Page 12 of Wild Then Wed
It looks simple from the outside. Just me walking, turning, waiting. But everything I do is calculated—down to the angle of my shoulders, the cadence of my steps. Horses are prey animals. They read energy like it’s their first language. If I come in too strong, she’ll bolt. If I hesitate, she’ll lose trust.
But if I get it right? She stays.
I click my tongue. She stops. Chest rising, head low, her muscles still tight—but not locked like they used to be. I turn slightly away from her and wait.
She exhales. It’s a release that says she’s not just tolerating me today—she’s choosing to stay. And God, that means more than most things do right now.
People always think horses like her need to be overpowered. That if they’re afraid, the solution is pressure. But that’s not how trust works. You don’t bully it into place. You earn it. Inch by inch, breath by breath. You prove—again and again—that you’re not the thing they have to survive. And if you’re lucky, they start to believe you.
I take a few more steps. She follows. No hesitation. No flinch.
She’s still scared. But she’s still trying. And so am I.
I stop walking and shift my weight back just slightly. My shoulders relax. I turn my body a few degrees away from her and take one slow step back.
That’s her reward. Space.
The chance to breathe without being asked for more.
She blinks, ears forward, still watching me. But she doesn’t move. Doesn’t bolt or brace. Just stands there, like maybe—for once—this place doesn’t feel like something she needs to escape.
It’s not progress anyone would notice from the outside, but I do. I feel it in my chest.
A shuffle of boots on dirt draws my attention, and I glance toward the entrance of the round pen. Boone’s standing there, arms folded across his chest, waiting.
I lift a hand to get another trainer’s attention. “Hey, can you take over with her for a minute?” I call to Jess, who’s brushing down a bay gelding a few feet away.
She nods, grabbing a lead rope off the post. As she walks toward us, I hold up a hand.
“Slow,” I remind her. “No sudden moves.”
“Got it,” she says gently, keeping her posture loose and low as she approaches.
Juniper doesn’t flinch when I step away. That’s new. I let Jess take over and start toward Boone.
He’s wearing his usual: canvas barn coat with the corduroy collar turned up, a thermal Henley underneath, beat-up jeans, and insulated work gloves shoved into his back pocket. His long, dark curls are damp around the edges like he just shook off the snow outside, and his breath clouds in front of him in the cold.
Of all my siblings, Boone’s the one who looks the most like our dad—and has that same quiet way of showing up when something needs fixing, even if you never asked.
I stop in front of him and nod toward the doors. “What, you get tired of freezing your ass off already?”
He grins, deep and unhurried. “Nah. I came in to warm up and see you whisper at your horse some more.”
“It’s not whispering. It’s groundwork.”
“Whatever it is, it’s working.” He tilts his chin toward Juniper, who’s still standing quiet, head low as Jess clips thelead to her halter. “She doesn’t even seem like the same horse from a couple months ago. You’ve done a good job with her.”
It’s not a big compliment. Just a simple observation, said in that Boone kind of way—straightforward and steady, like it’s obvious. But it always hits harder than I expect when someone compliments my training. This is where I put my worth—in my work. In doing something hard and doing it well. I don’t say it out loud, but every horse I help, every problem I solve, every time I earn an ounce of trust—it adds up to proof that I matter. That I’m not just…taking up space.
So I don’t say anything extra. Just tuck that little moment away like it’s mine to keep.
“Thanks,” I say, and I mean it.
Boone gives me a small, knowing nod that says he gets it.
I brush my gloves off and arch a brow at him. “What do you need?”
Boone’s mouth tugs into something halfway between a grimace and a smile. “A favor that’ll probably make you wish you could stay in the round pen all day.”
