Katie closed in on the mare’s rear flanks, keeping a safe distance, but letting Sweet
Thing know she was there. Katie put her arms out wide, looped rope in hand. Sweet
Thing took off in a burst of speed, and Katie was lost in a cloud of brown. She rolled
the grit across the roof of her mouth and swallowed.
Come on, get in there.
Katie advanced.
Stay with her. Be the better horse.
Katie walked closer, pressing the mare to the back fence. Sweet Thing ran. Katie pressed
again and watched as Sweet Thing galloped away. Over and over they did their dance.
Katie wore the mare down, showing her she had nothing to fear. And as Sweet Thing’s
fear lessened, the mare’s confidence grew and she paid less and less attention to
Katie.
“She’s winning. You’re not earning a damn thing out there,” Lupe said. “See how she
turns her butt toward you. If a horse respects you, she won’t take her eyes off you.
Now what are you afraid of? Get in there and push!”
Afraid? Katie wasn’t afraid. Didn’t she prove it by being in here? By taking on a
horse no one would touch? And yet, when Katie could’ve stepped closer, really showed
she was the leader, she hesitated. She couldn’t ignore the way Sweet Thing’s back
legs quivered with power. Katie knew the horse’s aim was damn accurate.
Again she ran toward Sweet Thing’s flanks with her rope coiled, making her seem larger
and hopefully in charge. “Ha!”
Sweet Thing trotted forward, disdain in every muscle as she turned her hindquarters
straight toward Katie’s face.
“That horse just gave you the finger, right here in front of God and the world.” Lupe’s
laugh was like the crackle of old newspapers.
Katie slowed to catch her breath. She put her hands on her hips and sliced her gaze
to Lupe.
“Don’t put those eyes on me, missy. It’s her you need to be watching. She’s telling
you that you’re not worth it. Are you gonna let a horse talk to you like that?”
Shut up, old man.
Katie ran her hands through her dampened hair. Did she have to pick the hottest part
of the day to match wits with a horse?
Sweet Thing tossed her head and looked out through the fence.
I’m not even a threat. Not even a concern in this mare’s brain.
She was assailed by memories of how Cole had dismissed her with a hair rumple and
a “if you hurry, kid, I’ll get you an ice cream.” Or how Pa wouldn’t even hear of
her reasons why she wanted to stay and go to college close to home. No, he simply
put the college applications in front of her and walked away. Katie was tired of Pa
ignoring her wants and of Cole’s dismissive attitude. Katie needed this win. It all
came down to whose will was stronger.
A hard kernel in the pit of her belly heated and spread. Anger slicked its fingers
up her throat.
Don’t discount me.
Katie snapped the rope and it cracked on the dusty ground. Sweet Thing’s head popped
up. Ears swiveled like satellites. Katie stepped forward, slowly this time, crowding
Sweet Thing in her space. The mare shifted forward, unsure. Her tail was rigid, eyes
widened. Katie put the pressure on. Forward. Closer. Aggressive.
They had done this every day for the last week. Sweet Thing would turn and run toward
Katie, chasing. Katie would ease back, giving her room, and let her go, and then they
did the series of steps all over again. Forward. Back. Push. Pull.
The sun burned hot. Sweat stung Katie’s eyes. Wiping her forehead, she kept her gaze
on the roan mare. She watched every muscle, every ear twitch, every flick of mane.
Katie’s arms ached, and the muscles in her shoulders bunched into hardened knots under
the strain. Every cell was focused on one thing . . . Sweet Thing.
Time unraveled in the swirling dust and the pounding play for supremacy. Katie sensed
rather than saw the ranch hands line up along the fence, and resigned herself to wrestling
control from the horse before all and sundry.
As God is my witness ...
Hours, days . . . minutes.
Then the dance changed. It was small. If Katie’s whole body hadn’t been focused on
Sweet Thing, Katie would’ve missed it. The tiny rotation of an ear, the loosing of
bunched muscles, a slight easing into her place. Sweet Thing’s silent acquiescence.
