Page 14 of My Queendom for a Horse

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“And?” Dad asks. “What did he say?”

“We’re meeting for lunch.” I frown. “Did you know he was here? Did he tell you he’s opening an office nearby?”

“Not exactly.” But Dad won’t meet my eyes. And that means he knew.

Suddenly I’m shaking. How could my dad conspire with my ex? He was around after we broke up. When I fell apart. “Now I’m stuck going to lunch with him.”

Dad’s grin makes me want to punch him.

I’m distracted, though, which is lucky for Dad. John’s striding toward me, his eyes flashing, his lips compressed.

What reason does he have to be angry? It’s a brisk, beautiful Latvian fall. There’s no snow on the ground yet, but I can feel it coming. Soon. Maybe a month more before we’re blanketed. But for now, the weather’s glorious.

“That creature you bought should be shot.”

Is he talking about Obsidian? “I turned him out. What’s there to complain about?”

“He’s loose.” John’s hands clench. “He sailed over the fence and now he’s racing around the stables, wreaking havoc. No one can catch him, and all the other horses are freaking out. It’ll be a miracle if none of them are injured.”

I can hardly believe what he’s saying. Obsidian cleared a five-foot fence on his own? Without a rider encouraging him? “You decided, with all that going on, to come over here and yell at me?”

“No one else can touch him,” he says. “He’s perfectly behaved around you and demonic for everyone else.”

“Dad, I’ll be back.” I take off at a jog for our stables. I hope he’ll calm down when he sees me. Because if he breaks his leg or eats something bad and colics. . . My quarter million euro gamble will be even more idiotic than before.

I love horses, but sometimes it feels like they’re just looking for ways to kill themselves. I can’t actually be the only one who can handle him. I have a vet practice to manage. I can’t be at the barn around the clock.

As I get closer to the crime scene, I hear a sound like someone’s whamming a sledgehammer into a metal wall. “What’s going on in there?” I call out.

The sound immediately stops.

It goes entirely silent, except for a huffing and puffing behind me. To my surprise, John’s coming up fast, wheezing like he’s just finishing a footrace. When we reach the stable, no humans seem to be around, which is baffling, because wouldn’t some of the grooms be trying to catch the loose stallion?

The second I round the turn and head down the main breezeway, heads pop out of stalls. Nearly a dozen horses have their heads hanging over their stable doors. Each stall opens onto its own outdoor run, so my babies have come inside specifically to welcome me. They all love me, and it fills my heart with joy, usually. Right now, I don’t have time to greet them.

Because the clanging sound starts again. At the back of the barn I find the source, where Obsidian Devil appears to be trying to open a gate. While I’m standing and watching him, he starts to apply his mouth to the latch as if he’s earnestly trying to break free.

Maybe John wasn’t entirely wrong. He’s been an angel for me the past two days of the trip, but apparently he’s more devious than I thought. I grab a halter and hold up my hand. “Obsidian,” I call. “It’s me, Kristiana. I’m here. Everything’s okay.”

His nostrils flare. His eyes roll. But he hears my voice and stops whamming the metal door and trying to open the latch. He throws his head up over and over, his shimmering mane rippling.

I walk toward him slowly, my hands moving up and outward, showing him that I have a halter, and waiting to see whether he’ll bolt. One of the most important things not to do with a horse who’s spooked is chase it. Horses are prey, so they run when chased. And once you start after them, they see you as the predator no matter how well they know or love you.

“It’s okay. I’m here,” I say softly. “Everything’s alright.” It takes me a moment or two, but he lets me approach, and then he lets me halter him.

“See?” John asks ominously.

“I think he might need a ride around the farm so he can see where he is,” I say. “Maybe that’ll help him feel more comfortable here. It’s a lot for a normal horse, coming to a new home, but I imagine it’s even worse for him. He’s highly intelligent and athletically gifted.”

John scoffs. “And he’s going in the six-foot stallion enclosure from now on.”

I probably should have started him there, but he was behaving so well for me. “Fine.”

Obsidian Devil lets me lead him to the crossties without any issues.

“Let’s see if you can stand here,” I say. “Has anyone ever trained you about how these work?” I shift so he can turn his head left and right to see the setup. Our crossties have three separate sections for working on horses all laid out in a row. Each of them is almost as big as a standard stall, with bars in between on which we’ve mounted clips and ties. I lead him in slowly, and then turn him around. Then I clip the straps to the side of his halter, left, then right.

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