Page 45 of Savage Reins
MIRA
The wash stall dims as evening settles over the ranch, steam rising from Rusalka's warm coat where the water runs off her flanks. I work the brush through her tail in long, careful strokes, untangling the knots that come from rolling in pasture dirt and rubbing against fence posts. The mare stands patiently under my hands, occasionally shifting her weight or flicking an ear at a sound I can't hear.
The entire ranch still smells like smoke and ash after the fire a few days ago, but my hands are mostly healed now.Batyainsists that we just leave the mess of charred remains in a pile, that Vadim's people will only come and burn the rest down anyway, but I have a plan to speak to Renat when this is all over, when Rusalka earns the right for us to demand more from the Vetrov family and I can tell them I want the barns rebuilt.
Footsteps approach across the concrete, and I know without looking that it's Renat. His boots have a particular rhythm—heavy, unhurried, the walk of someone who doesn't need to announce himself to be noticed. When I glance up, he's carrying two steaming mugs, wisps of vapor curling between his fingers.
"Thought you might want this." He extends one of the mugs toward me, and I catch the scent of strong black tea, though I detect a hint of what I perceive to be vodka.
I take it, wrapping both hands around the ceramic to let the heat seep into my palms. The first sip burns going down, but it's good—better than the watered-down tea we usually manage. "Thank you."
He leans against the wall beside the stall, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body in the cool air. Rusalka turns her head to investigate him, nostrils flaring as she takes in his scent. After a moment, she goes back to dozing, accepting his presence isn't a threat.
"She really does have good bone structure," Renat says, nodding at the mare. "Who was her sire again?"
"Thunder Bay." Setting the tea mug on the fence post, I continue working through her tail, sectioning it carefully. "Grandfather bought his breeding rights back when we still had money for that kind of investment. Thunder Bay threw speed, but more than that, he threw heart. Horses that wouldn't quit even when their bodies wanted to."
Renat makes a sound of understanding. "I can see it in her. The way she carries herself, even tired."
I pause in my brushing, looking at him over Rusalka's hindquarters. There's something in his voice when he talks about horses that I've never heard when he discusses anything else. Not softer, exactly, but… cleaner. Like he can drop whatever mask he wears for the rest of the world.
"Do you really think she's got what it takes?" he asks, and though I know given enough time, she would, I'm doubtful in the few short days we have left that she can actually pull it off. But I remain hopeful.
"If we had longer, say another six weeks, I'd be one hundred percent confident." I move to Rusalka's other side, continuing the brushing. "But what are we at now, twelve days?"
"Thirteen…"
"And I don't know. I'm hopeful, but I can't guarantee anything." My hand works a steady rhythm as I part the hairs of her tail and work out the tangles. "But even the most tired or inexperienced horse can surprise you."
He nods, sipping his tea. "Sounds familiar."
The comment could mean a dozen things, but I don't push. Instead, I let the conversation flow where it wants to go. Renat and I have worked together well, and we've had incredible sex—that much is true. But we've never stood and talked about life, and the calmness between us makes me wish we would. So I lead that direction and hope he feels comfortable following.
"I was riding before I could walk properly," I tell him, running my fingers through Rusalka's now-smooth tail. "Batyaused to put me up on the gentlest mare we had, hold the lead rope, and walk circles around the ring for hours. Said I cried less in the saddle than anywhere else."
"That doesn't surprise me." There's amusement in his voice, but not the mocking kind. "You move around them like you were born to it."
The compliment shouldn't affect me the way it does, but I feel heat rise in my cheeks anyway. "The ranch saved us more times than I can count. When Mother died, when the bank came calling, when he started drinking too much—the horses keptBatyasteady. Gave him something to care for besides his grief."
Renat is quiet for a long moment, studying the steam rising from his mug. When he finally speaks, his voice has a different quality to it, rougher around the edges.
"I didn't have anything steady growing up. Not a place, not a family worth trusting." He pauses, and I can feel himchoosing his words carefully. "Moved around a lot when I was young. Different relatives, different arrangements, none of them particularly interested in keeping a kid around longer than they had to."
My hands still on Rusalka's coat. I want to say something, but I sense that interrupting would break whatever fragile trust is building between us.
"Being around horses settles something in me," he continues. "They don't care about your name or who you owe money to or what you did last week. They just want consistent hands and a calm voice. Simple wants, quiet strength. There's… peace in that."
I turn to face him fully now, the brush forgotten in my hand. This is the most he's ever told me about himself, and I can see the effort it takes. The way his jaw tightens, the careful control in his posture.
"Peace is hard to come by," I say quietly.
"It is." He meets my eyes. "Especially when you've spent most of your life being anything but peaceful."
I think about what peace means to each of us. For me, it's the rhythm of hoofbeats and the smell of hay and knowing exactly what needs to be done each day. For him, it seems to be something he's still learning to recognize.
"Well," I say, forcing lightness into my voice, "at least stall mucking beats killing people."
The words are out before I can stop them, and for a moment I think I've said too much, pushed too far. But then Renat's mouth quirks up at one corner, and he lets out a short laugh that transforms his entire face into a bright smile that causes crinkles at the corners of his eyes. A hearty belly laugh erupts from his gut, shaking his shoulders.
