Page 33 of Destined for the Cowboy

The colt continued to shift his hooves restlessly and gave a little snort, tossing his head as if in rebellion against the strangenew device on his head. Logan leaned in, and although she could see he was talking, and the colt’s ears were trained on him, he was indeed whispering, and she couldn’t hear him.

She spotted Mr. Baylor standing in a stall she guessed must be the colt’s, behind the half-door, watching. Wondered if that was to make the colt feel safer, or simply to make sure the animal was focused on Logan. She managed to avoid veering off into making that a personal observation. Barely.

“Most foals are generally very curious,” Mrs. Baylor said, very quietly. “Like puppies. But most tend to be warier, too. Or less trusting.”

That made sense to her. “I suppose it’s part of the difference between being predator and prey.”

“Exactly,” Mrs. Baylor said, given Tris what appeared to be an approving nod. “Dogs have been domesticated for so long that a lot of people forget that part, that their ancestors would have hunted horses.”

“Does the new colt get along with Maverick?” she asked, glad to keep the conversation centered on the animals.

“He does, actually. That dog is very clever and welcomed him with half a carrot.”

Tris laughed, albeit quietly. “Having eaten the other half himself?” she guessed. Jackson had told her how the dog’s affinity for them had helped overcome Jeremy’s wariness about the vegetable.

“That’s what Jeremy said.” Mrs. Baylor nodded toward the pair standing in the aisle of the barn. “And I see our horse whisperer has done it again.”

Tris looked up just in time to see the young, black and white horse walking alongside Logan toward the far end of the barn with every evidence of calm. She shook her head slowly in wonder.

“That,” Mrs. Baylor said with emphasis, “is an amazing man. To come up the way he did, yet still have that kind of empathy to give.”

That caught Tris’s attention. She remembered what Nic had said about him having a rough start in life, that comment they’d never gotten back to. But now it seemed too important to let pass. “The way he did?”

“He’s never told you he grew up in the foster system?” Mrs. Baylor sighed.

“No, he never did.” But it explained so much. His wariness, his quietness, that air he had of watching everything all around him. That need for the isolation his home gave him. He’d probably never had much privacy at all, growing up. It made sense, now.

Mrs. Baylor went on, looking at Tris rather than watching Logan work. “I don’t know the details. I’m surprised you haven’t gotten the whole story, since he so obviously likes you. But I guess he doesn’t really talk about it at all. I only know what little I do because one of my former colleagues was a teacher of his and she had the records.”

…he so obviously likes you.

She had to give herself a mental shake to keep from zeroing in on that phrase to the exclusion of all else. And from appearing too rapt at the way he moved, and how it was emphasized in those jeans.

They stopped near the far doors, man and horse. With a tug she could barely see from here, and a slight nudge of his hip against the colt’s side, he managed to get the animal who had been totally uncooperative just minutes ago to make a one-hundred-eighty degree turn with him. They stood quietly for a moment, Logan leaning over slightly as he whispered…whatever it was he whispered to work his magic.

The colt tilted his head back slightly, as if to better listen. But then his true motive became clear as he unexpectedly grabbed the brim of Logan’s hat between his teeth and yanked it off his head.

Tris couldn’t help it, she laughed. So did Mrs. Baylor, and Mr. Baylor as well, from his spot in the colt’s stall. Even Logan was grinning—taking her breath away all over again—as he looked at the young creature who was standing there as if a little uncertain what to do with his prize now that he had it.

“All you had to do was ask, y’know,” Logan drawled to the youngster, not whispering now.

She laughed again, especially when he reached up with one hand, fingers curled, and rubbed the colt under the jaw. The animal reacted the way Maverick did when you scratched that spot behind his right ear, blissfully. After a moment Logan freed his hat and had it back on his head.

“I think he looks much handsomer in that cowboy hat than the baseball cap he wears at the forge,” Mrs. Baylor said. “Don’t you?”

Tris didn’t trust herself to answer with what she really thought of his looks, hat or no hat, so said instead, “I’m sure he just doesn’t want an errant spark or ember to ruin that one.”

For a long moment Mrs. Baylor didn’t speak, long enough that Tris looked down at her. The older woman was smiling, a little bit too knowingly for Tris’s comfort.

The man and horse started walking back, and Tris couldn’t miss how the young animal followed obediently now, keeping pace with Logan’s long stride. They stopped in front of the stall where Mr. Baylor was leaning against the top of the lower door.

“He’ll be all right, I think,” Logan said. “But he’s got a quick brain, and I think he’ll always be one you have to keep your eye on.”

“The smart ones always are,” the rancher said, grinning as he took the lead and guided the colt back into the stall he’d been standing in.

Logan grinned back. “True, that. But keep working with him. Pull more down than forward, and stand close. And I’d say he’s reward-motivated, so a treat is good when he does it right.”

“Like letting him have at my hat?” Mr. Baylor suggested.

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