Page 21 of Tough Love

I lead Sergeant toward the gate. He walks behind me, close. When we reach Hudson, he reaches for the reins, but I don’t hand them over. “It’s okay, I got it.”

He steps back and tips his hat. We walk through the gate, and he shuts it behind us. I make it back to the barn before I realize I have no idea where he unsaddles his horses or where the tack even goes.

“Behind the barn; you wash him down and I’ll pack away.”

I lead Sergeant around the back of the barn. There’s a concrete pad with a tie rail and three hoses connected to faucets. Hudson is by my side in the next heartbeat. He unbuckles the girth and slips the saddle and blanket off Sergeant before handing me a halter. Unbuckling the bridle, I move the browband down before waiting for him to give me the bit.

I slide the bridle over my arm, and Sergeant lowers his head for me to slide the halter on. I have missed this. So much. I rub his face and ear and lean my forehead on his for a moment. Tears well in my eyes. It has been so long. I breathe him in. That distinct horse smell. The grounding earthiness of him.

“You two need a room?”

I huff out a laugh, my eyes still closed, and rub my thumbs over the gelding’s jaw before leaning back and opening my eyes. Hudson is staring at me. His face is lit up with happiness and something else I can’t quite place. “I’m glad you guys are getting along. You should probably take it slow, though.”

I scrunch my face up and poke my tongue out at him. He hollers a laugh, low and hearty. It’s fucking gorgeous. My gut flips and my heart slams into my ribs. Oh no.

That is not, absolutely never, happening.

This is professional.

But deep in my gut, it’s like something else entirely. I’m sure Hudson Rawlins has no interest in some passing-through vet with horse baggage.

“Is that it for today?” I ask.

His face falls a little and he clears his throat. “Yup. Once you turn him out, you’re free to go.”

“Thanks.” I turn my back to Hudson and turn on the tap. The water spills from the mouth of the hose and I turn back to say something, anything. But he is walking toward the homestead. I shake my head and hose Sergeant off.

When he is clean of sweat, I wipe him down with the scraper that hangs by the tie rail. I lead him away and toward the paddocks that hold the horses. Their names are written on plates on each gate. We walk to the first one. Silver.

The old mare lifts her head from her grazing, and I smile. She appears healthy for an old horse. He really does love his horses, this man. The care and attention he takes with each one is impressive. I turn back and glance at the homestead. Hudson is talking to his mother. They both turn my way, noticing I’ve stopped at Silver’s gate.

“Come on, mister, which one is yours?”

He follows as we make our way further down the small lane between paddocks. Fifth one along, I find his name. I open the gate, walk him in, and remove his halter. He doesn’t walk away, though, and I give him one last rub before walking back out and securing him inside.

I lean over the rail and take in the place around me. I have seen a lot of establishments. Many horse farms and equestriansetups. This one is like home mixed with horse husbandry. It feels good. It’s not harsh or money-focused. It’s horse-focused. Like Hudson. Like I used to be.

As I wander back down the lane toward the barn, Charlie flies toward me. I drop to my knees and wait for him to jump into my arms. I chuckle as he licks my face like it’s a lollipop. “Hey, little man.”

This time, I stand and give him a little whistle. He trots behind me as I make my way back to the barn to hang up the halter. I walk into the barn and head toward the back where the tack room is. Stepping through the doorway, I find saddles on racks on one wall, bridles and halters on the other. I find an empty spot and hang it up. The doorway darkens, and I turn back. Hudson stands in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a frown twisting his face.

“What? It doesn’t go there?’

“No, it goes there.”

“Okay?”

“Ma wants to see you.”

“Oh, she does?”

He nods and walks from the doorway. I follow, jogging to catch up and fixing my hair. He glances at me before getting the small white gate that leads into the homestead yard. Louisa is sitting at a small outdoor café set. Something cold is in a jug with three glasses. She gestures to the seat opposite her, and I sit. “Hi, Mrs. Rawlins.”

She smiles and pours three glasses of what looks like cold juice. “Call me Louisa. How was your lesson?”

“It was good, actually.”

Hudson’s face flickers between surprise and confusion. It was. I know it probably didn’t seem like it, but I was glad to make progress. I can’t lose my job. And part of me is desperate to bepart of the horse-and-rider dynamic again. Hudson drains his glass, and Louisa takes it back.

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