Page 24 of Frosty in Flannel
The other man nodded. “Thanks, man. For everything.”
By the time we led Wildfire into the round pen, a small crowd had gathered. The ranch’s owners and a few of the other hands. Everyone who’d watched this horse transform from a traumatized, aggressive animal into something approaching normal.
Wildfire was calm as Beckett saddled him, accepting the weight without flinching. I stood at the rail, heart in my throat, watching Beckett murmur to the horse in that low, steady voice that had become so familiar.
“You trust him,” Beckett was saying. “He’s not going to hurt you. Just like I didn’t. You’re safe.”
God, I loved this man.
When the cowboy finally swung up into the saddle, the entire crowd seemed to hold its breath. Wildfire’s ears swiveled, his muscles tensing, but he didn’t bolt. Didn’t rear.
Just stood there, adjusting to the weight, to the feeling of someone on his back.
“That’s it,” Beckett said quietly. “Just like that. Now take a step. Nice and easy.”
The man nudged the horse gently, and Wildfire took one step. Then another. Within minutes, they were walking slow circles around the pen, horse and rider moving together like they’d done it a hundred times.
I felt tears prick my eyes.
Beckett came to stand beside me, his hand finding mine. “He did it,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “Son of a bitch actually did it.”
“You did it,” I corrected. “You gave him a reason to trust again.”
He looked at me then, really looked, and I saw everything in his eyes. Love. Gratitude. Hope.
“We did it,” he said. “Together.”
That evening, we celebrated at the main house. Nothing fancy—just burgers on the grill, beer, and the kind of easy camaraderie that came from shared victories. Wildfire was the star of the evening, accepting pats and treats from everyone brave enough to approach.
I was standing by the fire pit, watching Beckett talk to a group of the other vets, before he caught my eye and walked over.
“Something up?” he asked quietly.
“No. Just…” I swiped at my eyes. “You look happy.”
“I am.” His thumb brushed another tear off my cheek. “You?”
“Good. I’m just—Wildfire’s ready to go to a home now.”
“Oh.” He smiled down at me. “You’ll miss him too.”
“Don’t oh me,” I said, laughing slightly. “You’ll miss him.”
“No. I won’t.”
“What?”
“I won’t miss him, and neither will you.” He pulled me closer, his mouth brushing my temple. “He’s staying here. With us. I think we can train him to be a helper horse.”
“What?” This time the word came out loud enough to draw smiles from the others, but Beckett didn’t even glance around. Being the center of attention didn’t bother him anymore.
“I bought him,” he said simply. “For you. For us.”
Emotion clogged my throat. I threw my arms around him, and he did what came naturally—picked me up and started carrying me toward the cabin. I wrapped my legs around his waist, against his jaw. “Oh, Beckett. I love you.”
“I love you too.” His voice was a low rumble against my neck. He didn’t waste any time once we reached the cabin, carrying me straight to the bedroom. I laughed as he bent to remove my boots, then his. He had us both undressed in record time.
He came over me, pushing my hair from my face. “I’ve been thinking,” he said quietly.
