Page 4 of Rolling Thunder

“I get it, girlfriend,” she said softly. Growing up the way she had, being subjected to harsh circumstances beyond her control was something Kayla understood all too well. Rocket was a kindred spirit, and Kayla would do her best to not only help Rocket feel safe in her own skin, but convince her owners to treat her more fairly.

Both she and Rocket were soaked with sweat after their session, at least partly from nerves. Rocket was accustomed to living on pasture, so after rinsing her off, Kayla released her into the two acres of grass above the riding arena and went to check on the rest of her charges. The pasture abutted her neighbor’s land, and Kayla walked to the fence line. The fence on this side was in good shape, and there was even a sturdy little gate that opened to the neighbor’s property.

José Morales and his family had lived next door as long as Kayla could remember, and they’d always been like extended family. They’d held the truck and trailer for her after her grandmother had died. Seeing José out near an outbuilding, she let herself through the gate and went to talk to him.

“Kayla! How are you?” he said.

“I’m good, thanks. How are you?” He smiled warmly at her from under a cowboy hat.

“Sofia is getting married,” he beamed. “We will have a big party. You should come. You are too thin. Let Maria feed you.” The Morales parties were legendary, and if she didn’t attend, she would be up all night listening to the festivities anyway.

“I’d love to. When is it?”

“Good! Next Friday.” He paused, satisfied she would attend, then changed the subject. “Do you need to borrow my horse?”

“Tomorrow, I do. If it’s okay?”

“Of course. Maria cannot ride him when he is too fresh. Please tire him out for me.”

Morales had a beautiful palomino horse named Monty he had bought for his wife, but they were only occasional riders, and Monty had grown fat and feisty following the herd of sheep around the Moraleses’ farm.

“Thanks, Mr. Morales.” He smiled at her again. She was an adult now, but she had always called him Mr. Morales as a child, and he hadn’t corrected her. She looked forward to the day when she had enough horses of her own that she didn’t have to borrow one from the neighbor when someone booked a trail ride with an extra person.

“You are here, take him now. I know where to find him if I need him,” he said, and walked over to a gate that led into his sheep pasture. He whistled, and the horse lifted his head, galloping up to do a sliding stop at the gate with bright eyes. He was gold colored with a pale blond mane and tail. His mane was beautiful and long and hung down to his shoulder. He flipped his head expectantly.

“Yeah, yeah, but I have no sugar for you this time,” Morales muttered to the horse. “Go with Kayla and make yourself useful.” She took the halter off the fence and slipped it over the horse’s head, buckling it easily.

“Thanks again,” she said, and headed back across to her place with Monty in tow. She put him in a stall for the night. He didn’t need any more grass, anyway, and this way, he wouldn’t look for a low part of the old fence to go back home.

In total, she had Rocket for training, Monty on loan, and two gentle draft cross horses named Bonnie and Clyde. They were retired from a therapeutic riding program after they’d become sour of carrying children around the arena in endless circles. They were happy and safe enough to do her guided trail rides. Because they were workhorses, they were heavier-boned than typical riding horses and strong enough to carry big husbands or overweight tourists. The story was that they’d once been a harness team for the Amish. They were intensely bonded, which made them good trail horses as wherever one went, the other would always follow. They were also “air plants,” so not only did she feed them nothing, but she also had to take them off the pasture for a part of every day because they were getting too round. They were in the barn for the night for this very reason. She checked that all the water buckets were full and clean. The horses stomped and rustled contentedly. She made her way slowly down the aisle, touching Bonnie’s velvet nose as she reached out to greet Kayla. Because she and Clyde were so bonded, they shared a single stall, which opened in the back onto a small dirt lot by the barn for extra room. As soon as Kayla stopped to pet Bonnie, Clyde tried to move up to see her as well. Bonnie pinned her ears and shot him a dirty look.

“Don’t be a bitch, Bonnie. There’s only one boss mare around here, and it’s me,” Kayla said, pushing her away so that Clyde could come forward to be petted. Clyde still watched Bonnie warily as he pushed his head forward. Bonnie sent Kayla a baleful glare. Bonnie was sweet until someone called her on her bullying of Clyde, and then she developed an impressive resting-bitch face. Kayla had been mediating their marital disputes for about a year now.

Little rocks of muscle tension ached mercilessly in her back, and she rolled her shoulders as she walked. She glanced up as she neared the stoop to the side door of the little blue house she called home. A dark form hulking at her gate seemed to leap suddenly out at her. She pulled up short, gasping.

But it wasn’t Trent, the man she dreaded. He wouldn’t wait at the gate anyway. It was Evan, the biker who’d spooked her horse.

To her surprise, the nameless little black dog bounded happily up the driveway, putting her paws up on the gate so he could ruffle her head. Kayla had yet to be able to touch her. If she tried, the dog would duck away.

“Hey, Trouble,” he said quietly. The dog’s tail wagged furiously. The dog retreated a half step from the gate and leaped straight up in a move better suited to Tigger. He grinned a little at the dog, then leveled Kayla with a long, dark stare.

“You stole my dog,” he said.

“That’s your dog? She practically lives here. I want child support.”

He laughed heartily, and she smiled at his contagious good humor.

“Maybe you should contain her better. She shows up here all the time. It’s a wonder one of these yahoos hasn’t run her over in the road yet.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to be contained,” he shot back, eyes unwavering.

In response, her blood stirred and her mind went blank.

“Well since you’re here, why don’t you take her home? And feed her more,” she finally stammered.

He shrugged a little. “Okay. For the record, someone dumped her off a few weeks ago and she took up residence on my porch. I do feed her.”

He rattled the padlock on her gate suggestively. She squared her shoulders and walked up to the gate. She unclipped her keys from a belt loop and reached for the lock. He didn’t back off to give her personal space, and that little damaged part of her hackled and wanted to turn and run.

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