by Remy Rose
“Great. I'll help you with turn-out, and then Tango and I can show you what we've been working on. He'll be pissed that he's not going right out, but I've got carrots.” Josh pats his coat pocket. “Plus, he likes to perform for people. And sometimes, so do I...depending on the people.” His dimples appear.
Joshua Beckett is now two-for-two with the off guard thing.
We turn out the horses who are quite wound up today, probably because of the cold. Rafsi does her usual jig down the aisle. Her eyes soften as Josh speaks to her soothingly. “Seems like this one needs some groundwork. Does Ingrid ever do that with her?”
“I haven't seen that she does...she usually just hops on, gets frustrated, and they're both worked up into a lather by the time the ride’s over. To be honest, I don't think Ingrid knows much about the natural horsemanship philosophy. She's good to the horses, but she tends to be more into the dressage way of thinking.”
“Maybe I'll ask her if I can try some exercises with this lady. It would make a big difference with her under saddle.”
Josh opens Tango's stall door and lets him out without a halter, walking down the aisle with Tango following close behind to the indoor arena
“Okay, so I'm already impressed.”
“Mission accomplished, then.” Josh grins at me. “But it's really not rocket science. You just have to understand their nature and take the time to work with them.” He walks in a serpentine figure with Tango's nose at his shoulder, making a blurry path in the soft footing. “This is just simple join-up. Have you done this before?”
“I actually have with Brownie in the pasture—we were just kind of playing around one time. But I didn't know there was a name for it.”
“There's a name for everything. For example, this—what we're doing right here—it's relationship building. And I'm not talking just with the horse.” Josh stops and put his hands on his hips, and Tango halts abruptly.
Well. Considering what he just said...this potentially awkward moment is surprisingly not. I tuck my hands in my jacket pockets and find myself smiling.
He turns toward Tango. “Looks like our audience finds us entertaining, buddy. Let's see if we can really impress her.”
I step back against the rail and watch as Josh uses subtle hand motions and soft clucks with his tongue to get Tango to move in different patterns. Josh isn’t so much commanding as asking politely. Very different than what I’ve seen Judy and Ingrid do, with their tight reins and more aggressive training styles. Tango is clearly relaxed, though, as he performs what Josh asks him to, his eyes soft and compliant.
Now Josh places his hand behind Tango's front leg, causing him to stretch it out and bow down so Josh can mount him with ease. Pulling himself smoothly onto Tango, Josh swings his right leg over the gelding's back and scratches his withers. I have to really watch to see his signals—they’re so subtle, like when he rubs his fingers together.
He rides Tango at a walk, jog and lope around the arena, picking up speed on the long sides and slowing down as he reaches the corners. Trotting down the center line, Tango does what’s known in dressage as a side pass—but with Josh riding, there’s no bridle, saddle, spurs, or whip—just soft words and light contact so you can focus on the beauty and movement of the horse instead of the rider.
Josh puts his hands on Tango's white mane, and the gelding comes to a smooth, sliding stop in front of me, dust from the sandy footing ballooning behind them. He’s proud and smiling. And hotter than hell.
He strokes Tango’s neck as he dismounts. “So what did you think of our little demo? He's pretty talented, huh?”
“I'd say his owner is pretty talented as well. I can't believe you were able to teach him all that.”
“I've had him since he was a yearling. I'm not gonna lie, it took a while. You have to start slow and go from there. Typical relationship building.” He winks. “The key is pressure and release. Come here...I'll show you.”
I step closer, feeling my heart rate pick up unexpectedly.
“Take off your glove and put your hand here on his chest, and rub. This shows him that you're friendly and also gets his attention.”
I do it, moving my hand in a light, circular motion.
“Okay, good. Now don't do this till I tell you, but I'm going to have you put your fingers on that same spot and press, real gentle—just the slightest bit, until the exact second he starts to step back. When he does, immediately take your hand away. The release of the pressure is the reward. Got it?”
