Page 4 of Home Hearts Hooves

I don’t blame Jed for not wanting to keep him. He runs a stud farm and if the issues with the colt’s hearing is due to some genetic defect, he can’t use him. The whole playing dead thing would probably make breeding hard, too.

The dirt kicks up behind the tires, and I drive about as fast as a field tractor up the dirt road. There is only one person I know who might take in this guy. Dean Beaker.

My dad always said the Beakers were akin to looking after anyone or anything that needed looking after. I never understood it though until this past year. With a number of properties selling up, there’s been more than one not so normal animal that’s needed saving from the chopping block, and every one of them has ended up at Beaker Brothers Ranch. To be fair, the first weird animal was already there and is kind of to blame for them becoming my go-to for rescuing the weird and wonderful.

Every time I ask him to take in one more, I expect him to say no, but he just smiles and nods.

He’s been that way with all the animals I’ve brought him. The lamas, the goats, the ugly as fuck chickens. You know what a chicken looks like without feathers because you pluck them to cook them, but you don’t expect to see a handful of them running around completely fucking naked except for a tuft of soft feathers on top of their head. Scary as hell.

Dean doesn’t care if they are ugly, a little odd, or downright delusional. He’ll take them in and give them a good home. His heart is the biggest of any person I’ve ever known.

I pull the van up and position the trailer as close to the paddock gate as I can before climbing out. The wide trailer has covers for the side and back windows that we closed before loading the fella in to help him feel safer, but there’s a grate facing the rear of the van where I can see out of the corner of my eye that the horse is upright facing the back.

Dean is already walking over with Nial, the younger of the two brothers, and Dean’s clenching his hands in and out in fists. Did I interrupt something? Maybe I shouldn’t have come. But I’m sure no one else would even consider taking a deaf horse. He’s this colt’s only hope.

“Hey, sorry to just show up, it was kind of an emergency,” I say, and Dean nods. My gaze moves from his well-worn, faded cowboy hat to his hands, and he quickly shoves them into the pockets of his faded denim jeans.

Nial shakes his head. “I told him you’d be bringing a horse.” Nial laughs, scooping up a ball and tossing it for Houdini, their Australian sheepdog, to chase. The dog takes off at a run, misses the ball, and slides past it, tumbling over twice before standing upright and shaking the dirt off.

Atlas jogs past the dog with Sky, the young, colorful farmhand.

“What have you got there?” Atlas asks, and I turn my attention back to Dean.

“Hopefully, your newest resident.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Atlas asks with a smirk.

“Nothing,” I say.

“I call bullshit.” Nial laughs again, climbing up onto the fence surrounding the front pasture.

“Okay, he’s just a little hard of hearing,” I say as we all move around to the back of the trailer. Covering the side and back openings sounded like a good idea at the time. I figured the less going on around the colt, the calmer he would be, and when he stood up as I waited at the end of the driveway to turn into Beaker Brother’s, I figured it was the right decision. But now, as Atlas swings the gate open so that when the trailer door is released, the horse will be free to just walk or run on out, I second-guess not asking for a more open trailer. This horse can’t hear that we’re out here. He could bolt the second he sees us. Shit, too late now, I guess.

“Is he old?” Nial asks, and I shake my head.

“No, only about three. He was hit in the head last night by a tree branch. Not sure that’s what did it, though. He’s from a foreclosure, so not a lot of info on him. Who knows, the damage may not be permanent, but…”

“But what?”

“He’s a little…skittish.”

“You know, people ride our horses on this ranch,” Nial adds.

“I don’t think he’d be good for riding, not yet, but maybe with some…rehab. I can come every other day to work with him.”

“The gate’s open, may as well let him out then,” Nial says, and Skye unlatches the trailer door and swings it wide. The second the horse sees us, he doesn’t bolt. He fucking plays possum again, goes stiff as a board, and falls to the side, leaning against the side of the wide trailer and sliding down the wall to the floor.

“Oh great, what I always wanted. A dead horse,” Nial jokes, and Dean moves forward slowly.

“Looks pretty dead, Doc,” Dean says, taking off his hat and scrubbing his hand through his thick, dark hair.

“He’s not. He’s just playing like it,” I say, unable to tear my gaze away from Dean. If the men in Bellerelle were horses, Dean would be best in show.

He’s about six feet tall, with big, broad shoulders, honey, sun-kissed skin, thick dark hair, and even darker eyes. He was almost the first guy I ever kissed. After Isabel and I split, I got way too drunk at the graduation bonfire, and being the good guy he’s always seemed to be, Dean sat me down and grabbed me an apple and a bottle of water to help sober me up.

He sat so close that our thighs touched, and when he looked over at me, wet lips slightly parted, and those big, dark eyes sparkling with the million stars above, I felt myself being drawn to him in a way I’d never been to anyone before. It was strange, like there was a gravity around him pulling me in. Not thinking, I leaned into the feeling, toward him. But then I chickened out and played it off like I was just losing my balance, grabbing his shoulder, and swaying sideways.

Atlas climbs into the trailer with the horse, running his hand gently over its side. I spot the fellas’ ears twitch a little.

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