by Jennie Marts
Elle glanced absently down at herself as if she couldn’t even remember what she had on. “I’m not worried about my clothes. It’s not like I’m going to be riding the horse.” A tiny grin pulled at the corner of her mouth.
Had Elle made a joke?
Bryn laughed, her heart happy that the other woman was feeling comfortable enough to throw a little snark her way. “As far as you know. This is only my second horse rescue attempt. I really have no idea what to expect.”
Zane arched an eyebrow. “My guess is you’ll both be underwhelmed. All we’re doing is driving fifteen minutes and possibly coercing a hungry horse into a trailer.”
“Good point,” Bryn said. “I’ll grab some apples while I’m in the house. Back in a jiff.”
Twenty minutes later, they were rumbling down the highway. Bryn was squished, not uncomfortably, in the middle of Elle and Zane, her body acutely aware of the heat of his thigh, hip, and shoulder as they pressed against hers. She was so close she could smell his subtle aftershave and the clean detergent scent of his T-shirt. It took everything she had not to bury her face in his neck and inhale him.
Down, girl. Focus on the horse, not the horse whisperer.
With the bench seat taken, Zane’s dog had been relegated to the floorboards, where she rested her head on one of Elle’s knees and gazed at her in adoration. For her part, Elle seemed oblivious to the black and white dog hair clinging to her pants as she rubbed the dog’s ears.
Zane turned onto a small dirt road, and Bryn’s teeth clacked together as they lumbered over the washboard ruts. “It’s just up ahead,” he said, pointing to a dilapidated house and crumbling barn. Rusted-out fencing enclosed a corral on one side of the barn. At the back of the corral, a battered lean-to leaned so far it almost touched the ground.
As they pulled into the driveway, a gaunt gray horse, its silver coat so light it was almost white, eyed them from inside the fence.
“Damn,” Zane cursed, not quite under his breath. “Horse looks half-starved.” He drew the trailer up to the fence and rolled down the windows before he cut the engine. He gripped Bryn’s hand as he eyed her. “You sure you’re up for this?”
She gripped back. She was more than up for it. Her heart was already breaking for the dejected horse. “I’m sure.”
He glanced around the yard and the farmhouse. It was eerily quiet. “Why don’t you all stay in the truck a minute? Let me take a look around the place and make sure there’s no one here.”
Bryn’s mouth went dry, and the hair on her neck stood on end. She’d been so focused on getting to the horse she hadn’t considered someone could still be here or that they could be walking into a dangerous situation.
Zane exited the truck and cautiously approached the house. He held his hands out to his sides, his body tense and poised to fight. His eyes narrowed, his gaze sharp as he made his way through the weed- and trash-covered yard. Random objects littered the patchy grass in front of the house—a corroded push mower, a half-buried tire, and a box of what looked like tarnished kitchen ware perched on the corner of a faded, moldy recliner. An old washing machine sat on the porch, rust crawling up its sides like a vine.
Bryn exchanged a look with Elle. “You okay?”
The other woman let out a shuddering sigh. “Yeah. I’m scared. But it’s good. I’m glad to know I can still feel something.”
Bryn reached across her leg and took Elle’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze before turning her attention back to Zane. The front door hung from its hinges, and Bryn held her breath, cringing at the sinister creak it made as he pushed his way through it and disappeared into the house.
They waited. One minute. Two. An eternity. What was happening in there? Had Zane found something? Someone? Was he in there now, fighting off an assailant? Or worse, had he found someone who was beyond fighting? A body?
“What’s taking him so long?” she whispered, coils of fear tightening her chest.
Elle clasped her hand. Whether she was offering support or taking it, Bryn wasn’t sure. Maybe it was both.
The women jumped as a loud crash and an alarmed shout came from inside the house. “Zane,” Bryn called, dropping Elle’s hand and scrambling from the truck. She sprinted for the house, grabbing the closest kitchen utensil’s handle from the box as she ran past the recliner.
