Page 111 of Saving Grace

Chapter Thirty

MACK

Grace’s beautiful face is peaceful on the pillow beside mine. Last night was a combination of agony, realizations, and the best fuckin’ sex of my life. Who knew the asshole showing up would drive us together in such a profound way. It’s a blessing and a curse, all rolled into one.

The night turned out to be one I’ll not soon forget. Apparently, all the wolves have come down from the mountains, literally and figuratively. With the actual wolves howling last night between the thunder and lightning strikes, the air was electric. And not in all the best ways.

I flicked Harry a quick text last night. Something about this situation has my hackles up. Small towns have a way of banding together when one of our own is in trouble, and I want the old man and my brothers in the loop, in case shit gets real.

I’ll talk to Huddo more about it this morning. Maybe call Reed. We’re working the green horses at the ass crack of dawn. Typical Hudson. More and more like the old man every damn day. Good for him. There are worse people to turn out like.

I ease from the bed, not wanting to wake Grace. Slipping into the bathroom, I wash up and dress in my work clothes. I lift my hat from the wall by the door as I tiptoe in socked feet from thebedroom. I set the kettle to boil on the stove and grab a mug, wanting to save the good coffee for Gracie.

The hot water steams as I pour it over the instant grounds. Dashing a little milk into it, I take my first sip as Huddo’s truck pulls in near the house. His busted old truck looks worse for wear in the glint from the light dust of snow covering everything outside.

Sweet Jesus, he must have been up before the damn birds. He kills the engine and wanders for the barn. I grab up the coffee mug and find a bagel from the fridge, smothering it with cream cheese. I slide my boots on at the door and head out. I close the front door with a soft click and tear a portion of the bagel off with my teeth.

I’ve finished my breakfast when I reach the barn and chase it down with the last of the coffee, leaving the mug on the rail. The clip-clop of shod hooves along the cement wash-down bay by the barn lets me know where my brother is. I make my way to the stall of the young mare I’m riding today. After last night’s storm and the howling wolves, I’m hoping she’s not too skittish today.

My hopes are dashed the second I lay eyes on her. Her head is up as she weaves at the stall door.Fuckin’ awesome.I lift the halter from the hook by her stall and slip inside. She steps back, shaking her head. “Yeah, I know, girl. The wolves have us all up in our heads.”

She nickers as I wait for her to lower her head. I slide the halter over her head, securing the buckle, and lead her out. She hesitates but follows with a little coaxin’. I saddle her up in the barn; the less stimuli, the better right now. Soft clucking sounds come from outside—Huddo’s already into it. I walk the mare to the round yard, finding my older brother holding the two long lines behind the gelding he’s working with. Line training to increase the horse’s receptiveness to commands.

Hudson always does things the most thorough way. It’s what makes him a brilliant horseman. Which makes for sought-after mounts. All his effort and attention to detail pays off. Pride swells as I watch him talk to the gelding, reining him back to a walk. He drops the lines and walks to the horse’s head, patting his neck as he praises him. With a brief rub between the gelding’s ears, he wanders to the rail and leans on it.

“Mornin’.” He grins at me as he eyes me over, readjusting the Stetson on his head, like there’s something different about me from last night after the family text about the new Joel development. The wind picks up, its icy tendrils slipping beneath my coat. I zip it up and the mare shies away from me.

“Hey,” I grunt. “You sure this one’s ready? Little skittish.”

“Basic gait change commands. A little groundwork. Take her slow. You know how to do that.” He winks.

Fuck off, Huddo.

As if what lies between Grace and I is anything like training a goddamn horse. I swipe up a blade of golden grass poking through the rails. Sliding it between my teeth, I chew it, studying the mare. The snowfall from the early hours dusts the rails. The hard earth under my boots is probably half frozen. Not a place you wanna fall.

I decide it’s now or never—for the both of us. Sometimes you gotta bite the bullet and charge ahead. I gather the reins up and slide a foot into the stirrup. She moves on her feet, and I sway with her, my foot still lodged in the stirrup. Pushing the hat on my head down tighter, I swing up into the saddle. Her head’s up instantly.

Sweet Jesus.

I squeeze her forward with my legs, hoping to move past whatever wound her up. She walks on, and I send her around the circular yard a few times before urging her into a trot. She burstsforward. I take up the slack on the reins as her head pops up again, her gait too choppy.

“Woah up. Mack. She’s not listening,” Huddo calls out.

No shit.

I rein her in, but she rounds her back.

Dammit.

She hops before lowering her head. Ears flat back.

Fuck.

I wrap my legs around her tighter and grip the pommel, knowing what’s coming next. She bucks. I ride her through it. My legs are tensing with the exertion of holding my seat to the saddle. Huddo leans on the rail now, studying me and then the horse. “Calm her down and try again.”

He keeps watching as I walk her out until her head is low and swinging. Until she is relaxed. It takes a full five minutes to rein her attention back to my commands.

“Push her into a lope, keep her head down.” Huddo waves a hand into the yard.

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