Page 9 of Lucky in Love

“Thanks for coming out,” I say once we’re in the barn, repeating the line I’ve been rehearsing in my head since she called. Yes, it’s silly that I have to rehearse basic greetings, but it’s better than not communicating at all.

“Oh, no problem. I was just sitting at the house anyway. I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

I raise an eyebrow as surprise jolts through me.

“How you’re doing with them,” she corrects. “Howthey’redoing.” She looks at me and shakes her head and I detect a flash of embarrassment in her eyes. “Anyway, how are they doing?”

“Come on, have a look.” I walk toward the pen where they’re being kept and she follows.

“It looks like you got some fresh antibiotic cream on their cuts.” She crosses her arms, leaning on the fence. “Did they give you any trouble?”

“The little paint is feisty and she fought me. It took some maneuvering to get the medicine on her. The other two were easier, but I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

She turns to me, her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Sometimes they’ll shut down and disassociate when they’re in an abusive situation. They’ll appear docile and compliant, lull you into letting your guard down. Then when they lash out, you’re not prepared for it.”

“Wow. You’re a horse psychologist.”

I shrug. “Horses and people. They’re not that different.”

“Is it easier to talk about horses?”

I search her face, expecting to see judgment about my communication deficiency, or maybe pity but all I see is genuine interest and compassion.

I nod, pressing my lips together. “It comes more naturally.”

“You understand them well. The way you calmed them yesterday when I was examining them…” She pauses and puts a hand on my arm. “You have a gift, Baylor.”

I feel the jolt of electricity from her touch like I did the first day we met. But today it’s more than that. There’s an intimacy to the gesture and the way she’s looking at me, like she sees inside of me. It’s too intense. I move a few feet away and gesture toward the Paint, but I can’t think of anything to say.

“Is Stella showing any signs of foaling?” she asks.

“Not yet.”

“I’ll take a look at her if you want.”

After she sees Stella, we take a walk through the barn and I show her some of the other horses I’m training. When we’ve looped back to the barn's entrance, my heart sinks at the thought of her leaving. As we walk out to her truck, I’m struck with an idea of how to keep her here longer. Before I have the chance to talk myself out of it, I blurt out, “Get in the driver’s seat. I’m going to teach you how to drive this truck.”

Her mouth drops open and for a split second, I think she’s going to argue with me, but then she beams and it’s like the sun is shining right on me. I unhitch the trailer so she can focus on driving the truck and climb into the passenger’s seat. When I slide toward her to help with the gear shift, the close proximity makes me flush from head to toe.

“Head toward that pasture.” I point to an empty field to the left of the house. “You’re going to practice swinging wide toget in that open gate. If you hit those posts, they’re a lot easier to fix than the big front gate.”

She practices going in and out of the gate and quickly gets the hang of when to swing wide and turn. Handling the steering wheel while pushing in the clutch with her foot and working the gear shift is a challenge, made more difficult by her tiny frame but she manages.

“You’ve got it.”

“Yeah, in a flat field. There’s a lot more shifting involved on a sloping mountain road.” she mutters, her usual cheerful tone replaced with defeat. “I need to be able to drive anywhere in Evergreen County.” Frustration is etched on her face.

“I know some curvy back roads that will be empty on a Sunday afternoon. We’ll practice on the worst roads. Once you’ve mastered those, you’ll be able to drive anywhere.”

I drive us to a remote dirt road on the side of a mountain. Then we switch spots and she drives and handles the clutch while I shift. Most people would be scared driving on a twisting road, overgrown trees pressing against the truck on one side, the mountain’s edge just inches from the tires on the other side. But fear never flickers across her face. Her confidence builds and soon she takes over the gear shift. There are some fits and starts, but the process becomes easier with time and when we reach the top of the mountain, she’s driving smoothly without stalling out. There is a wide cleared area where she turns around and we head back down the mountain.

“You’re an expert now. You can go anywhere,” I say with a grin. She laughs and I feel elated that I was able to make her happy.

Suddenly, a dog darts across the road, and out of instinct she swerves before realizing her mistake. The edge of the road starts to crumble away and I feel gravity tugging at my side of the truck.

I slide my body toward hers until I’m pressed against her and I take the wheel, turning it toward the inside of the mountain. “Don’t slam on the brakes. Just ease down on them.” It’s enough to regain our balance and we come to a stop.

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