Page 38 of Wild Then Wed
I hear Anna shift behind me, the sound of her pen pausing mid-scratch. She follows my line of sight, and when she sees Sawyer, her eyes widen a little. Her cheeks pink up in a way that’s both innocent and obvious.
Of course. He probably gets that reaction everywhere he goes. He’s tall and jacked, with a face that’s always halfway to brooding unless he’s being an ass, which—let’s be honest—is probably most of the time. I’m sure the women of Bozeman practically toss their panties at him during vet appointments.
He’s not getting that kind of attention from me.
Especially not now. Not when the horse—my horse, at least for today—is finally still. Watching me. Letting me stroke the side of his muzzle with slow, deliberate movements.
There’s a fine layer of sweat dried on his coat, darkening the curve of his neck and the ridge of his spine. His legs aren’t locked. His ribs aren’t heaving like they were an hour ago.
His muzzle brushes my glove—tentative, curious. Warm breath puffs against my palm. I let my fingers drift across the dip of his nose until they settle between his eyes. He blinks, long and slow.
“Alright,” I whisper, just to him. “What are we gonna call you?”
I glance around the round pen, as if inspiration might be hiding somewhere in the rafters. “Ghost? No, I don’t think that’s it.” He flicks an ear like he agrees. “Thunder?”
He snorts. Okay, fine. “Buddy?” I wince. “Yeah, okay, that was terrible.”
But then I look at him—really look at him—and it just clicks.
“Zeus,” I say softly.
He doesn’t move, but he doesn’t pull away either. Just stands there, warm breath fogging between us like he’s listening.
I keep my hand at the space between his eyes, letting my thumb trace slow, rhythmic lines along his forehead. “You know he wasn’t just some almighty lightning god, right? Zeus was hidden at birth. His father tried to swallow him whole. Literally. He was raised in secret, waited in the shadows, and when the time came, he overthrew everything that hurt him.”
The horse twitches an ear. I take that as a sign to keep going.
“He fought his way out of a world that wanted him small. Powerless. And when he got his strength, he didn’t give it back. Not ever. That feels like you.”
A beat passes, and then he steps closer. Just a breath’s worth, but it’s something.
My throat tightens, but I keep my voice even. “You don’t have to be calm today. Or tomorrow. You don’t have to earn anything fast. But you’re not weak. You’re just learning where your power goes.”
He lets out a sound, something that makes my chest pull tight.
I press my hand a little firmer between his eyes and whisper, “Zeus it is.”
I walk Zeus back to his stall slowly, one hand on the lead rope, the other brushing his withers when he starts to tense. “I’ll be back in a couple days,” I tell him, like he gives a damn about my schedule. But the way his ear flicks toward me, the slow exhale through his nostrils—maybe he does. Maybe he cares if I come back.
The barn aisle is quiet, just the sound of his hooves on packed dirt and the faint creak of the overhead beams. I unclip the lead and he just watches me with those dark, liquid eyes, like he’s waiting for me to change my mind.
To stay.
My throat tightens.Damn horse.I scratch the spot beneath his jaw that makes his eyelid droop, then step back.
He doesn’t look away. Not even when I’m halfway down the aisle, his gaze like a heavy weight between my shoulder blades.
Anna’s still sitting where I left her, perched on the bench, her notebook forgotten in her lap. Her wide eyes are locked on Sawyer as she twirls the end of her hair around one finger.
Jesus Christ.Really?
I collect my bag off the bench, pretending not to notice. She blinks out of her Sawyer-induced trance and turns toward me, scrambling to hold up her notebook with a wide smile. “That was amazing.”
I nod, pulling on my coat. “Thanks.”
“No seriously, I was taking notes. Like—why were you walking away from him like that? On purpose? Is that a pressure-release thing?”
I blink. Huh. Maybe she’s not as clueless as she seems. “Yeah. It gives him the choice. You can’t chase trust into existence. Not with horses.” I sling my bag over my shoulder. “Not with people.”