“I think so. It sounds like timing is key.”
“Yeah, it is...timing is everything when you're training a horse. But then again, timing is everything in other areas, too, isn't it?”
“Very true.”
“All right, go ahead and give a little rub, like you did before, and then try the pressure and release thing.”
I put my hand back on Tango's chest, rubbing gently, then press my fingers lightly. The gelding lifts his head, ears moving back as he feels the pressure, and takes a step backwards. I release my hand and look up at Josh. “I was too slow, wasn't I?”
He grins. “Yep. Good that you knew that, though. Let's try again...I'll help.”
He stands beside me, his coat brushing mine. I suck in my breath, hoping he won’t notice, as he places his hand over mine. His fingers are surprisingly warm.
With his hand to guide me, I push my fingers gently into Tango's chest, and just when he starts to respond, Josh pulls my hand away. “There. That's when you want to release the pressure—the very second he begins to do what you want, you reward him. That's how they learn. You can use this technique with anything...when you want them to move laterally, increase their speed, lower their head...simple stuff, but it's one of the principles of natural horsemanship. This way, instead of learning from the pressure or force—the punishment—the horse learns from the reward, or the release of pressure.” A slow smile crosses his face. “I seem to still be holding your hand.”
Cue the butterflies in my belly. “I noticed that, too.”
Over his shoulder, a single sunbeam pokes its way into the arena from the upper windows, glittering with particles of dust. I focus on that for a few seconds, needing a release of pressure of my own from Josh’s warm eyes.
When I look at him again, he’s still smiling. Slowly, he takes his hand away from mine as I say the first thing that comes to my head. “Is there a name for this, too?” Kind of bold, but it feels good.
He laughs softly. “There is. I'd call it progress.”
Annnd now I have absolutely no idea what to say. Tango comes to the rescue by snorting, startling us both. Josh ruffles the horse's forelock. “Ready to go out and see your friends, buddy?”
Tango’s head suddenly lifts, his ears sharply forward. I turn to see Ingrid standing in the arena entrance, arms folded. She looks immaculate as usual in gray riding breeches, black turtleneck and vest, her short blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. “What’s going on?”
“Hey, Ingrid. I just did a natural horsemanship demo for Cassandra.”
“Oh. I'm sorry I missed it. Will you be finished soon? I'm planning to ride.”
“All done.” Josh clucks to Tango and the two of them move forward. I follow, careful not to look at Ingrid's face since I don’t want her ever-present, resting-bitch stare to bring me down. It pisses me off, actually, to feel like I’ve been caught doing something wrong.
Especially when it doesn’t feel that way.
“Oh, and Cassandra?” Ingrid's voice makes me stop reluctantly.
“Yes?”
“You should know that Judy's planning to take Brownie to Florida after Christmas.”
“She is? Like for training?”
“She has a client who is quite sure she wants to buy him. He most likely won't be coming back.”
What? Brownie? Ingrid’s sharp words just totally deflated me. I’m staring at her in disbelief, aware of Josh halting Tango down the aisle and turning back in my direction.
She doesn’t say anything more. I want to get away from her, not only because of what she said, but because it feels like she almost enjoyed saying it. Josh is slipping the rope halter over Tango's head. I try to smile as I walk past on my way to get a wheelbarrow. Might as well get right to work to keep from thinking too much.
But my God...Brownie. Leaving.
“Hey, I'm sorry. I heard what she said. Are you okay?” Josh’s face is etched with concern, his arm flung over Tango's neck as he leans into his horse.
I’m suddenly filled with the need to have his arms around me, and tears burn in my eyes as I tell myself savagely to grow up. I certainly don’t want to start bawling like a baby in front of him, and I need to do a better job handling things like this. God knows, I should be an expert at dealing with hardships by now...I’ve certainly had enough practice.