The door screeched open again, and Zane stepped out onto the crumbling porch.
The breath whooshed from her lungs as relief flooded through her. “Oh my gosh, are you okay?” Bryn asked, closing the distance between them. “We heard a crash, and you yelled. Was someone in there? Did they attack you?” She wanted to throw her arms around him but couldn’t because she still had the utensil clutched in her hands. Her fingers didn’t seem to want to let go.
“No. There’s no one in there. And I’m okay,” he assured her as he reached out and firmly clasped her shoulder. The heat and strength of his palm on her arm worked to settle her chest. “I was checking out the upstairs, and the damn floor gave way. I almost fell through but managed to grab the doorframe as I scrambled back. I don’t remember yelling.” He rubbed his hand up and down her arm for a few strokes, then eased the utensil from her hands and examined it. “Is this what you were going to use to save me? I’m curious if you were planning to use this to attack someone or to make them spaghetti.”
She glanced down and realized for the first time she’d grabbed a metal colander. She let out a relieved laugh. “I didn’t have a plan. I just reacted. I thought you were hurt or that someone was attacking you, and I just ran.”
“Most people run away when they sense danger, not toward the threat.”
She shrugged, unable to tell him she wasn’t running toward danger but running toward him. “I guess I’m not most people.”
“True enough.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay.” She threw her arms around his waist, trying to calm her racing heart by pressing her chest to his.
He slid his arms around her back and held her close for a few seconds, then tipped his head toward her ear, the deep tone of his voice sending heat down her spine. “I like that you were coming to save me, but let’s focus on saving the horse for now.”
She nodded and pulled away, then waved to Elle. “He’s okay.”
Elle stood by the truck, one hand holding the collar of the collie, the other holding up her cell phone. “I was ready to call 911.”
“No need for that. I’m fine,” he said again as they walked toward her.
“Not for you. For me. You almost gave me a heart attack.” She let go of the dog, and it loped toward Zane, nudging his hand with her head.
Bryn chuckled. Two jokes in one day. Elle must be feeling more comfortable around them. “So what did you find in there? Any sign that the occupants are coming back?”
“No way. It looks like they were just squatting on the property.” He wrinkled his nose as he petted the dog’s ears. “The place is disgusting—full of trash and drug paraphernalia—and it stinks like an outhouse. There’s an old mattress in the living room, but I didn’t see any clothes or possessions—nothing to indicate anyone is still staying there or that they’d be coming back.”
Bryn had glimpsed a bit of the filth and squalor through the windows when she’d been on the porch with Zane. The house had given off a scent of foulness and decay.
Elle wrapped her arms around her middle. “Who would leave and abandon their animal?”
Zane shook his head, his lips set in a tight line. “Assholes. That’s who,” he muttered, as he scanned the corral. “The watering trough looks empty. Do you want to look around and see if you can find a spigot and something to carry some water in?”
“Sure, I’ll see what I can find.” She headed toward the side of the house.
“Be careful,” Bryn called. “This place is a tetanus shot waiting to happen.”
; “I will,” she answered over her shoulder, already picking her way across the littered front yard. The collie trotted after her.
Bryn turned back to Zane, who was studying the horse, his face set in concentration. She watched his gaze go from the horse to the barn to the field and back to the patch of tall grass that grew in front of the rusted-out fencing the horse stood behind.
The horse stared back at Zane, as if measuring up the man. Now that she really looked at the gray, she noticed how shallow his breathing was and how skinny he seemed. He let out a whinny and gave a feeble attempt at stamping his back feet.
All Zane’s focus was on the horse, and his brow furrowed as he took a few tentative steps forward. “Holy shit,” he whispered, a wince of pain narrowing his eyes.
* * *
Zane moved cautiously toward the horse, trying not to spook him. He should have realized something was wrong when they pulled up and the horse didn’t move, didn’t trot up and down the fence as they went into the house. He chastised himself for wasting precious time checking out the structure and not paying enough attention to the animal.
