Page 29 of Stormy Knight

Inside the iron circle, a horse, the hide dark as pitch with a coat that gleamed under the sun, tossed its head, trying to upend the rider that sat tall in the saddle, their hands firmly gripped on the reins. Something told her this wasn’t a riding session. The way the ranch hands watched and pointed told her they were waiting for something. What wasn’t clear to her? Not yet.

She could see the horse’s muscles ripple beneath its coat. As the horse and rider turned slightly, the sun became blocked by the rider.Reeves.Why was she surprised? The man looked just as confident on top of a wild stallion as he did sitting behind a desk in a business suit. Yet, there was a confidence in the way he handled the reins, in the way he adjusted his posture as the horse tried to buck and twist under him.

Stormy heard the men talking about how either the horse would break Reeves, or he would break the horse. But she wasn’t sure which one would win. She could see the dark determination that oozed off Reeves. He wasn’t just trying to control the horse; he was listening, coaxing, getting a feel of the animal’s rhythm beneath him. Despite the way the horse resisted, there seemed to be an understanding between the two.

She took another step forward, the anticipation had her heart thumping. She watched Reeves make a move, slight, but calculated. The horse stilled for a moment, its breath coming in slow, deep gasps, waiting.

Shoving back from the fence, Stormy headed back the way she came, leaving Reeves and his stallion to fight it out.

“That fucker’s a beast.”

Reeves climbed onto the highest rail of the fence, his body still stiff from the last battle with the stallion, but his mind sharp and focused. The wind was picking up again, the dry heat of the day giving way to the coolness of the evening. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the corral.

One of the ranch hands, an older cowboy, offered him a bottle of water, and Reeves took it gratefully. He twisted off the cap, not caring about the dirt that clung to his fingers, and drank deeply, letting the cold liquid run down his throat. The dryness in his mouth and throat slowly eased, but the ache in his muscles was still there, pulsing with every breath.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before handing the bottle back down to the cowboy. There was no need for talk, not after a moment like he’d just had being thrown through theair like a rag doll. Everyone knew what it took to face down a horse like that.

Reeves easing down he leaned against the gate, watching the stallion, still bucking and thrashing its head around. He could see the horse’s muscles still twitching. It was exhausted, but that fire—the stubbornness, the pride—hadn’t been broken. Not yet.

“That horseisa beast,” Reeves muttered, his voice rough from the dust and the effort, agreeing with the old cowboy. He felt it in his bones, the fight, the raw power. He wasn’t sure whether he admired it or feared it, but he knew the horse would be trouble for anyone who tried to break it. Problem was… he loved trouble.

The cowboy beside him grinned, his weathered face creasing into a knowing smile. “Ain’t seen a horse more stubborn than that big black,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow. “But you damn near had him.”

Reeves’s lips quirked into a faint, tired smile. “Damn near isn’t enough,” he said, his gaze fixed on the horse. There was still something in the stallion’s eyes… something that told him the stallion wouldn’t be given up easily.

The other hands grunted in agreement. “Give him a few days.”

“He’s a hell of a horse, but he’ll settle.”

“No way he can keep up that fight forever.”

Reeves nodded, hearing the comments. He wasn’t so sure. That kind of spirit, wild, untamed, and relentless, wasn’t something you justtamed. It was something you earned, slowly and steadily, bit by bit. If you could keep up with it, if you could outlast it, the payoff would be an everlasting trust from the animal.

“You think he’ll ever trust me?” Reeves asked, his voice quieter, as his thought was spoken out loud.

The older man paused for a moment, shrugging, considering the stallion, who was clearly still agitated as it pawed at the ground. “Might. Or might not. Some horses are like that.” He chuckled. “Some are stubborn as hell, won’t let anyone in. But the ones that do?” He glanced over at Reeves, making sure he was hearing him. “They’re loyal and trusting. If you’re patient with him, let him come to you instead of forcing it, he’ll settle.”

Keeping his eyes on the stallion, Reeves knew what the older cowboy was saying. “Patience.” The word was a bitter pill that was hard to swallow.

But he knew it was the truth. The stallion had tested his limits today. Had forced him to fight for every inch of control. Thrown him to the ground. Tried stomping on him. And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling the horse hadrespectfor him, too.

He’d seen it in the way the animal had finally slowed down, the way its head had turned toward him at the end. Not in submission, not in obedience, but in a kind of wary acknowledgment.

“Guess I’ve got time,” Reeves muttered, wiping his brow, a faint grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. He watched as the horse relaxed, moving around the corral. He wondered what the beast was thinking. Probably the same thing Reeves was—no submission, no obedience. “Nothing but time and stubbornness.”

“Those two things are needed the most around here,” the cowboy said, glancing over at the other ranch hands, who were keeping eyes on the stallion with admiration and respect.

“I’ll give him time,” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. “We’ll see who’s stubborn in the end.” He was a man who had lived his life by pushing against things that fought back. If this horse wasn’t ready to submit, well, neither was he.

“Well, good luck with that. You might just need it.” The cowboy beside him gave a low laugh, slapping him on the back.

Reeves adjusted his ball cap staring at the horse, who was moving over the dry earth lazily without a care.

Pushing back from the fence he told the men to put the stallion back in the paddock. Then he headed to the barn where he parked his truck. Using his cap, he attempted to knock as much of the dirt from his clothes as possible. When that failed, he slammed the hat back on. Sweat soaked through his shirt. Tugging off the leather gloves, he tucked them into his back pocket. His hands were sore from holding on to the rope. Reeves flexed them trying to loosen them up. Glancing down at his hands he saw they had red and white blisters on them.

“Did you break him?”

Reeves surprised by the sound of Monroe’s voice, stumbled forward. “Shit, I didn’t know you were around.”

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