It had all clicked on her second visit. Something about the pain in those blue eyes had triggered a memory of the countless articles I’d seen in the local paper—ones that revealed far more details than I was sure Shiloh wanted out in the world.
The horse pushed against my hand, and I turned my focus back to him. “Already getting demanding, huh?”
He let out a huff of air.
I moved my scratching to behind his ears. His lips wiggled in a dance of their own.
“I guess that’s your spot.”
Slowly, without stopping my scratching, I lifted the flag. The gelding shied away three feet. He was there one second and gone the next.
I stilled as he pawed at the ground.
“Not gonna hurt you.” I gave him a few minutes to let the panic ease and then closed the distance between us again. I raised a hand to pet his neck. After a few more minutes of that, I lifted the flag again. He didn’t shy away this time, but his muscles tensed beneath my hands.
I palmed the flag and rubbed his neck with it. His muscles were still tensed, hard as stone, but he didn’t move. I used my hand and the flag to scratch and stroke, showing him that nothing about the item would cause him pain.
It didn’t happen quickly, but over time, his tension eased. Each slight give was a gift. A grain of trust. It would take hundreds of moments like these to set a solid foundation, but we were on our way.
When I eased back, I ducked between the rails on the pen and slid a bucket of feed inside. The gelding let out a whinny as he slowly started towards it. After a couple of sniffs, he began to eat.
I lifted my gaze to the field. Those blue eyes locked with mine, searing me to the spot. The tightening of my rib cage had me fighting more of that damned annoyance, but I refused to look away.
Shiloh’s hand sifted through Kai’s fur, but she didn’t look away either. Something passed between us. It was the same phantom ghost of emotion that was always there. The thing that said we understood pain. That we’d seen things no one should have to face, and we’d never be the same because of it.
My boots echoedagainst the porch steps as I climbed them. Lor looked up from her rocker and inclined her head towards the railing. “Brought you a beer.”
She was the only person welcome on this porch. The only one who dared to make herself at home there. But even she, my friend of twenty years, wouldn’t venture inside without explicit invitation.
I swiped the bottle and brought the cap down on the edge of the railing with one swift move, popping it off.
Lor frowned at me, the lines of age in her tanned face deepening. “You’re messing up your perfectly good porch rail.”
I raised a brow in her direction. “Am I planning on havingArchitectural Digestout here sometime in the near future?”
She snorted. “They’d take one look at your terrifying scowl and run for the hills.”
I grinned at her, but it was all teeth.
Lor gave an exaggerated shiver. “How’s the chestnut settling in?”
I lowered myself into the rocker and began tipping it back and forth. Something about the motion eased me—the rhythmic feel of the blades against the planks of wood below. “It’s a good start. He’s got spirit.”
“That’ll make it interesting.”
“It means they didn’t break him.” And I respected the hell out of him for that.
Lor stared out at the small pasture that I’d let the gelding into. “Any sense of what he’ll be good for?”
“Too early to tell for sure, but I have a feeling he’ll enjoy chasing down cattle.” That was much of the process: figuring out where the horses should go next. What they’d be well-suited for, and what would make them happy. Some would be perfect trail horses. Others were meant to be loved by kids and families. Some were made for ranch work and a daily purpose. And then there were those that cracked my damn heart because they couldn’t come back completely from what they’d gone through. Those made their homes here for the rest of their days. Safe and cared for, with no one to hurt them ever again.
“Spirit usually does like a task.”
“True.” I took a pull from my beer. “I’m going out to Kenny Chambers’ place tomorrow.”
Lor’s rocking halted. “You sure that’s a good idea?”
“No harm in offering to buy a man’s horses when he’s struggling.”