Page 8 of Frosty in Flannel
“The feeling’s mutual.” She glanced at me, and there was something bright in her eyes—excitement, maybe, or triumph. “This is good, Beckett. Really good. He’s curious, not defensive. That’s huge progress.”
“I know.”
But what I was thinking about wasn’t the horse.
It was the way she looked right now—flushed and smiling, hair coming loose from her ponytail, her whole face lit up with genuine joy.
God, she was beautiful like this.
And I wanted her so badly it made my whole damn body ache.
“You’ve done incredible work with him,” she said, turning back to me. “Seriously. Most horses this traumatized... they don’t come back from it. But you brought him this far.”
“I’m just a grunt,” I said. “I keep him fed and make sure he doesn’t hurt himself. That’s it.”
“No.” Her voice was firm. “You’re more than that. You see him. You understand him. That’s why he trusts you.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
“So, here’s what I’m thinking,” she continued. “You’ve brought him this far. Let’s work together and heal him all the way. You know what he responds to, I know the behavioral science behind it. We combine those things, and we might actually give this horse a real shot at a normal life.”
I studied her for a long moment. She meant it. This wasn’t about proving herself or showing off her expertise. She genuinely wanted to help.
And she wanted to do it with me.
“Alright,” I said finally. “We work together.”
Her smile was like the sun coming out. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. But I’m not handing him over to you. We do this as a team, or we don’t do it at all.”
“Deal.” She held out her hand.
I looked at it for a second, then took it. Her palm was soft against my callused one, warm and steady.
And when our eyes met, I felt that same jolt I’d felt yesterday when our fingers brushed.
Only stronger.
She felt it too. I could see it in the way her breath caught, the way her eyes widened just slightly.
But she didn’t pull away.
Neither did I.
Wildfire nickered softly, breaking the moment, and we both stepped back.
“So,” she said, her voice slightly breathless. “What’s the plan for today?”
I cleared my throat. “I usually work with him for about an hour in the morning. Just groundwork. Getting him comfortable with being touched, led around the pen. Building trust.”
“Can I observe? Take notes?”
“Yeah. Just... stay back for now. Let him get used to you being here.”
“Understood.”
We spent the next hour working with Wildfire. I led him around the pen, showed Libby how he responded to certain cues, explained the patterns I’d noticed in his behavior. She watched quietly, asking occasional questions.
