Page 6 of Frosty in Flannel
“Sorry.” But she didn’t sound sorry. Her voice held a hint of sunshine and mischief. “How long have you been working with him?”
“Just a few weeks.”
“And he lets you this close?”
“Most days.”
She was quiet for a moment, studying the mustang with that sharp, assessing gaze I’d seen yesterday. Professional. Clinical. But there was something else underneath it—something that looked like genuine care.
“He’s beautiful,” she said softly.
“He’s a wreck.”
“Aren’t we all?”
That pulled my attention back to her. She wasn’t looking at me, just watching the horse, but I felt the weight of those words settle between us.
“They know my background, but I think I should tell you as well,” she said, her tone shifting.
I didn’t answer. She had that look on her face that most of the men around here had from time to time.
“I got fired from my last job. I was working with a horse my boss had given to his daughter, and the woman was unkind. I called them on it. And I got fired.”
“And the horse?”
She smiled. “Let’s just say the local animal rights activists found out.”
Wildfire shifted closer to me, and I reached up to stroke his neck. “I want to make something perfectly clear. I don’t want you here. Not with Wildfire.”
She laughed softly. “Don’t worry, I am well aware. You rescued him from a canyon, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. He’d been stuck there for about a week. He’d tried to climb out but couldn’t. His skin was torn, bruised and bleeding, but the bastard hadn’t quit.”
“He’s got a strong spirit.”
Wildfire stood still as if he sensed we were talking about him. “He doesn’t need help. He just needs to be left alone.”
“Is that what you think?” She tilted her head. “Or is that whatyouneed?”
My jaw tightened. “We’re talking about the horse.”
“Are we?”
I didn’t answer that. Couldn’t.
She pushed off the rail and came closer to the gate, her eyes never leaving Wildfire. “Look, I know I’m the outsider here. I know you’ve been doing this alone for weeks and you’ve madereal progress with him. But I was hired for a reason, and I’d like to do my job.”
“Then do it.”
“I can’t if you won’t let me near him.”
I exhaled hard. She was right, and I knew it. But the idea of someone else working with Wildfire—someone who might push too hard or move too fast or undo everything I’d built with him—made me clench my hands at my side. “One wrong move and he’ll shut down completely.”
“I know.” Her voice was gentle. “That’s why I need to see what you’ve been doing with him. So I can build on it, not tear it down.”
“You’ve worked with horses like him.” It was a statement, not a question.
“About twenty. But none like him.” She exhaled. “And none like you.”