The weeds in front of the fence were thick, hiding the horse’s legs, but as Zane progressed forward, he spotted the coil of rusted barbed wire wrapped around the gray’s front leg. The animal must have pulled back as it tried to get loose, because the wire had tightened and embedded itself into the skin.
“Damn it,” he swore softly as he put out a warning hand to Bryn who took a step toward him. “Stay back. He’s got his leg tangled up in a coil of barbed wire.”
Her hands flew to her mouth as her gaze lowered to the horse’s mangled leg. “Oh no. What can I do?”
“Just give me a minute to assess the situation,” he said, his voice low as he eased closer. “It’s all right, fella. I’m not gonna hurt ya. I’m here to help.” The horse had his head down, his tail limp. He appeared weak, his breathing shallow. Flies buzzed around the scrapes and tears in his leg, but he didn’t seem to have the energy to try to shoo them away.
Zane dipped his head, pulling his hat down so as not to look the horse in the eye. Stuck in the fencing, he was prey, and Zane didn’t want to do anything to spook him and cause more damage to the already-ragged leg. “Behind the seat of my truck is a pair of blue-handled fence pliers,” he told Bryn. “Can you grab ’em for me so I can cut this wire fencing? Move nice and slow. And you probably want to grab that lead rope for when I get him free.”
She was closer to the truck, and he heard her careful footsteps, then the creak of the seat. He waited a beat, noting the patchy dirt around the horse’s head. He must have eaten all the grass he could reach. It was hard to tell how many days the horse had been ensnared in the wire.
“Here,” Bryn said, her voice breathy as she eased up behind him and passed him the wire cutters.
“Thanks,” he told her, stuffing the pliers in his back pocket. “Stay back. I don’t want to frighten him any more than he already is. It’s gonna take a lot of trust for him to let me cut those barbs out of his skin.” He approached the fence and deftly snipped the three rows of fence wire so he could get to the horse.
As he stepped closer, keeping his head and his voice low, the horse’s body flinched and tensed, and his ears went back. His tail swished, and he stomped his back feet as Zane gingerly pressed his hand to the horse’s shoulder. He kept his hand there, applying steady pressure while murmuring soft assurances.
The horse stiffened again, tossing his head and giving another tail swish, this one weaker than the first. Zane held steady, keeping his hand in place and a calm composure. Finally, the animal took a deep, hard breath, then his body settled.
Round one went to Zane. But this fight wasn’t over. He still needed to gain this horse’s full trust if it was going to let him cut it free.
He slowly moved his hand over the horse’s body, assessing and analyzing what he was dealing with. This horse hadn’t been treated well. His back haunches had strips of thickened skin that were smooth and hairless, evidence of a whip or riding crop being brutally used. His flanks showed scars from where spurs had struck and split the skin.
Just like Zane’s own skin, the scars told the story of this horse’s life. And the stories of both man and beast told a tale of abuse and violence. They’d both been mistreated, which gave them a bond only the abused understood.
He smoothed his hand over the horse’s belly, across his shoulder, and down the foreleg as he bent to his knee.
“Be careful,” Bryn whispered.
“I’m okay,” he said quietly. “This horse has to decide if he’s gonna kill me or not, and I think we’ve made it past that stage. Now I’ve just got to convince him to let me hurt him to save him.”
“Why are his back legs bloody? He’s got wounds back there that I can’t imagine came from the fence.”
Zane peered at his back legs and grimaced as he shook his head. “Those aren’t from the fence. My guess is they’re from coyotes. They would have seen this horse as prey and attacked him as a pack in the night. He may have kicked and fought the bastards off last night, but he’s weaker now, and I’m not sure he’d survive another attack.”
“Oh, Zane,” Bryn said, the tremble evident in her voice. “We’ve got to save him. Can you cut him free? Should I call Brody? Should we wait for him?”
A hard lump settled in Zane’s chest. Of course she would think Brody could handle this better than he could. Brody was a doctor.