Shoving my hands into my pockets, I clench my fists and force myself to smile. “I'll be all right, thanks. I should have known this would happen, sooner or later. Brownie's such a special horse.” My voice breaks, damn it, and I clear my throat. “I do know that Ingrid adores him, too...she wouldn't let him go to just anyone.”
Josh's gaze travels over my face. There’s a fluttering in my belly at the softness of his voice. “I get it, Cassandra. You don't need to pretend with me. I've always been able to read horses, and it's taught me how to read people.”
I blink back my tears. “Really.”
“Really.”
“So what am I thinking right now?”
He leaves Tango's side to come stand directly in front of me, his boots inches from mine. I can’t decide if the warmth in his eyes is more calming or unsettling.
“You're thinking you want to put on a good front for me, even though the thought of Brownie leaving is devastating.” He pauses. “And you're thinking if Ingrid wasn't lurking nearby, you'd want me to take you in my arms for a hug. Maybe more.”
Jesus effing Christ.
“How close was I?”
For an unheated barn in early December, it’s feeling really, really warm in here. I busy myself with flicking off the piece of dried timothy on my sleeve and then straighten my shoulders as I make myself look at him. “You’re really quite good at applying pressure. And now I'm going to do my own release.”
Giving Josh a wink before I walk away, I feel a little rush of pleasure at the expression on his face. I impressed him.
He calls after me, his voice playful. “Then I guess I'll let you go, Cassandra.”
As I’m turning the corner to head for the wheelbarrows, I hear him say two more words.
“For now.”
chapter twenty-three ~ Carlo
I’m driving to Lancaster to meet with my attorneys on the corporate espionage case against Dall. Failure isn’t an option with that.
Or with Cassandra, although she’s not responding to any of my texts or calls. Gianna called me last night and as usual asked if there had been any progress. When I said no, she suggested I send Cassandra a letter—hand-written instead of emailing, since it's more personal that way, and to tell her everything I wanted to say.
Like the dick I can be, I asked Gi if I should also spritz some of my cologne on the envelope. She got huffy with me, pointing out that my ideas haven’t exactly opened any doors and asking if I’d please just consider the letter. I told her this wasn't junior high and passing notes in the hall, and to further ramp up my dick factor, told her I thought Cassandra could at least meet me halfway.
Then Gi let me have it, responding sharply that if a woman is justifiably hurting, then there is no halfway; the man has to swallow his stupid pride and acknowledge his stupid mistakes and go the entire distance, however long it takes, if he truly wants to win her back. She quickly got off the phone then, and I brooded for about an hour before calling her back to apologize and tell her I loved her. And that she was right.
I’m turning from North Prince onto East King Street when my phone rings. There’s the usual glimmer of hope I feel, thinking it might be Cassandra, followed by a punch to the gut when I see who’s calling: Brock.
I know why he’s calling. I consider not answering, but I’m a few minutes early for my appointment—and this conversation has the potential to give me some satisfaction.
So I’ll answer.
“Dall. How ironic that you called. I'm just about to walk in to my attorney's office and discuss you.” Even without seeing him, I can picture Brock's mouth twisting, his green eyes icy with rage.
“Listen, you cocksucker—you can dispense with the fake cheery tone.”
“Something wrong?”
“Don't give me your innocent bullshit. You know goddamned well what the fuck is wrong.”
“Let's see...would it have something to do with a potential job?”
“Let me spell it out for you, asshole. I applied for the sales manager position at Anderson Controls. I thought it best not to mention I worked for Miller, so I didn't include that on my resumé. Pretty much nailed the interview, and then they must have done some research, because they end up finding out I worked for Miller, and they called you.”
“And then what happened?” I can’t help but smile. “I'd fill in the rest, but I'm really enjoying hearing you tell it.”
Brock’s practically snarling. “It wasn't enough for you to physically assault me—you had to sabotage my career.”
“I thought it only fair, since you sabotaged my relationship.”
“That came after you fired me.”
“I was supposed to keep a traitor under my employment?”
