Page 24 of Trussed In Hope
“I don’t,” she said, shaking her head. Her eyes darted past me to Diesel, who was standing calm and steady, ears flicking at the sound of our voices. “Is he yours?”
“Just met him today,” I admitted. “Didn’t even have a name until about an hour ago. Diesel.”
“Diesel,” she repeated, tasting the word. “Strong name. Fits him.”
I led the horse into his stall, giving him a last pat on the neck before sliding the door shut. Emberlynn watched me work, arms crossed loosely, her expression somewhere between admiration and curiosity.
“You look… different out here,” she said.
“Different how?” I asked, stripping the saddle and draping it over the rail.
“Lighter. This is where you’re supposed to be.” Her tone carried no judgment, just an observation that hit deeper than she probably knew.
I met her gaze, felt the weight of it settle in my chest. “That’s the second time I’ve heard that today.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The barn was filled only with the shifting sounds of animals, the steady creak of wood, the smell of hay and sweat. Then she stepped closer, close enough that her shoulder brushed my arm.
“Come on,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips. “Show me around. If I’m supposed to be here two weeks, I should probably learn the difference between a tack room and a feed room.”
I huffed a laugh, the tension easing out of me. “Fair enough. But don’t say I didn’t warn you—once I start teaching, I don’t stop.”
She grinned, eyes sparkling with a challenge. “Good. I like a man who takes control.”
Her words lit something low in me, sharp and steady. Control. Yeah. That I could do.
I dusted my hands on my jeans and nodded toward the wide center aisle. “All right, city girl. Lesson one—this is the barn. Stalls on either side. Tack room on the left, feed room on the right. Hayloft up top, but you don’t go up there unless you like sneezing for a week straight.”
Her laugh rang soft and quick, bouncing off the wooden beams. “Duly noted.”
I guided her toward the tack room first, pushing the door open to reveal rows of saddles, bridles, halters, each one lined up like soldiers in formation. The smell of leather and oil filled the small space. Emberlynn’s hand trailed over a saddle horn, fingertips brushing the worn leather.
“It’s… beautiful,” she murmured.
“It’s work,” I corrected gently. “Every piece has a purpose. The horse trusts you to use the right tool, and you don’t betray that trust.”
She glanced at me then, eyes flickering with something sharper. “You take that seriously.”
“Damn right I do.” I held her gaze. “Trust is everything. Without it, you’ve got nothing. Not with animals. Not with people.”
Her lips parted as if she wanted to reply, but she didn’t. Instead, she followed me into the feed room, where the scent shifted to sweet grain and sun-dried hay. Barrels lined one wall, neatly labeled.
I tapped the lids with my knuckles. “Oats. Sweet feed. Pellets. Supplements. You mess up one ration, you’ve got a sick animal on your hands. Or worse.”
She stepped closer, her shoulder brushing mine as she peered into the nearest barrel. “So you have to measure everything?”
“Exactly. Control the portions. Keep the balance. Too much or too little, and everything falls apart.”
Her head tilted, and she looked up at me through her eyelashes. “Sounds like you like being in control.”
The air thickened. I held her gaze, slow and steady, letting the weight of her words settle between us. “I don’t just like it,” I said, voice low. “I need it.”
Something in her expression softened, then sparked again—like a door opening, like recognition. Her lips curved into the faintest smile.
“I think,” she whispered, “I need that too.”
The moment stretched, sharp as barbed wire and just as binding. Then a goat bleated somewhere outside, shattering the tension. Emberlynn laughed, nervous and bright, while I scrubbed a hand over my jaw.
“Lesson two,” I said roughly, forcing my voice steady. “Never let the goats think they run the place. They’ll try to. Every damn time.”