Katie turned off her mind, and instead allowed her body to mirror what the horse told
her. Katie stepped back and allowed Sweet Thing space. Allowed her freedom to choose.
Come to me. Trust me.
With a grace only the powerful possessed, Sweet Thing turned and faced Katie. Large
dark eyes reflected Katie’s image, an acknowledgment of the better horse. Sweet Thing
trotted up beside her, lowered her head, then came up, completing a bow.
Katie forgot to breathe, forgot to think. And with no guidance but what felt natural,
she grabbed the mare’s mane and swung herself up. She twisted her hands in the flaxen
hair and squeezed the horse’s muscled body with her legs. She felt the power in Sweet
Thing as the horse quivered beneath her. Felt the mare’s back legs push, front legs
reach, and her head lower with the urge to run. Katie had ridden her first horse at
five, and barely a day had gone by without horseflesh beneath her. With other horses
there was a sense of control, a sense of forcing your will upon another creature.
But this time was different. Katie didn’t merely sit on top of Sweet Thing as a separate
being; rider and horse fused and became one like some mythical Greek character.
And they flew. Wind in her hair, dust stinging her eyes. Katie knew she could ride
Sweet Thing forever.
But forever was short-lived. A sound of hinges creaking as a gate opened. A blur of
blue plaid in a cloud of dust, then a man’s low yell. “What the hell are you doing?”
Katie’s head jerked up. She might be one with the horse, but her body had long ago
been claimed by Cole. She felt him. His anger. Her insecurities. And Sweet Thing,
demanding the exclusive devotion of the better horse, wouldn’t allow it.
Sweet Thing bucked. Katie flew. And in space there was nothing but the whistling of
air and the undeniable law of Newton. And then, of course, the
umph
of the inevitable landing. Katie caught a glimpse of the fence line, and not knowing
where Sweet Thing was, rolled out of the way. A fence post to the middle of her back
stopped her momentum. Katie opened her eyes, and watched as Sweet Thing reared with
teeth exposed, in response to Cole’s presence in the pen.
Cole stood with his body between her and the horse, arms flung wide as he chased Sweet
Thing away. He glanced over his shoulder at Katie, but she barely noticed. Her whole
focus was on Sweet Thing as the mare screamed in anger and fear.
“Get in here. Somebody help me tie her up,” Cole yelled.
And for a second Katie didn’t know which
her
he was talking about.
Soon ranch hands in dusty jeans and even dustier hats came running in with ropes.
Then Cole was bent low over her, his face blocking the sun. “Honey, are you hurt?”
She moved her head. He stood between her and Sweet Thing. Katie scooted forward and
watched two ropes swing high and settle low around the mare’s neck.
“No, stop! You’re hurting her.” But Katie’s voice was lost in the cursing and grunts
of grown men as they fought to stay out of range of Sweet Thing’s hooves.
The ropes snapped tight; Sweet Thing screamed. Katie looked away.
Cole’s eclipsing body was back demanding an answer. “Are you hurt?” Then he yelled
to someone behind her. “Call nine-one-one.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m fine.” She made to get up.
“Don’t move. Something could be broken.” His hand pressed to her shoulder ensured
her compliance.
Katie shoved him away. She was angry—angry at him, angry at the men holding her horse.
She grabbed hold of the post and pulled herself up. Seeing a swirl of colors and three
of Cole, she stumbled back. Strong hands steadied her, then with a rough curse, his
arms swooped and lifted her off her feet. Her body warred with her mind, and before
she could decide whether she should snuggle in or throw an elbow, her butt smacked
hard on the tailgate of his truck.
His hands roved over her face, patted her arms, then checked each ankle. Satisfied
she’d live, he let her have it.
“Just what do you think you were doing?” Cole growled.
