Page 15 of When the Storm Breaks
I followed the dog past a flatbed truck loaded with hay to a round pen where Brody was working with a gray horse. Two older men stood a few feet back from the metal tube fencing, their eyes on Brody. One wore a cowboy hat with a short-sleeved plaid shirt, cowboy boots and Wranglers. The other one was in a dark green polo shirt and khakis. They both saw me, so I had no other choice but to walk over and introduce myself.
“Hi.” I gave them a smile. “I’m Viv. I’m staying at the guesthouse.” I was starting to sound like a broken record.
The man in the polo shirt with salt and pepper hair and a powerful build raised his brows. “So you’re Viv. Huh. You don’t say.” He held out his hand to me with a smile. “I’m Patrick. Brody’s uncle.” We shook hands, his grip firm. There was no sign of recognition in his blue eyes and I sighed in relief.
“Nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
“Wade Kimball,” the other man said, shaking my hand. “See you made a new friend.”
I smiled at the dog who was sitting right next to me, his ears perked up. “What’s his name?”
“Buster,” Patrick said with a chuckle.
With the introductions out of the way, I watched Brody working with a horse in the round pen.
“What’s he doing?” I asked, my voice hushed so as not to disturb him.
“Starting a colt,” Wade gestured in Brody’s direction. “A wild mustang. Never been saddled or ridden. Brody’s breaking him for me... sorry.” He held up his hands, eyeing Brody who scowled at him, although I couldn’t imagine how he could have heard us when we were keeping our voices low. “He don’t like that term. He’sgentlinghim. Brody’s the only trainer I trust to get the job done right.”
“He’s always had a way with horses.” Patrick’s voice was filled with pride. “Ever since he was a boy.”
Wade nodded and stroked his ginger beard. “He’s one of the best in the business. I’m always telling him he should do some videos. Make some money off his training methods. But he don’t wanna hear it.”
“Boy’s always been stubborn,” Patrick said with a shake of his head.
Even knowing Brody as little as I did, it didn’t surprise me that he had no interest in doing videos or that he was stubborn.
I focused my attention on Brody whose sole focus was on the horse, his posture so calm and relaxed, and he never once raised his voice.
The colt was running in circles around the perimeter while Brody stood in the middle, turning in a slow circle to follow the horse’s movements. Then the colt stopped abruptly, turned around and started running in the opposite direction. My gaze moved to Brody to see what he’d done to make the horse change direction. He took a few steps forward, crossing an imaginary line and flicked the coiled rope in his hand against his thigh, causing the horse to change direction again.
When Brody clucked, the horse stopped and looked at Brody. For a few seconds neither of them moved a muscle. Brody approached the horse slowly, not making any sudden movements until he was standing close enough to touch him. He was talking to the horse and although I couldn’t hear what he was saying, the horse appeared to be listening to his every word.
Then Brody had the colt follow him around the enclosure and into the middle. He turned to face the horse. Brody moved forward, and the horse backed up, accomplishing all of this without even touching the horse.
“You gonna try putting a saddle on him?” Wade asked.
Brody was standing right in front of us, his back turned, giving me a view of his broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist, his black T-shirt fitted, and his faded jeans slung low on his narrow hips. Not a bad view. Not bad at all.
“Nope. Not today. Need to do more groundwork. You only get one chance to do it right and he ain’t ready yet.”
Just then, Buster started barking and tore off toward the woods that bordered the property. I held my hand over my forehead like a visor and searched the trees for whatever distracted him. Two whitetail deer ran past with Buster in hot pursuit.
“Buster! Get back here,” Patrick shouted.
I’d been so distracted I hadn’t even noticed what was going on inside the pen until Wade said, “Oh shit.”
The colt was bucking, its ears pinned to its head. This didn’t look good. I wasn’t even standing close to the fence, but I backed up all the same and wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans as the horse kicked up its back legs.
“Brody. Get out of there,” I warned. That horse might only be a colt, but he was big and strong and could easily kill Brody with one of those powerful kicks.
But Brody ignored my warning.
“Stop showing off,” Brody chided, unfazed by the horse’s rebellion. “We’re done for the day.”
“How the hell you gonna get him out of the round pen now?” Wade asked, his voice low. The colt snorted, eyeballing Brody as he backed away then spun around and ran in the opposite direction as if to prove he wasn’t about to get caught or told what to do.
