Page 14 of Frosty in Flannel
“I see the way he holds himself together. The way he talks to the animals, like they’re the only ones he trusts. And I wonder if anyone’s ever looked at him and said, ‘You don’t have to carry it alone.’”
Wildfire gave a soft nicker and stepped away. The horse was done with the therapy session I’d just forced on him.
I took the hint.
“Alright, counselor, I’ll pretend I’m not spiraling over a kiss that lasted ten seconds and changed everything.”
The horse flicked his tail like that was obvious.
Then, bootsteps sounded behind me. I didn’t have to look to know who it was.
“Pen or paddock?” Beckett asked, his voice a low rumble.
“Pen,” I said, pulling myself together. “Short reps. Let’s keep it easy.”
We set up like we’d been doing this together for years. I took the far post and he took the gate. We didn’t talk much, just watched Wildfire’s shoulders, his ears, the way he moved. Themustang carried his history in every small flinch, but most days he let us in.
Today, the barometer was dropping with the incoming storm, and I could feel it in him—static under the skin.
“Let me try the lead,” I said.
Beckett hesitated. I saw the muscle jump in his jaw, the thousand reasons to say no. The thousand reasons he was with me every morning—that didn’t include simply wanting to be with me. I brushed those thoughts aside, waiting for him to hand me the lead.
Wildfire watched the trade. I angled my body halfway away, soft hands, loose stance, voice low. “That’s it. I’m right here.”
He stepped in. Good. I offered the smallest pressure and gave it right back when he followed. Two breaths of perfect.
Then a gust of wind blew through and Wildfire’s head shot up. Every line in his body went rigid.
“Easy,” I breathed, already shifting my weight to give him space.
He didn’t bolt. He lunged—a quick, panicked feint toward me that was more warning than attack.
I moved, but not fast enough.
The world jerked. Rope snapped from my palm. I stumbled—
And Beckett was there.
One arm banded my waist, hauling me up and back, placing his big body between me and the horse. I could feel Wildfire’s breath on us as he galloped past, circling the pen. Before I could question anything, I was lifted in Beckett’s arms and he was striding toward the gate. I was pressed to his chest, my heart hammering against a wall of heat.
“You okay?” His voice was a low rumble as he opened the gate with me still in his arms.
Over his shoulder I could see Wildfire trotting to the far side of the pen, nostrils flaring and tail swishing.
Beckett didn’t set me down right away once we were clear of the holding pen.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his mouth brushing against my temple.
“I’m fine,” I managed. “You?”
He exhaled. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“The wind scared him.” I sounded like I was taking up for a small puppy misbehaving instead of a half ton of horse with attitude.
Beckett finally set me on my feet but didn’t step away. His hands bracketed my hips like he wasn’t ready to let me go.
“You could have taken a hoof,” he said, eyes scanning me—knees, elbows, throat—looking for any sign that Wildfire had touched me.