“I thought we were even. I shared a secret with Columbia, you canned my ass. I shared another secret with your girlfriend, you rearranged my face. And now, you've caused me to lose out on the only job I had an interview for. You've tipped the scales, friend.”
“This isn't some fucking game, Dall. You betrayed me both professionally and personally. And now you can deal with the repercussions.”
“That's not the way I see it, Carlo. You're taking your revenge too far.” His tone becomes lighter. “And now, it's my turn.”
“Save your fucking threats. As I said, Dall, this isn't a contest. The trouble you're having landing another job is a result of your actions, not mine. My relationship with you is over. I don't lie awake nights plotting.”
Brock laughs softly. “Oh, but Carlo...I do.”
chapter twenty-four ~ Cassandra
“So let me get this straight, Cass.” Allison points a dripping ice cream scoop at me. “We've gone from the Italian Stallion to the Horse Whisperer. Do you see a theme here?”
“Leave it to you to find that connection.” I put my hands on her shoulders and squeeze behind her to get to the pie display case. “Do we have any tollhouse?”
“Two pieces. Listen, stop changing the subject. We haven't worked together for like two weeks, and I need an update. I want to know more about the cowboy. And if he's helping you move on from the Stallion.”
“I am moving on from the Stallion just fine by myself.”
“You are absolutely adorable when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Raise your chin—like you're all defiant, and like that's going to make me believe what you're saying.” Allison winks. “I know you, sweetie, and I know you're still struggling.” Before I can protest, Allison waves the ice cream scoop at me. “Okay, okay, I'll stop. I know you're trying to follow your head here instead of your heart, and I know how tough that is. You seem like you're getting stronger, and like I've told you before, I'm damned proud of my girl for being assertive.”
“Thank you.”
“Going back to school, and confronting the man who provided the sperm to create you—notice I didn't say father, because he doesn't deserve that title—and keeping out of Italy...” Her pink face is earnest. “Is he still trying? You know, to get you back?”
Is he still trying...ohh, yes. I sigh as I open the glass pie cabinet. Carlo's text last night had gott
en to me: I just woke up from a dream in which you were lying beside me. I am trying to go back to sleep so I can dream it again. The text he sent the night before rattled me, too. You've seen my dominant side, Cassandra. I want to show you another side of me as well. I want to take you gently. But truthfully...I also want to take you rough.
Reading that, I felt an immediate throbbing between my legs, then hated myself for my weakness and him for his persistence.
But wanting him just the same.
And he left me a voicemail three days ago. I was cleaning my apartment when he called. It took me an hour of mental preparation and a glass and a half of wine before I allowed myself to listen to the message. Reading texts is one thing; hearing his voice is quite another.
“Hello, Cassandra.” His voice sounded low and subdued. “I wanted to feel like I was talking to you, so I'm calling. I just wanted to say again that I'm sorry...that I hope you will let me see you...” He paused in his message, and I could hear him take a long breath, then make a deep exhale. “...and that I miss you.”
It took all of my restraint at that moment not to call him back and tell him for God's sake, would he please stop contacting me...and all right, yes, I would see him.
“Yes,” I tell Allison. “He's still trying.”
“Well. I guess I can't blame him for that. He knows what he lost. But you've made the decision not to give him another chance, and I'm supporting you.” She finishes spooning out ice cream and plops the scoop in a tall glass of water. “Grab me the chocolate syrup, would you? And tell me your thoughts on the cowboy.”
I open the fridge and hand Allison the bottle. “It's great having him at the stable, especially to offset my manager, the Ice Queen.” I feel a pang, remembering. “Ingrid told me that my favorite horse is most likely going to Florida for good. She almost seemed glad about it.”
“Oh, honey, I'm sorry. From what you've told me about Ingrid, it sounds like she's jealous of you.”
“She doesn't need to be. She pretty much has it all—looks, a great job, people like me to do all the shit work.”
