by Deb Kastner
But what distressed her most was seeing the gentle compassion on Erik’s face as he commiserated with her over her own stupidity. His tender expression was forever etched in her mind.
If he’d maligned her as the others had done, she could have handled it, brushed it off and forgotten it happened. But if a picture was worth a thousand words, Erik’s expression was worth ten times that.
She didn’t know why it mattered so much—why it mattered at all. She’d had her one love, and look how that turned out. She didn’t want to think of Erik as a man, especially a man she could depend and lean on. Her heart welled, but she forced her feelings back.
She didn’t need a man. What Erik thought didn’t matter. But the situation rankled nonetheless, a vaguely familiar feeling from childhood, and from her father.
A sensitive little girl and only child who wanted to please her daddy, she’d felt awful whenever she’d done something wrong, whether intentionally or by accident.
She remembered the stern look on her father’s face that said I’m disappointed in you.
He never had to say a word to load guilt on her small shoulders. A look would do just as well—better, perhaps, for all that was left unspoken.
She hated rejection, especially from those she most loved.
But she was an adult now, and not a child to be reprimanded. And Erik was as different from her father as night was from day.
He was—well, she didn’t know what he was, other than extraordinary.
He’d been a perfect gentleman, not censuring her for her mistake, but sympathizing with her. Why did his compassion load the guilt on so much stronger than if he’d brushed her off or dressed her down?
And why did she care so much what he thought?
The fact of the matter was, she should have asked his advice and she hadn’t. She should have allowed him to come with her as an expert horseman, but she hadn’t. She’d selfishly wanted to keep this one area of her life to herself alone.
And she’d been wrong.
As an adult she could admit that, and, she realized belatedly, she should. The best thing for her to do now was to find Erik and apologize. Then they’d both feel better.
She’d explain why she had chosen Victory, however irrational her reasons might be, and he’d tell her for sure if she’d made an irreparable mistake.
Finding Erik wouldn’t be difficult, she thought fondly. If he wasn’t in the dining room, he was in the stable with the horses. His love for horses was one of his most endearing qualities, and Dixie found her stomach fluttering in her throat.
It was only a short walk from her new studio apartment in the main lodge to the barn, and as she walked, she admired the many changes she—they had made.
The main lodge, a beautiful, rustic log cabin structure with evergreen trim, was finished, complete with a large kitchen and a staff to match. Individual log cabins for guest facilities were springing up around the outskirts of the main lodge, tucked privately into the profusion of pine trees.
The stable was the delightful centerpiece of the retreat, with well over a dozen trail horses for staff and guests. The stable hands had broken several trails, and had even set up a faux campsite for steak-dinner rides and singing guitar-accompanied hymns around a campfire.
Erik had even promised to teach her to handle a team of horses with the hay wagon. Hayrack rides were one of her favorite childhood memories. She couldn’t wait to share the experience with a whole new generation of bright-eyed children.
Abel would be pleased she’d done so well. For some reason, his memory didn’t hurt as much. She wasn’t lonely anymore.
She had God. And Erik was coming to mean more to her by the day. God had given her a new direction, and she found she was really, truly able to find joy through her sorrow.
She entered the stable, immediately inhaling the pungent, enticing aroma of fresh horse and hay. She loved the inherent peace the stable brought to her soul.
Here, she often thought of Jesus being born in a lowly manger, and grasped a small snippet of understanding of the wisdom of God in sending a King to be born in such a place, swaddled in a bed of hay.
But she was rarely alone in the stable, and was surprised to find no one was present. Not Erik, nor a single one of the stable boys.
“Erik?” She called his name several times, but heard only the echo of her own voice from the rafters in response.
She turned to go, then hesitated. She might not be able to ride Victory, but there was no reason not to visit him and start to build a trust relationship between them.
She could feed him a sugar cube or a carrot, anyway. Maybe even groom him.
She walked down the middle of the stable aisle, noting the nameplates on each of the stalls, some with horses whickering and snorting at her over the doors.
Jazz. Commander. Mercury. Antonio. But where was Victory?
The stable hand nicknamed Tallahassee shuffled noisily through the back door at the opposite end of the stable, which was a normal, human-size door, as opposed to the front, wide-swinging doors specially made to accommodate the horses.
The boy whistled as he worked, and didn’t appear to notice Dixie, who stood silently watching him for a moment, a little nervous about speaking to one of the stable hands individually, though of course she’d never show it to his face.
She still didn’t understand their aversion to her. Though they treated her with respect, they appeared to avoid her as studiously as she avoided them.
Tally was a sturdy, broadly built boy, and one of the friendlier hands. She felt he’d warmed to her, just a little, but it was hard to tell, especially in the company of his peers, where she usually found him.
Her heart stirred with longing to introduce this boy—each of the boys—to the Lord who loved them.
When Tally looked up and realized he was being watched, he immediately stopped whistling and swept his hat from his head, exposing a mop of shoulder-length golden-brown curls. “Is there something I can do for you, Miz Sullivan?” he asked respectfully.
