Page 45 of The Irish Arrangement

She didn’t protest my rushing up to her, and even though she’d bravely put her arm up to take the whip lashing to spare the horse, I was taller. I raised my arm, not only deflecting any strike but also pushing forward to counter the hit.

I caught the stable hand by surprise. He stumbled in his clumsy step, and the loss of his balance threw off his upraised arm. The whip didn’t fly forward. Instead, I was quick enough to push the fool back hard enough that his head smacked on the wood beams of the stall wall.

“Shh. Easy. Easy.”

Cara had already pivoted. Giving the horse all her attention, she spoke confidently and calmly, reaching up to smooth her hand over the animal’s back as it panicked from the commotion in the tight confines of its stall.

“What the fuck were you doing?” I yelled, unsure who I was asking, this stable hand who reeked of booze or Cara who nudged her foot at me and shot me a stern look.

“Quiet. Stop yelling. You’ll scare the horse more,” she cautioned, scolding me.

The horse bucked and kicked, frantic and not at ease.

I doubted my yell could be worse than the line of blood from the man’s whipping, but now wasn’t the time to argue with my wife. Not like this.

Still, I reached out for her to pull her back to safety, but she jammed her arm back at me, warding me off.

“Stop,” she said as the stable hand stood again.

“What’s… Huh?” he slurred as he tried to remain upright.

“You fucking bastard.” I grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him up clear enough to punch him. And again. And again. Other stable workers ran up to see what was going on, and I practically shoved the man at him.

“He’s drunk.”

Another worker shook his head. “Using a whip on her?”

They cursed and grumbled, dragging the man out of the stall. I’d let them deal with him. As I turned back ready to remove Cara from the stall, I stopped short.

She’d soothed the horse. No longer kicking and frantic with wide-open eyes of fear, the animal shook her mane lightly and nickered gently.

“Easy,” Cara cooed, calming the big horse like she’d done it a hundred times before. Maybe she had. I had no fucking clue. All I could tell was that she wasn’t afraid to approach and intervene. More than that, she was skilled and knowledgeable about how to handle a fussy horse. She held a strip of fabric to the worst depth of the whipping gash, rubbing her hand over the horse’s side as she compressed the wound.

“What in the fuck is going on here?” I demanded, keeping my tone low and as natural as possible. It felt impossible. I was furious. Livid. So damn mad—that the stable hand had resorted to hurting the horse, that Cara threw herself into danger without a second thought, and that she had the gall to tell me to be quiet.

“Shh.”

I narrowed my eyes, daring her to issue that to me, not the horse.

“Cara,” I repeated.

“It’ll be fine,” she said, but I didn’t know what she was talking about. Again, I mistook her speaking in a reply to me, but she was addressing the horse, soothing it further with her sweet, firm voice.

I watched her, amazed and confused. I’d never seen a woman in the stables, much less my wife. Erin hated being outside at all. Caitlin was too skittish and nervous to be near any animals.

But Cara?

I marveled in her patience, seeing firsthand that she had a big heart. And she knew her way around animals. Around this horse, like she’d done it many times before.

“Cara.” I tugged her back as the stable’s main vet on staff entered the stall to take over tending to the wound.

She was reluctant. I could tell she wanted to remain with the horse, but one look at me convinced her to leave the stall.

As we walked away from the area, leaving the building altogether, I looked her over in a new light. I already assumed she wasn’t scared to take risks. But running in to save a panicked animal from harm required a lot of gumption.

She was selfless, I realized, and I hated that she could be so giving at the cost of her own safety.

“What?” she snapped, proving that she wasn’t impervious to my stare on her. “Why are you looking at me like that?” She lifted her hands, checking them. “I don’t think there’s any blood on me.”

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