Page 40 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys
For birthing and bottle-feeding calves.
For campfire nights under stars, pretending like we were still driving herds across uninhabited land to sell in dirt road towns for ten bucks per hundredweight. That price had gone up exponentially, something I couldn’t complain about, but a lot of the wonder had died as modern times shifted away from hitting the trail for weeks to deliver cattle.
I hoped down from the fence, ready to try my luck with the mare again.
She slowed her gait as I approached, which was a good sign.
When she tilted her head down expectantly, I knew I could try saddling her up again. We’d built enough trust. I ran my hand along her neck, feeling the warmth and strength beneath the silky coat. She leaned into my touch, though she also snorted and searched for another carrot. I smiled at that; the horse had her priorities straight.
"Just needed a little more time, didn’t you, girl?” I said, mind wandering to Wade.
Wade, who could speak volumes to a strange animal, but clammed up around strange humans. He warmed up to people like this, cautiously and without offering any initial trust. Once Wade liked you though, he liked you for life. He was better than me. I barreled in, grabbed what I wanted, and barreledout again. People seemed to like me, and I used that to my advantage. I can’t honestly say I liked anyone outside the pack though. Being the figurehead of Sagebrush wasn’t a choice for me. The moment Wade backed down from taking any lead role, I couldn’t. I was the eldest, after all. Minutes older, branded with first come energy for life. I had too much on my shoulders to give part of myself to people who didn’t matter.
“Be back in a jiff,” I murmured to the horse, turning around and padding over to where the saddle sat atop the fence and the bridle hung from an adjacent post.
I grabbed the bridle first; it was always the hardest for a horse to get used to and I wasn’t sure this mare was going to let me use this conventional type. She’d bucked and protested last attempt. If she fought it this time, I wasn't about to force it. Some trainers might, but that wasn't my style. Wasn't our style at Sagebrush Ranch. I’d figure something else out.
"We've got time," I said as I walked back toward her, more to myself than to the horse.
But did we?The thought of an Omega riding this mare someday made me want to hurry, to break my normal mantra of letting the animal set the pace. I had to breathe, remind myself that this faceless scent-match may never arrive, and betraying this animal wasn’t the answer.
I found myself frozen next to the mare, breathing heavily, heart thudded in my chest.
I angrily swiped at my face when a tear—a fucking tear—scorched down my cheek. I was losing it. I didn’t get emotional like this, not on the outside. To my surprise, the horse nudged my chest. I blinked at her, her large brown eyes studying me curiously. She nudged me again, this time targeting the right pocket of my jeans. I chuckled, pulling out the sugar cube there.
“How the hell you horses can smell sugar is beyond me.” I offered it to her, and she did this little stomp of her front hooves,obvious happiness flooding her limbs. She licked it off my palm quickly, then began pressing her nose into my body as if to search for other hidden treasures.
“You can have another after we try this,” I assured her, slowly bringing the bridle into her sightlines.
She eyed it with distrust, backed away a step.
“It’s okay, girl. You can do this.”
I didn’t even get the bridle near her nose before she darted away. I frowned but then shrugged it off. I’d know this might be a futile exercise. She’d fought the bridle every time.
I watched as she moved away, trotting along the fence line with fluid grace. This mare wasn't the kind of animal you broke hard, not that we ever took that route anyways. I’d seen other trainers who thought certain horses needed a firm hand, that they needed to understand their place in the hierarchy immediately. But one thing I’d learned about horses—forcing them to break didn’t just kill their rebellion, it killed their spirits too.
She’d trust us eventually, and I’d find the right solution to make her a great rider.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. For a wild moment, my heart jumped to the possibility it could be Eros news. But it was just Cooper, texting to ask if I wanted chicken or steak for dinner. My heart sank back into its, now constant, state of aching.
I texted back, "Don’t care," and shoved the phone into my pocket again.
When I looked up, the horse had moved to the far side of the paddock and was watching me with that same cautious interest. The sun caught her mane, turning it almost silver.I fucking hope we don’t end up with a riderless horse. Taking up money. Taking up space. Taking up the job of constantly torturing us with what could have been…
"What do you think, girl?" I asked, my voice carrying across the paddock. "Think they'll find our Omega?"
I was asking the horse.
That’s how far gone I was.
As if in response, she tossed her head, sending her winter-kissed mane flying. It almost looked like she was shaking her head, ‘no’. It sent a pang through my chest, but then I focused on the way the pale strands caught the light, appearing almost translucent for a moment before settling against her neck once more. I'd always had a weakness for beautiful things, whether horses, landscapes, or women. I craved the kind of beauty that made you stop and stare, that reminded you the world wasn't all hardship and waiting.
My hope was this horse’s owner, whoever they were and wherever they might be, would be cut from the same cloth.So, fucking stunning that you couldn’t stop staring.
I sighed and turned toward the gate where the adjustable neck rope was. She’d tolerate that, so I could lead her back to the stables and the larger paddock. For now, she could just run free. After coaxing her to me, I slipped on the lead and opened the gate. She walked calmly beside me, and I found myself wondering why she was so opposed to the bridle. She’d let me get the saddle and halter on, but she flat-out wouldn’t tolerate the bridle and bit. Made me want to call the sellers, ask them what the hell they did.
For some reason, the steady thud of her hooves beside me was calming. I increased my pace, and she matched my movements. A little faster. She stayed with me, neither pulling ahead nor falling behind. This was where the animal was going to excel—following its riders signals, whether physical or vocal.
