarity she saw herself in Sweet Thing.
She saw the mare fighting for something primal, for some need essential to her survival.
Sweet Thing had been telling Katie what she wanted all along.
The world quieted into a lullaby only Sweet Thing and Katie could hear—the blow of
air through nostrils, the rhythmic pounding of hooves on dirt. Katie lifted the latch
and left the world and everything outside the white-slatted fence behind. “She wants
to be a contender.”
With skilled hands she looped the rope and made herself bigger . . . arms stretched
out wider.
“Good,” Lupe said. “But deeper. What’s underneath it?”
Sweet Thing’s eyes rolled, the whites showing huge against the red of her coat.
“Respect,” Katie whispered, then louder. “Well, you want respect, gal, then you gotta
work for it. Show me what you’ve got, pretty lady.” She cracked the rope hard on the
ground.
Sweet Thing reared, neighing her displeasure.
“Let’s play.”
With a loud “Ha!” Katie pushed the mare forward by closing in on the horse’s rear
flanks. In the wild, the dominant horse would trigger another horse’s natural herd
reflexes by crowding in on its space. By forcing the other horse to move, the dominant
animal would prove he was strong enough to be the leader. Katie just had to demonstrate
to Sweet Thing that she was the leader, that she deserved respect.