Page 32 of Savage Reins
The morning air bites at my flushed cheeks as I lean against the paddock fence, gripping the weathered wood until splinters bite into my palms. Rusalka watches me from the far corner of the pasture, ears pricked forward with curiosity as Renat guides her toward the track. Even from this distance, she can sense my agitation.
"Rough morning?"
I turn to findBatyawalking toward me from the equipment shed, a coil of wire fencing in his hands. His weathered face shows concern as he takes in my rigid posture and the way I'm gripping the fence rails.
"The gate in the far pasture is sagging again," I say, avoiding his real question.
"I'll fix it later." He sets down the wire and joins me at the fence. "What did he do?"
The question catches me off guard. "What makes you think?—"
"You've got that look. The one you used to get when the barn cats would scratch you for trying to help them."Batya's pale blue eyes study my face with understanding. He raised a stubborn daughter. He knows how this works. "Same wounded anger."
I want to deny it, to deflect and change the subject the way I always do when conversations get too personal. But the fury is still too fresh, too raw to hide completely.
"He told me to mind my lane," I say finally.
"Ah."Batyanods, unsurprised. "And what lane would that be?"
"Training the horse. Staying out of strategy decisions. Keeping my mouth shut and doing what I'm told."
"Sounds about right for a man in his position."
The casual acceptance in his voice makes me turn to stare at him. "Right?Batya, this is my horse. Our ranch. How is any of that right?"
"It's not." He leans against the fence beside me, his shoulder bumping mine. "But it's predictable. Men like him don't know how to handle women who push back."
"Men like him?"
"Dangerous ones. The ones who've been taught that control means survival."
Something in his tone makes my chest tighten. The way he says it—with understanding rather than condemnation—suggests a familiarity I don't want to examine too closely.
"You sound like you know what you're talking about."
Batyais quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the horses grazing in the distance. When he speaks, his voice carries the weight of old memories.
"I've been watching more than just the horse,malen'kaya. I see the way you look at him. The way things have shifted around here since he arrived."
Heat rises in my cheeks, but I keep my voice steady. "I don't know what you mean."
"Don't you?" He turns to face me fully, those perceptive eyes seeing straight through my deflection. "You think I don't notice when you disappear for hours at a time? When you come back with hay in your hair and that look in your eyes?"
I want to argue, to maintain the pretense that nothing has changed. ButBatyahas always been able to read me too well, even when I was trying to lie to myself.
"It's complicated," I say finally.
"Is it?" He straightens, crossing his arms over his chest. "Because it looks pretty simple. You're getting involved with a man whose job it is to destroy everything we've built."
The words sting because they're true. I climb onto the fence rail, needing the height to feel less small under his scrutiny. The wood is cold beneath my thighs, but the familiar perch gives me a moment to collect my thoughts.
"You think I don't know what he is?" I ask.
"I think you know exactly what he is. That's what worries me."Batya's voice stays gentle, but there's steel underneath. "I know what it's like to believe someone dangerous might carry some good inside them. Your mother was drawn to broken things too."
The mention of my mother makes my throat tighten. She died when I was eight, but I remember her gentleness with injured animals, the way she'd nurse wounded birds back to health even when everyone said they were beyond saving.
"But men like him, Mira—they always belong to other people. Bigger things. They don't get to choose their own path, no matter what they might want."