There was none of the mockery or coarseness on his face or in his voice which she half expected, expressions she’d often experienced in the past.
And Tally had more reason than any to ridicule her, as he was one of the boys sent to get Victory.
He knew all the details of her blunder, probably by heart. But unlike Ellis, he didn’t appear inclined to razz her with his superior knowledge and her own foolishness.
“I wonder if you could point me in the direction of Victory’s stall.”
He nodded, though he looked oddly perplexed at her simple query. “Yes, ma’am, Miz Sullivan.”
“Thank you, Tally.”
He directed her back down the long double row of stalls, stopping before the stall nearest the front doors. “Right here, ma’am. We haven’t made a nameplate for him yet.”
“That’s okay, Tally.” She looked to see if he found the name Victory as amusing as Erik appeared to, but Tally was looking at his boots, his face lightly flushed.
She smiled at the adolescent’s shy reaction to her. It beat resentment by a long shot.
“I think I’d like to get him a plate myself. Something unique. Victory is special to me.”
Tally nodded, his gaze now fixed on her. She could see he understood the odd, wonderful connection between horse and human. He’d make a good stable hand, when he grew into the job.
She now understood and accepted Erik’s choice, at least in Tally. Maybe the other boys were the same. She hoped they’d choose to stay the year, maybe longer.
Anxious to see her beauty boy, she walked up to the stall door, reaching in her pocket for a sugar cube. “Victory isn’t here,” she exclaimed.
Tally shrugged. “No, ma’am.”
At least now she knew why he’d looked so perplexed when she’d asked to see the horse. He’d known Victory wasn’t there.
Now why didn’t he share that vital shred of information with her?
“W
here is he?” she demanded, then instantly regretted her imperious tone. She flashed him an apologetic smile, which he returned with a tentative grin of his own, blushing so strongly, his freckled face looked like it might be sunburned.
He cleared his throat, then toed his boot into the dirt. “Mr. Wheeler has him,” he admitted quietly, looking as if he were wishing he could dig a hole to China with his boot and climb on through.
With effort, she restrained the annoyance she felt with Erik for taking her horse without her knowledge, and patted Tally on the shoulder. “I don’t suppose you know where he is?”
She forced herself to keep her voice gentle and persuading, though what she really wanted to do was shout the barn down.
Tally looked away.
He obviously didn’t want to tell her. She watched a war rage on his face, and she knew what he was thinking. She was the boss lady, but Erik might not care to have his whereabouts known, and most especially not blabbed to the female boss by a common stable hand.
“Never mind, Tally, I’ll find him myself,” she said, saving him the agony of a decision. She turned away, toward the back door and the corrals.
“You might look for him in the back pasture,” Tally said so low, she almost didn’t hear him. She glanced back to see him plant his sweat-stained, honey-colored hat on his head.
She chuckled lightly. “Thanks, Tally.”
He tipped his hat and grinned shyly.
She found Erik just where Tally indicated, in the back pasture, with Victory on a long, braided rope. She marched toward the pasture, primed and loaded to read him the riot act, but as she approached and saw what he was doing, she realized she was witnessing something out of the ordinary.
Erik spoke in the same low, kind tone he used with her when they were alone, though she’d never heard such a long string of words from the man’s mouth at one time.
Her heart fluttered erratically as she listened, feeling like an eavesdropper. His words were soft and sweet, the words of a lover. She wanted to close her eyes and let the resonance of his voice wrap around her, though she vetoed her heart’s content.
Not surprisingly, the horse was responding. How could he not, she wondered, with such a man beckoning?
Victory whickered at the man and paced around him in an easy trot at a distance of several feet. Erik kept the lead loose, guiding the horse with his voice more than his hand.
Dixie found herself responding, as well. If she were a horse, she most certainly would have whickered as Victory had done. Inside, she felt as soft as a down comforter, and knew her reaction was quite different than her horse’s reaction, whicker or not.
She watched for a moment more, then suddenly felt she was intruding on a private moment between horse and man. She spent an awkward second wondering what she should do.
Leave or stay?
In the end, she didn’t announce her presence. Neither did she leave, though her conscience pricked her that she ought to. But her eyes were glued to the silent dance and her heart compelled her to stay and watch.
Erik stopped crooning, and the horse stopped pacing. Victory froze, muscles taut and gloriously alert, his uneven mane waving in the gentle mountain wind.
Erik was equally still, his gaze calmly resting on the horse, which eyed him speculatively but without fear.
He didn’t say a word, but Dixie couldn’t erase the impression he communicated with Victory, something beyond what she could hear, something far beyond the scheme of normal horse-human contact.
She pulled a breath and held it, biting the corner of her lip as a silent reminder not to make a sound.
After several minutes, Erik made a horselike nicker and lifted a hand toward Victory. Dixie expected the skittish yearling to bolt, but to her astonishment and delight, he responded to the invitation, moving forward and nudging Erik’s hand, sniffing around his pockets for a tasty treat.
“That’s it, Vic, my man,” Erik encouraged, sounding pleased. “That’s my boy.”
