Page 19 of Mustang Valley

She keeps on stroking.

I’m done seeing what I came to see but I don’t step away from Molly’s side. “I’m sure you’re making him feel a lot better. It’s the best you can do.”

She turns her face to mine, and we’re close. Real close. Nose to nose close. I can count her eyelashes she’s that near. Her lips are only inches away.

She whispers with soulful eyes. “Why do you love horses so much?”

It’s a question. I told her not to ask any, but something about the darkness, the methodical, lulling movement of her hand still working affectionately over Romeo’s coat and the fact that I don’t want to leave this space next to her has me answering. “In part it’s just being a cowboy. But… my dad. I was close with my dad, and it was… our thing.”

It was more than a thing. It wasthething. We spent all our time both with our horses and the wild ones.

I bite the inside of my cheek. “Why doyoulike horses so much?” I ask in return, because I genuinely want to know. How does a woman from inner-city Chicago love a horse the way her hand loves on Romeo?

She lowers her eyes; I marvel at how thick her lashes are.

“You’ll think it’s stupid. I’m just a silly pony-mad girl who romanticizes the creatures.”

“Try me.” Romanticize horses? That’s my MO.

“Besides their beauty?” She exhales. “Just they’re so strong… they could be so much more destructive but they aren’t. They…”

She laughs at herself, and I know she thinks I’m judging her, but I’m genuinely interested.

“They wear their hearts on the outside and have a huge range of emotions. You know?”

Her gaze lifts again, and I want to dive right into it, because her thoughts are just like mine, and I haven’t had any company for a while.

She continues. “I’d like to be brave enough to display what I’m really feeling. And even if it’s sadness or fear or whatever, be perceived like a thing of strength.” She’s still caressing Romeo’s neck. “Is that stupid?”

It was the least stupid thing I’ve heard anyone say in a really long time. “Maybe we have something in common after all, Sunshine.”

She draws her lips into a thin line, but a bashful smile dances somewhere in the middle of them. Her mouth is luscious even pulled in tight.

“So what’s the verdict?” She points to his mouth. “Did his gums tell you anything?”

I pat him gently. “Time to call Jolie.”

“Shit. Does that mean it’s bad?”

I don’t know. My senses tell me he’s going to be okay. Mostly, I trust my gut, but not when it’s about something as monumental as life and death. I stopped trusting that instinct a long, long time ago.

I don’t answer Molly because I don’t have one. I’ll leave that to Jolie who I text. I don’t slip my cell back in my pocket because even if she’s sleeping, she’ll get back to me soon. She knew Romeo wasn’t right, so her phone will definitely be on.

Molly stops rubbing Romeo and leans against the stall wall. She must be exhausted. Today has been no ordinary day, with nine new horses on-site, one of them sick, and it’s not like she has much additional staff. Even though behind closed doors I made sure a lot of the background tasks were sorted, she’s been up for hours. A tendril of hair falls over her crinkled forehead. She’s tired. And worried sick. I can help her with one of those things.

“Why don’t you go on up now and get some sleep? I’m here.”

She pushes that strand of hair back. “I wouldn’t sleep now. I want to wait and hear what Jolie has to say.” Her sigh is long and uneasy.

We stand for a beat of silence before she says, “You can go back up.”

“Mmm.” I’m not leaving either.

I lean on the wall next to her and make an excuse that we rub arms because the space is tight. I don’t have the usual claustrophobia I get when close with someone like this. Instead, it feels cozy.

We wait for Jolie’s text in silence, but the space sings with autumn nighttime. Crickets chirp, but already less than in summer. The doves that nest in the eaves hoot, sounding a lot like owls, but their song is more relentless. The stalls let off the occasional rustle of a horse down the row nibbling at their hay net.

I prop my foot on the wall and when I take my hand up to loop a finger through my belt, it brushes against Molly’s.

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