Page 142 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys
Ghost nickered softly when she saw me, head bobbing in that impatient way she had when she knew I might have treats. Her coat gleamed like fresh snow in the diffused light filtering through the stable windows, unmarked except for a small gray patch on her chest. The name Ghost had come to me the first time I'd seen her, but I'd kept it to myself. The others didn’t need to know; they’d ask me why I’d chosen the moniker.
Ghost, because of her coloring.
Ghost, because she represented our Omega—who didn’t exist yet, and might never exist, yet somehow felt like she’d come and gone again, leaving behind only an apparition to haunt
Sagebrush.
The white mare padded over to the front of her stall, reaching her nose over the half-door toward me. I raised my hand, letting her press her soft muzzle against my palm. Her breath was warm, familiar. Horses had always understood me better than people. They sensed intentions, read energy, responded to truth rather than words. Ghost had taken to me immediately, as ifshe'd recognized a kindred spirit. I often wondered if I should open the gates and let her run free on the ranch, unfettered by fences. Maybe she needed the wild as much as I did sometimes, to be out in nature without electricity humming and people talking.
I glanced back at Nelly, whose eyes were locked on Ghost.
The borrowed jacket and jeans hung on her small frame, making her look vulnerable. An instinct to protect surged within me, a deep-seated need to ease her fear. Not just because of the Alpha in me, but because I remembered all too well what it felt like to be adrift, to feel like the ground beneath your feet might dissolve at any moment.
"Come meet her," I said, extending my hand in invitation but not moving toward her. Let her come in her own time, on her own terms. Ghost's name remained unspoken.What if Nelly hated it? What if she wanted to name the horse herself?These small concerns circled in my mind, oddly important in the moment.
Nelly still didn't move. Her eyes darted from me to the horse and back again, indecision written in every line of her body. I lowered my hand slowly, not wanting to pressure her.
"It's okay," I said. "You don't have to."
“You know I ran away from a pregnant cow earlier.” She screwed up her face, biting her lower lip. “I don’t think I ever realized what a scaredy-cat I am around animals.”
“Never had a family dog?” I tilted my head, imagining a childhood not exposed to critters of all kinds.
“No,” she shook her head, “but Grandmother had a thing for birds. A million sit arounds. The real birds stayed strictly outside.”
She spoke seriously, but I chuckled.
“What?” Nelly quirked an eyebrow. “It’s true. She acted like the real birds were her pets, but she’d never in a million years have a bird in the house that wasn’t glass or ceramic.”
“Well, one easy way to get comfortable around a horse is to feed them. The way to the heart and all that.”
“I thought that only applied to men,” she smiled. And, shit, it was the prettiest smile I’d ever seen.
“Men and horses,” I said, moving to the small treat shelf and grabbing sugar cubes. Ghost's ears pricked forward even more at the sound of me unscrewing the cap, her attention riveted on my movements. I walked back to Nelly. Her eyes widened slightly as I approached, but she held her ground. She didn’t retreat from me, which I counted as a small victory. Though I wanted to push the limit and get so close I could press my body to hers, I stopped a respectful distance away. I was fully aware of how my height and build could intimidate someone smaller, especially if that someone was already on edge.
"Horses and sugar," I said softly. "Universal language."
She still didn't move, her expression frozen somewhere between wariness and curiosity. I took one more step forward, then reached out slowly, palm up, offering the sugar cubes. When she didn't take them, I carefully—so carefully—reached for her hand. Her skin was cool against mine as I lifted her arm, uncurling her fingers one by one until her palm lay flat. The touch sent electricity shooting up my arm, and I had to focus on keeping my breathing steady, on not revealing how much even this simple contact affected me.
I placed one of the sugar cubes in the center of her palm, then withdrew my hand immediately, not wanting to push boundaries. Her fingers closed reflexively around the sugar, and for a brief moment, her eyes met mine directly. The impact was physical, a punch to the gut that left me breathless. In the depths of her hazel eyes, flecked with gold and green, I saw wariness,yes, but also resilience, determination, and beneath it all, a flicker of something that gave me hope.
"Horses all got soft spots for sugar," I said, the words coming out slower than I intended, slightly rough around the edges. I couldn't bring myself to smile, though I wanted to. The moment felt too precarious, too important to risk shattering.
I took a step back, giving Nelly more space again, watching as she looked down at the sugar cube nestled in her palm. A small wrinkle appeared between her brows, as if she were puzzling out some complex equation rather than simply holding a treat for a horse. Everything about her fascinated me.
The slight tilt of her head as she considered the sugar.
The way her hair fell forward to partially shield her face.
The almost imperceptible shift in her posture as curiosity began to overtake caution.
“She’s gentle, Nelly," I said, then immediately regretted the words. Too close to what Wade had said earlier about us not biting. I hurried to clarify.
Ghost, hearing voices but seeing no treats coming her way, nickered again, more insistently this time. Her impatience broke the tension, and I saw Nelly's lips twitch, not quite a smile but close.
"Go ahead," I encouraged, gesturing toward the horse with my own remaining sugar cube. "Just hold your palm flat. She'll do the rest."
I held my breath, waiting to see if she would step forward, if she would take this small risk. It wasn't just about the horse anymore, it was about trust, about allowing herself to be vulnerable in my presence. I knew how each small opening of the heart felt like stepping off a cliff without knowing what waited below. I knew how that feeling worsened after each bitter disappointment.