“No, that’s my boy,” Dixie murmured. “And that’s absolutely incredible!” Her breath caught in her throat as she realized her gaze was locked on the ruggedly handsome man, and not on the horse she’d dreamed of for so long.
Erik ran his hands up and down Victory’s head and neck until the animal was completely quiet beneath his gentle touch. Watching his hands gently caressing the horse’s quivering muscles, her skin began to tingle.
Then, taking his time, and with more patience than Dixie’s wildly pumping heart could imagine, Erik picked up a bristle brush and followed the same path his hands had taken earlier, finishing by grooming his tail and calmly picking up each leg to examine the hooves.
He spoke in a low monotone the entire time, telling Victory what a fine-looking horse he was and how well he was doing today. It brought tears to Dixie’s eyes just to watch, and her heart was brimming with emotions she was afraid to identify.
“That was the hard part, my fine boy,” Erik explained to the horse in the same low monotone. “The rest is like stealing sugar from my pocket.”
He removed the long lead from the halter and replaced it with a short one, looping it around Victory’s neck.
Dixie held her breath. Erik was going to attempt to ride the horse. She felt a jolt of jealousy, but stilled it as she watched in amazement.
Still speaking nonstop, Erik slid easily onto the horse’s bare back, with so little fuss Dixie doubted Victory even knew Erik’s intentions at all. Then Erik clicked his tongue, and the two were off.
Victory didn’t buck and protest as Dixie would have expected. Instead, horse and man moved at an easy pace around the corral. No objection, not even a whinny, as Erik put the horse through his paces.
It was amazing. Incredible.
And she was green with envy.
Jealous of the horse, as much as of the man.
There was something in the way Erik looked at Victory and spoke to him that made her heart turn over. She wondered what it would be like to have Erik look at her that special, loving way, speak those soft, affectionate tones into her ears.
But she shook the thought away, replacing it with the opposite side of the coin. Erik had a nasty habit of interceding on her behalf, taking care of her.
Well, she didn’t want to be taken care of by a man. Especially this generous, attractive man whose very presence pulled on her heartstrings.
She was fine on her own. She had to be. And she wanted to be the one bonding with Victory, riding with the wind blowing in her hair.
The mountain air pinched her lungs as she struggled with her emotions. This was obviously Erik’s God-given gift, training horses. But in fulfilling his special gift, he’d taken away hers.
It was high time to make her presence known.
Chapter Eleven
Victory was a beauty, all right, Erik thought. He was going to be a great trail horse when he was properly trained, and Erik had enough confidence in his own abilities to know it wouldn’t take long.
He could easily picture Dixie riding this fine mount, her satin-black hair brushed back in the wind, exposing her peaches-and-cream complexion to the bright sunshine. Her eyes would shine with her usual cheerfulness, combined with her passion for life.
Victory broke into a canter that matched the rhythm of Erik’s heartbeat. He wanted to see Dixie on this horse. He wanted to be the one to put her there.
He swallowed hard and urged the horse into a gallop.
Vic had an excellent, comfortable gait, and he was a smart young horse. Erik knew it with the same gut instinct that told him the horse was ready for Dixie to ride, with his assistance.
He couldn’t wait to share the news with Dixie, let her know her new horse had the makings of a fine trail horse. Put her up in front of him, wrap his arms around her and show her firsthand the thrill of the wind in her face as they galloped together through the open fields.
“What are you doing with Victory?”
Startled, Erik pulled back on the rei
ns too hard and Victory protested, bucking beneath him.
How long had she been here? He’d been certain he was alone. He’d been so wrapped up in the horse, in surprising Dixie, that he hadn’t detected her presence.
And he sure never expected to see her again this soon. He figured she’d be wallowing in self-pity for at least a day.
He should have known better.
He sure did now. Far from self-pity, she was angry again, though she looked more beautiful than ever with her aqua eyes blazing and her arms akimbo.
He wet his dry bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. “Just trying him out.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“What?” He slid off the horse and led him to where Dixie stood, near the edge of the corral.
“No, you weren’t,” she repeated. “You weren’t trying Victory out. I don’t know exactly what you were doing, but some things are obvious enough. Do you care to explain?”
She sounded angry, but the harshness was tempered with curiosity.
He shrugged. It was obviously a rhetorical question. His attention was better spent on his horse.
Her horse.
She wasn’t really interested in what he’d been doing with Victory, putting him through his paces so Dixie could ride him.
Her only concern was that he’d done it without her permission. Just like the stubborn woman. The fluttery feeling in his chest settled into lead in his gut.
“Well?” she demanded, and then softer, “I’d really like to know.”
Surprised, he met her gaze and realized she was telling the truth. What he’d mistaken for anger was something else. Jealousy? At what?
Uncomfortable with emotions he couldn’t identify in her, he cleared his throat. “Would you like to ride him?”
“Victory?” She sounded startled, almost alarmed.
He grinned. “He’s your horse, isn’t he?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Then ride him.”
Her eyes gleamed with excitement as her gaze turned to rest on Victory. “Oh. Okay.”
She sounded a little shaky, but equally determined in her efforts.
