Page 28 of Stormy Knight

The pull on the rope was relentless, and the stallion’s raw power was a constant reminder that this was a battle for dominance. Reeves scrambled to his knees, his hands stillgripping the rope, blood pounding in his ears. If he were going to keep control, he needed to get back on his feet.

The stallion lunged again, its body a blur of muscle and raw fury. The rope burned his hands, the burn sharp and sudden, but he refused to let go.Not yet.

Digging his boots into the earth he gritted his teeth, pulling himself upright. His legs felt like they were made of lead. The horse was still thrashing, every movement an attempt to break free from his hold. Reeves leaned back, planting his feet more firmly as he tried to use his body weight to counter the stallion’s strength.

The rope was taut, the stallion’s neck stretched out, its body trembling from the effort. The tension between them crackled in the air, thick with the promise of something about to break. Reeves fought to stay anchored, his body a line between the horse and its freedom.

And then, with a last-ditch effort, the stallion reared up again, its powerful hindquarters bucking as it twisted sideways.

This time, the pull was too much. The force of the lunge tore Reeves off his feet again, his body crashing to the ground.

The stallion stood over him for a moment, its breath coming fast and hot. It wasn’t just a fight for control anymore, it was survival. Reeves felt the weight of the truth press down on him. He wasn’t fighting against a horse. He was fighting against its nature, against its spirit.

The stallion took a step back, nostrils flaring, its hooves scraping the dirt as it shifted, weighing its next move. Reeves lay on the ground for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest. He could feel every muscle screaming, his body protesting. But he wasn’t done yet.

With a groan, he rolled to his knees and pushed himself upright again, his fingers aching from the strain but refusing torelease the lead. The stallion, sensing his resolve, tossed its head back, and for a split second, it almost seemed to pause.

Reeves stood tall, his grip steady on the rope, his breathing harsh but controlled. The stallion’s eyes flicked to him, calculating, assessing. There was no longer the same frantic defiance. Something had shifted.

And that shift—however small—was the crack in the dam.

“You’re not the only one who’s stubborn,” Reeves said, his voice rough, but with a new edge to it. “And I’m not giving up,” he ground out, his voice full of grit and determination.

The stallion snorted, tossing its head once more, but it didn’t break free. It was still full of fight.

Reeves took a slow, deliberate step forward, eyes locked on the stallion’s. His chest ached, his body felt like it might fall apart, but he wasn’t going anywhere. Not yet.

He gave the rope a gentle tug, not forceful, not demanding, but a quiet request. In a blink the horse lunged to the side, turned, and took off across the coral dragging Reeves behind him.

But this time, there was a flicker of something more. Something like trust. Or maybe just the understanding that neither of them could walk away from this fight without something changing.

And Reeves wasn’t about to let that change slip away.

Refusing to let the horse win, Reeves hung on to the rope as the horse dragged him through the dirt. Somehow, he managed to get his feet back under him and yanked down on the rope, forcing the horse to bring its head back around.

Ranch hands whistled and shouted trying to distract the horse long enough for Reeves to get out of the way. The horse was now bucking and kicking, putting Reeves at risk. Another cowboy jumped into the coral with a long bull whip and began cracking it forcing the horse to settle a bit.

Letting out the rope Reeves kept an eye on the stallion. Making his way over to a post he tied the rope and stepped away.

Reeves stumbled, his hands raw, his body aching from the battle, but he kept his eyes on the stallion. The tension in the air still crackled, but now it was more of a standoff—two opponents, neither one yielding, both licking their wounds in their own way.

Stepping farther away, he headed for the nearest post, dusting the dirt and sand from his clothes.

Reeves leaned against the post for a moment, his chest heaving, trying to catch his breath. His mouth felt like the bottom of a barrel, dry and gritty, and his throat was raw, but he couldn’t care about that now.

Reeves’s gaze lingered on the stallion, the animal’s muscles still quivering, its eyes alert and searching. It wasn’t tamed. Not by a long shot. But that had been the point, hadn’t it? The stallion had towantto listen, had tochoose it, just like he had to.

As he stood there, dust settling in the air, he realized the battle wasn’t just with the horse. It was with himself, too. There had been a time when he might’ve walked away. But this? This was different. The stubbornness in him, the wildness, just like the stallion… ran deep. And no matter how many times the horse tried to throw him, no matter how hard the fight got, Reeves wasn’t walking away.

He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and exhaled, letting the weight of it all sink in.

The stallion’s hooves struck the ground again, but it wasn’t charging. Instead, it simply stood, watching him with an intensity that felt like a silent challenge. And Reeves knew that, in time, the horse would come around—maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow—but it would.

Becausehe wasn’t going anywhere either.

16

As she drew nearer, the low murmurs of the ranch hands blended with the rhythmic sounds of boots shifting in the dirt. Their faces a mixture of concentration and amusement, eyes locked on the center of the arena. The dust kicked up from the ground swirled in the afternoon sun, catching the light in a cloudy haze that made everything look as if it were wrapped in a golden hue.

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