Page 15 of Irish Rebel
“You’ve a good eye for horses,” Brian said.
It didn’t surprise her that she hadn’t heard him come in. And it didn’t surprise her that despite not hearing she’d known he was there. The air changed, she thought, when he was in it.
“I come by it naturally.”
“You do. Teddy Bear.” He murmured it, causing her to look up as she lowered the gelding’s leg. His eyes were on the horse’s, his skilled and clever hands already moving over head and throat. Keeley heard the gelding blow out a soft breath. Pure pleasure.
“You’ve a kind and patient heart, don’t you?” Brian moved into the box, those wide-palmed hands still skimming, stroking, checking. “And a fine broad back for carrying small, dreamy boys. How long have you had him?”
She blinked, nearly flushed. There was something hypnotic about those hands, about that voice. “Nearly two years.”
Brian ran his hands down the flank. Stopped. His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer and examined a crosshatch of scarring. “What’s this?” But he knew, and turned on Keeley so quickly she backed up to the wall before she could stop herself. “This horse has been whipped, and whipped bloody.”
“His previous owner,” she said icily, as a defense against that first spurt of alarm, “had a heavy hand with a whip. He wanted to show Teddy, but Teddy shied at the jumps. This was his way of showing he was the boss.”
“Bloody bastard.” And though his eyes still glinted with heat, his voice went soft again. “You’re in a better place now, aren’t you, boy. A fine home with a pretty woman to rub you down. Rescued him, did you?” he said to Keeley.
“I wouldn’t go that far. There are different methods of breaking a horse. I don’t happen to—”
“I don’t break horses.” Brian ducked under Teddy’s belly, then his eyes met Keeley’s over the wide back. “I make them. Any idiot can use a bat or a whip and break both spirit and heart. It takes skill and patience and a gentle hand to make a champion, or even just a friend.”
She waited a moment, surprised her knees wanted to shake. “Why do you expect me to disagree with you?” she wondered aloud. She stepped out of the box, moved to the next.
The aging mare greeted her with a snort and a bump of head on shoulder. Keeley snatched up a body brush to finish off her student’s sketchy grooming.
“I can’t stand seeing anything mistreated.” Brian spoke quietly from behind her. Keeley didn’t turn, didn’t answer. Now that the first spurt of anger had passed, he had just enough room for shame at the way he’d turned on her. “Especially something that has so little choice. It makes me sick and angry.”
“And you expect me to disagree again?”
“I snapped at you. I’m sorry.” He touched a hand to her shoulder, left it there even when she stiffened—as he would with a nervous horse. “You look into eyes like that one has over there, and you see inside them that huge, generous heart. Then the scars where someone beat him—because he could. It scrambles my brain.”
With an effort she relaxed her shoulders. “It took me three months to get him to trust me enough not to shy every time I lifted my hand. One day, he stuck his head out when I came in and called to me the way they do when they’re happy to see you. I fed him carrots and cried like a baby. Don’t tell me about mistreatment and scrambled brains.”
Shame wasn’t something he felt often, but it was easy to recognize. He took a deep breath and hoped to start again. “What’s this pretty mare’s story?”
“Why do you think there’s a story? She’s a horse. You ride her.”
“Keeley.” He laid a hand over hers on the brush. “I’m sorry.”
She moved her hand, but gave in and rested her cheek on the mare’s neck. Rubbing, Brian noted, as she did when she hugged her parents.
“Her crime was age. She’s nearly twenty. She’d been left stabled and neglected. She was covered with nettle rash and lice. Her people just got bored with her, I suppose.”
He didn’t think when he stroked her hair. His hands were as much a part of his way of communicating as his voice. “How many do you have?”
“Eight, counting Sam, but he’s too much for the students at this point.”
“And did you save them all?”
“Sam was a gift for my twenty-first birthday. The others... well, when you’re in the center of the horse world, you hear about horses. Besides, I needed them for the school.”
“Some would expect you to stock Thoroughbreds.”
“Yes.” She shifted. “Some would. Sorry, I have to feed the horses, then I have paperwork.”
“I’ll give you a hand with the feeding.”
“I don’t need it.”
