Page 65 of Doing Life

Boone steered him along the graveled path, then stopped. “This is a corral rail. There’s a slat just at mid-belly level for you. Can you feel it?”

He reached out and found the metal rail. “Got it.”

“Cool. Sarge is in this corral, so I’ll go grab his halter and lead him over. You’ll be separated from him by the fence.”

“I’m good right here.” The ground was a little uneven, the dirt loose, but he had a good grip, and his balance was pretty solid.

“Be right back.”

He listened to the stamp of hooves and the swish of a tail, then Boone was murmuring and the hoof falls came closer.

“Here we are, Lance. I’m at about your nine o’clock, and Sarge is fixing to be breathing right in your face. In fact, blow out a slow breath.”

“Okay?” He would do it, even if he didn’t get it.

“That’s good. Good. Now you’ve shared breath with him. Don’t jump,” Boone said just in time as soft breath and even softer lips explored his forehead and cheek.

He chuckled but managed to keep it calm. “Well, hello, there.”

“Okay, now I’m going to hand you a piece of carrot. Offer it up to him on your flat hand, fingers bent back a bit from your palm.”

Hetook the cool, damp veggie and did as bid, Sarge snuffling again, then gently nibbling it off his hand.

“So are they like dogs again? Some have soft mouths, some will take off your fingers?”

“Yes, absolutely. Can you hang here and love on him while I get the saddle?”

“Can you show me where it’s safe to put my hand on him?”

“Yep. Here’s his forehead and basically his muzzle. Just don’t stray too much into his nostrils and you’ll be good. And he loves a behind-the-ear scratch. Just follow his halter up.”

“I’m on it.” That sounded easy enough, and he was separated by the rails if anything went weird.

He rubbed nose and ears and even Sarge’s neck. Then he heard Boone come back.

“Okay, big boy. Here we go. Blanket first.” The rails twanged, and he figured Boone had put the saddle over one while he put the blanket on. “So he stands really well for the saddle. I rarely have to tie his lead up. Not every horse does. They all have their own personality. Sugar is retired from riding, in fact, because she bites and kicks when a saddle comes her way.”

“Was she abused?” He’d heard stories of horses who had been worked too hard who balked at it later on.

“Most likely. She was an auction horse. But she’s actually really good with teaching therapy folks to do grooming. Stands like a dream for that. So she has a place here for good.”

“Oh, I like that. I like knowing that everything is okay, that no one gave up on her.” That suited him down to the bone, actually. To know there was a place here, even for the animals that weren’t quite one hundred percent.

“That’s the thing, isn’t it?” Boone chuckled, and Lance heard and felt, at the same time, the saddle come up offthe fence. “Saddle now. Everybody needs a place to go and recuperate. In some cases, retire.”

“Yeah. I’m trying to decide which one of those I am—the recuperate or retire type.”

“Oh man, you’re still in your prime. You got forty years, sixty maybe. Don’t give up on yourself.”

He wasn’t, was he? He was more being logical and shit. “My man wants me to come to New Mexico with him to his house, but I’m not ready.”

He wanted to be, but he didn’t know how.

“What do you need to be ready?”

The horse knickered, and he thought he heard it stamp its foot.

That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? What did he need to be ready? He couldn’t learn the house unless he went to New Mexico, but he wanted to know the house before he left. He had no idea what he was going to do with himself all day. At least at the house he was in now, there were people to talk to. If Sloan was at work nine or ten hours a day, what was he supposed to do? Talk to Abby?

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