Page 71 of Roads Behind Us
“Saddle my horse.”
He snorted and rolled his eyes. “My liege, if I may be so bold, are you out of your fuckin’ mind? You ain’t gettin’ on your horse with a broken femur.”
I waved my hand toward Bea. “Not for me, but for the princess.”
“No way in hell am I gettin’ on a horse!” She stood and backed away, shaking her head. “Nuh-uh. No dice.”
“Scared?” I taunted.
Her beautiful smile wilted into a grimace. “Terrified.”
“It smells like cow shit in here.”
“It’s a cattle farm,” Presley said, holding Bea’s hips to keep her steady when she climbed onto her feed bucket next to Purdy, my eleven-year-old sorrel gelding.
There was no other word for it; my horse was lazy, which was how I knew he’d be the perfect first ride for Bea. Purdy wouldn’t buck her because it would take entirely too much energy on his part. He’d gotten far too comfortable standing around munching hay since I’d closed down Lee Family Fleece and then broken my leg.
“I know that,” Bea argued, “but is the smell s’posed to be this strong? I feel like it’s burnin’ the inside of my nostrils.”
Presley rolled his eyes, and Athena and Rye snickered like two old ladies as they watched from the other side of the barn aisle.
“Get down,” Presley grunted, his gruff demeanor made clear in the rough sound of his voice.
Bea wasn’t deterred. “What? Why? I was just jokin’,” she said. “I promise to stop complainin’ about the putrid smell of bovine feces.”
“C’mon, Pres,” Rye said. “Where’s your sense of humor?”
“Don’t have one, but that’s not why she needs to get down. This ain’t the right horse for her. Their energies don’t match. Get Blue. He’s the one for miss Bea.”
Athena winced, Rye’s eyebrows rose in tandem, and I crutched closer.
“Uh, Pres,” I hedged, “you sure?”
“I’m sure.” He nodded toward Blue’s stall, his eyes on Rye’s. “Get him.”
“Wait a minute,” Bea said, stepping down from the bucket and backing toward me. Anxiety radiated out around her like a force field. “Why do you all look like this man just signed my death warrant?”
“It’ll be fine, right, Rye?” I said. I needed his reassurance that his horse would not, in fact, kill Bea or put her in the hospital. If we both had broken legs, we’d be doomed.
Rye pursed his lips for a few seconds. He studied Blue and then Bea, and back to Blue again, but then he nodded. “I trust Pres’s judgment. If he says Blue’s the horse for Bea, it must be true.” He turned and opened his horse’s stall.
Presley led Purdy back to his stall across the way, and Bea turned to look at me. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, ’course,” were the words that came out of my mouth, but my head moved side to side as I said it.
“Thanks,” she griped. “Thanks for that vote of confidence.” But when she heard Blue’s hooves on the barn floor as Rye led him into the aisle, she turned and gasped in awe. “He’s beautiful.”
“That he is,” Rye said proudly. “Don’t you break him. Now c’mon. Come closer. Talk to him. Introduce yourself. Let him smell you and feel your heartbeat.”
Athena moved next to me, and we held our breath as Bea approached Blue with her hand out, like he was a snarling dog instead of a rowdy horse. Sitting next to my broken leg on the dusty barn floor, even Fig was nervous. He yelped softly and ran out the open door.
It wasn’t that Blue was mean or dangerous, but he was a horse meant for an experienced rider. Rye had bred and raised Blue for himself, and they had an unexplainable bond and connection, like two pieces of a whole. I’d never seen Blue take to anyone other than Rye. The horse hated me. Every time I walked by him he tossed something at me: water, hay, spit—whatever he had at his disposal.
But Bea was brave, too, and when Blue slipped his nose beneath her hand and tossed her arm up in the air, she didn’t cower away; she stayed her course slowly and laid her other hand on Blue’s chest.
“Hello, you regal creature. You’re so handsome.”
I swore he could understand her. He chuffed and nosed at her hair.