Once when she was five she saw a tornado. She’d never forgotten how midday turned
to night, and how the clouds gathered like the rolling mist of a witches’ brew. Nothing
good could come from a sky like that. The same could be said of the darkening in Cole’s
gaze.
She should’ve thrown the elbow.
“I’ll ask you the same thing,” she snapped back. “What possessed you to run in there
and scare the crap out of my horse?”
“Your horse?” Cole ground out. “Sorry, but if I’m not mistaken, I was the one who
took on that she-devil. I’ve been feeding her two times a day, shoeing the beast,
and in general throwing my hard-earned money into a pit of no return. And this is
your horse? Don’t think so. She’s mine, and no one rides her.”
She’d argued with Cole before. Usually she won. Out of the two men in her life, it
was Cole who never liked to disappoint her. This time though, fear swirled around
her heart. Cole wasn’t just upset or worried that she’d ridden the horse. No, there
was more to it than that. Rage had its grip on him. She could see it by the pulsing
vein in his throat.
Katie bit the inside of her lip as she tried to hold her ground. “I know how to fall
off a horse. You taught me.”
“Never ride her again.” He didn’t yell, but the quiet was heard just as clear.
She couldn’t agree, so instead looked away.
He clapped his hand around her arm and shook to get her attention—her head snapped
up—he got it.
“Uh-uh, I know that look, but I won’t have it, Katie. You might be spoiled around
here, daddy’s little princess, but this is still my ranch, and my word stands. No
one rides Sweet Thing.”
He released her, turned, and began to walk away. He was done, his point made.
Tears blurred her vision, and she swiped at her eyes. What she had done today was
wonderful. What Sweet Thing and she had was beautiful. He couldn’t take that away
from her. “I’m not like your father,” she said.
Cole stopped walking. “What did you say?”
She was glad he hadn’t turned around. It was easier to show courage to his back. She
gripped her fingers around the sun-heated metal of the tailgate. “I’m not him. I’ll
be careful. You don’t have to worry. I won’t die.”
There was no time to brace for impact. He was there, in her face. “You don’t have
any idea what you’re talking about.”
His lips hadn’t moved when he spoke. Nope, perfectly still, and she knew because he
was close. Closer than he’d ever been.
But her experience with Sweet Thing had empowered her. And she’d won—if only for a
minute. She dead-eyed Cole and stared down the tempest. “I know the guilt eats you
alive. I know you blame yourself.”
They say after the storm there is calm, and she believed it as she watched the ice
in his eyes ease. His lips parted, and she felt his hitched breath against her mouth.
Her heart broke. Here was pain so loud it called a rising in her blood.
“Oh God, Cole.” Her palms cradled his face. “What happened?”
“I . . .” He blinked, his eyes searching hers. “I killed him.” Katie shook her head
vehemently. “It’s not true. It’s not true, Cole.”
He closed his eyes as if trying to shut himself away. “And when I saw you there on
that horse, I died all over again. But this time it was a hundred times worse.”
She stroked his cheek, silently sighing at the way his whiskers bristled against her
thumb. He sought comfort, and she wanted to give it. She widened her knees; his hips
slipped between.
His eyes opened—wide, ready. His gaze fixed on her mouth. And then she could only
manage small sips of air.
Panting, she parted her lips. A need, so strong, rose within her. Tears blurred her
vision. “I lo—”
The space between them narrowed. Cole’s head tilted.
“Cole,” someone shouted in a thick accent.
He jerked away, startled by the sound of his name. A quick hand over his face, and
he recovered enough to address Lupe. “Yeah, what’s up?”
Her blood had sung with the choir of angels at his nearness, then plummeted to wails
at his departure. And she shook, trying to remember how she got caught somewhere between
heaven and hell.
Katie couldn’t make out what Cole said to Lupe. She didn’t care. And then they were
alone, and her heart raced again. But Cole’s eyes had lost their soft depths, and
a distance the size of Texas opened between them.
“If I catch you riding Sweet Thing again,” he said. “I’ll put her down myself.”