But Zane was a horse guy. He didn’t just work with them—he got them. He connected with the animals in an almost otherworldly way. Not that he believed in all that spiritual woo-woo shit, but he knew he had a connection with horses that was something special—unique and mystical. Brody could administer a lidocaine injection that would help numb the area, but at this point, Zane just needed to get the horse free.
“He’s waited long enough. The skin is already swelling around the barbs. And he’s fought the wire so much that it’s tightened like a snare around his leg. If he gets spooked again, he could make the damage even worse.”
He brushed a hand over the horse’s neck, shooing away the flies buzzing around its eyes and nose. The horse smelled of sweat and fear, and dust had settled on its damp skin. Zane pulled the pliers from his pocket and gripped the horse’s leg. “This is gonna hurt like hell, buddy. But you’ve got to let me hurt you to save you.”
He cut away as much of the loose fencing as he could, then he tightened his grip on the horse’s leg and went to work digging the barbs from his torn and bloodied skin. The horse huffed and pulled against him, but Zane held tight and worked as quickly as he could. Sweat dripped down his back as Zane used his strength to hold the horse’s leg in place while drawing the rusted spikes from the torn and damaged tissue.
“You’re doing great. Hold steady, boy. One more and we’ve got it,” he told the horse, blinking back the tears that threatened his eyes. He knew the pain the horse was in must be tremendous, and Zane’s crude surgical removal of the barbs had to be painful as hell. But he had to do it. It was the only way to get him loose. The horse had to withstand the torment so he could put the pain behind him and be free to heal and recover.
Zane ignored the quiet voice that softly whispered he needed to put his own pain behind him. There wasn’t time for that now. This time was for saving this horse.
He let out a shuddering breath as he pulled the last spiny piece free. “It’s done. You’re okay.” He released the horse’s foot and patted him hard as he leaned his head against its shoulder. “You were a fine soldier.” Zane collected himself, taking a few more deep breaths. It was over. His mouth was dry, and his throat burned with dehydration.
He looked up and his eyes burned again at the sight of Bryn huddled by the fence, clutching the lead rope to her chest with one hand and covering her mouth with the other as tears streamed down her cheeks. “It’s all right, darlin�
��,” he told her, his voice husky and low. “He’s gonna be okay now.”
“What about you? Are you okay?” she asked. “That had to have been so hard.”
He swallowed. Leave it to Bryn Callahan to watch him pull rusted barbed wire from a horse’s leg and worry if he was okay. This woman was going to break him yet.
He cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the emotion burning there. “I’m fine. But let’s get this horse back to your farm. He needs food and water and proper medical care. Pass me that rope, would ya?”
She nodded, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand as she eased closer and handed him the rope. He fashioned a loose bridle and slipped it over the horse’s head, then coaxed him through the open section of fence and toward the trailer.
The horse pulled back, its eyes going wide as Zane approached the door of the trailer. Zane kept his voice steady, his demeanor calm, and led him inside, tied him in, then gingerly closed and secured the door behind him.
He let out a breath as he leaned against the door. “That sucked.”
* * *
“Yeah,” Bryn said, reaching out a hand to rest it on Zane’s arm. “You did amazing.” She’d stood frozen by the fence, watching with awe and fascination as Zane had earned the horse’s trust then painstakingly extracted the barbs from the torn skin.
The sight of Zane’s tensed muscles and gritted teeth told her how grueling the task was, but his occasional wince as he sucked in a tight breath told her it was also breaking his heart. She’d seen how smoothly he’d won the trust of Beauty, and she’d been impressed with that performance, but this was a different kind of trust.
Bryn saw the pain that narrowed the man’s eyes as he’d brushed his hands over the horse’s scarred and abused body. She’d heard rumors about the abuse Zane had suffered at his father’s hands, and something about watching this wounded man free a wounded animal from the torturous snare of the barbed wire shattered her heart.
