Page 18 of When the Storm Breaks
“You’re just going to leave him there?”
“Nah. She’ll come around eventually.” I wasn’t so sure of that. The horse seemed stubborn and not interested in following the pack. I decided she was my favorite horse.
“What’s her name?”
“Rebel,” he said with a chuckle and I got the feeling I was missing an inside joke. “Her name is Rebel.”
“Now that I know she’s a girl, I like her even better.”
“Figured you would.”
I helped Brody fill the salt buckets hanging in the shelters in the pasture and clean and refill the water in the troughs. When that was done, Brody said he had to fix the fence in the first pasture, so I waited outside the shed that housed a John Deere tractor and farm equipment while he gathered his tools and planks of cedar then trailed along beside him. I wasn’t surprised when he refused my offer to help.
Leaning my back against the fence inside the paddock, I watched Rebel displaying her independent spirit. From the corner of my eye, I also watched Brody as he used a crowbar to rip off the damaged fence panels, the muscles in his arms bulging and flexing, the veins in his forearms pronounced. This was vein porn at its finest and try as I might, I couldn’t drag my eyes away.
I had a thing for a man’s hands and his were big and strong and capable looking.
How would it feel to have those calloused, suntanned hands touching my skin? Would he be rough? Or gentle? I thought Brody was capable of both.
“Enjoying the view?”
“It’ll do.”
His lips tugged up at the corners. I smiled to myself when he finally asked for my help after having denied he needed it.
Chapter Six
Shiloh
I heldthe cedar fence panel steady at the opposite post while he used a screw gun to secure it, his other hand bearing the brunt of the weight. I wasn’t used to being around men who worked with their hands and had the ability to fix things. The men in my life were better at breaking things than fixing them.
“Did someone die in the guesthouse?” I blurted when he rose to his feet and moved around me to screw the wood to the other post.
“Why do you ask?”
“Just a feeling I get.”
He side-eyed me. “What kind of feeling exactly?”
“I can’t describe it. But I sense someone else’s presence.”
“Like a ghost?”
“More like a strong vibration. But his spirit is good. Whenever he shows up, a feeling of peace and calm washes over me.” Wow. I was flying my freak flag. Not sure why I’d felt the need to share. You would think by now, after years of having my words twisted by reporters and quotes taken out of context, I’d have learned to use filters. Apparently not.
Brody was quiet for a beat while he used the screw gun. I waited for him to laugh or call me crazy. I wasn’t really expecting an answer, so it surprised me when I got one. “His name was Walt. Guess you could say he was my mentor. Best horse handler I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing. I met him about twelve years ago when I was on the rodeo circuit. When I bought this place, he asked if I needed help. Came out for two weeks, took a liking to the place, and ended up staying.”
“Can’t say I blame him. I can see how this place would make you want to stay. It’s special.” Brody glanced at me, as if to check whether I was being sincere. I smiled, remembering how he told me I should do it more often.
“Yeah, it is.” He stood back to assess his work then lined up another fence panel. Without being told, I held it in place for him.
“What happened to Walt? How did he die?”
“Doc said he went peacefully. In his sleep. Best you could hope for anyone.”
I nodded. “It was the same with my Maw Maw. My grandmother,” I added in case he wasn’t familiar with the Cajun term.
“I know what a Maw Maw is. You were close?”
