Page 131 of My Wild Horse King

Maybe I’ll get this shining chestnut god back to Heaston’s place and start breaking him before they figure out where he’s even gone. If I can. . .if I could sell him for a decent chunk of money, maybe I won’t need to tell Mom and Steve that I even need money. Maybe I can help Heaston on my own.

That would be better all around.

“This is the test,” I whisper to myself again. “If I can halter him and he loads, then there’s a chance.”

When I open the stallion enclosure, the chestnut stallion’s waiting, head down, polite and patient. He looks totally different than the stallion who was screaming earlier. I slip the halter over his head easily, which is good, because it’s barely big enough for me to clip it at all.

“You might need a draft size halter with that massive head of yours. At least warmblood would be better. Sorry this one’s so small, big boy.”

His soft whuffle sounds almost like a laugh.

I rub his nose, and then he leads right along beside me like a little doll until I reach the trailer. He balks once, but the second time I ask him to walk in, he clops his way right into the center of the trailer. “It’s three hours to get to my place,” I say. “You’ll be there before you know it, I swear. And then tomorrow, once you’re settled in, we’ll get to work.”

This is probably the most insane thing I’ve ever done in my life, but when your whole life has come off the rails, maybe you need something insane to get it back on track.

Or at least, I sure hope so.

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