All the King's Horses

by Lauren Gallagher

  “I haven’t done this in a long time.” I was certain my cheeks were bright red, but hers weren’t exactly pale right now either, so I held her gaze. “I swear I’m usually a little better at it than this.”

  One shoulder rose in a half shrug. “Oh, I don’t know. You’re doing okay as far as I can tell.” Her smile turned to a devilish grin. “You haven’t stepped on my feet yet.”

  I glanced down and chuckled. “Well, now that I’m thinking about it, I probably will.”

  “Do it,” she said. “I dare you.”

  We both laughed again and kept trying to dance, which was when I suddenly realized we’d fallen into step when I wasn’t looking. In perfect synch, we moved. I stepped; she stepped. I went forward; she went back. Together, we turned.

  Amy looked up at me, and her smile almost threw me back into stumbling over my own feet again. “Maybe we can get the hang of this after all.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I said. “Just needed to shake off the rust, I guess.”

  “Apparently so.” The song faded, but as he often did, the deejay followed one slow dance with another, and though the tempo changed just slightly, it may as well have been one continuous dance. Part of me wished he’d skip into a faster one, because I could no sooner stop now than I could in the middle of a song, so I kept going, and she kept going, and somehow we kept going in spite of nerves and not knowing what the hell we were doing.

  The song changed again. Another slow one. I glanced over Amy’s shoulder and caught the deejay’s eye, and my face burned when he gave me a wink and thumbs-up.

  I didn’t say anything to Amy, though. I didn’t suggest going back to the table, and I sure as hell didn’t tell her about my silent exchange with the deejay.

  Somehow in step, we kept on dancing.

  The night was quiet except for our boots on the porch steps and some distant crickets.

  Our boots stopped. The crickets didn’t. Standing there midway between our front doors, Amy and I looked at each other. Though we’d long since stepped off the dance floor, she still had a hint of color in her cheeks and more than a little life in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. I thought she was beautiful when we stood here a few hours ago, but she’d had nothing on the woman looking back at me now. She certainly hadn’t stirred quite the same reaction below my belt like she was doing right now, and I caught myself regretting wearing jeans quite this tight, because all she had to do was look…

  We were both still and quiet. It was one of those heart-pounding moments that took me back to my teenage years: looking at each other under the front porch light, a half dozen slow dances still tingling in my feet as I stood there wishing I could read her mind and not quite sure what I hoped would happen next.

  “Well.” She offered a nervous smile. “Good-night.”

  I swallowed. “Yeah. Good-night.”

  And with that, we went our separate ways, and the moment was over, but God knew my heart was still pounding and every step we took seemed somehow like it was in the wrong direction, and—

  Amy stopped.

  Back still toward her, so did I.

  “Dustin.”

  I turned. “Hmm?”

  She moved a little closer so the porch light illuminated her face. “I, um, I had a really good time tonight. I think I needed it.”

  I somehow found enough air to reply, “Glad to hear it.”

  She returned the smile. “So…thank you. For taking me out.”

  “You’re welcome.” I hesitated. “If you, um, want to get out again, let me know. I mean, obviously you can drive just fine, but if you want me to show you around town or something.”

  And when the hell did I turn into a rambling school kid?

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. “Always nice to have someone around who knows the area.”

  “Well, you know where to find me.”

  Chapter Nine

  Amy

  Five thirty never comes earlier than it does after a late night, especially when there’s drinking involved. Not that I drank all that much, so I really couldn’t blame my heavy eyelids, throbbing head and dragging feet on anything that came from a bottle. All of that probably came from a long night of staring up at a dark ceiling, wondering what the man on the other side of the wall was thinking, or if he was sleeping when I definitely wasn’t.

  Hungover or exhausted, whichever it was, one thing was for certain—I was in a better mood than I had any business being in at this hour.

  Not that I really tried, but I couldn’t get last night out of my head. From day one, I’d been sure Dustin didn’t like me, but something had changed in him last night. He was… My God, he was actually nice. To me. And not just when he did an about-face and suggested I work with Blue and Star.

  I knew damn well it wasn’t a date. We hadn’t gone alone, and he was my boss, for crying out loud. But I hadn’t been out with someone like that in so long, I didn’t even care if the resulting butterflies—butterflies I actually felt this time—didn’t mean anything. All that mattered was that my heart was beating again. I couldn’t even say when it had stopped, only that last night, something had kicked it back into motion, and this morning, I didn’t feel so dead inside. Regardless of where something like this might go, even if it went absolutely nowhere from here, I let myself be in love with one evening out with a man whose smiles weren’t loaded and questions weren’t baited.

  Standing on the porch last night, when we’d locked eyes and nobody said anything for a little while, I’d wondered if he might kiss me. Or if I might work up the nerve to ask him to come in for a drink. He didn’t, and I didn’t, but that moment was more than I’d had with anyone in so, so long, and I held on to that.

  Of course I didn’t dare say a word to Dustin about it. He’d have thought I was some sort of crazy, clingy stalker he never should have taken out for an evening. I mean, how on earth could I explain to him that all I meant was he’d given me an evening I didn’t even know I’d needed? That without even trying, he’d brought me back to life in ways I hadn’t known I was dead? It wasn’t love. Probably wasn’t even lust, though I’d decide that when and if I ever saw him without a shirt. Last night was, nothing more and nothing less, just a few hours of feeling like I was worth getting up from a table for a dance.

  Last night was perfect in and of itself. If nothing else, I had hope there was a light at the end of this numb, depressed tunnel, and these days, I couldn’t ask for much more than that.

  It was noon when we finally crossed paths in the barn. We made eye contact in the aisle, but he quickly broke it, and that black-brimmed hat didn’t quite hide the color in his cheeks. I tried to keep my amusement from showing as we continued in opposite directions. What could I say? On a guy who’d initially struck me as an abrasive jackass, shy was adorable.

  Adorable and just as puzzling as last night. Both parts of last night. The going-out-and-dancing part, and the asking-me-to-work-with-his-horses part. His one-eighty threw me. One minute, I was sure he was this close to sending me packing for interacting with Chip, and the next, he was asking me to work with Blue and Star, and the one after that, he was asking me for a dance that wound up going on long past one or two songs.

  But what about Sam?

  That thought deflated some of my good spirits. The wedding ring was around my neck again, a tiny golden albatross to remind me I was grieving. I was supposed to be grieving. I hadn’t even taken the time to pay my respects to the man I’d given a decade of my life, and something about last night felt disrespectful and shameful. Like I’d had no right to give even that much to Dustin, and certainly no right to take what he’d given me. There were times I’d hated Sam, nights I’d dreamed of waking up a single, unattached woman, but he was my husband. And I had loved him. Maybe not when he was at his worst, but enough that it was too soon for me to feel this giddy about a night of dancing with another man.

  Only problem was, the fact that my husband was barely cold in the grave didn�
��t change the fact that no man—no man—had ever held me like Dustin did last night. So it was just a dance? If he could touch me so gently and make me feel so… God, what did I feel? Safe? Comfortable? So turned on I wanted him to take me right there on the dance floor? If he could make me feel that way with just a fully clothed touch in public, what could he do to me behind closed doors?

  I shivered, goose bumps prickling my arms and neck under the hot desert sun. I should have been ashamed, and in a way, I was, but at the same time, I was intrigued. I wanted Dustin, and damn it, I felt guiltier about wanting him than I did for feeling nothing about my husband’s death, which didn’t make sense because I didn’t feel like a widow. Or a married woman. Or even a single woman. I didn’t know what I was except attracted to Dustin. More attracted to him than I should have been in light of recent events.

  In spite of the guilt and the shame, though, I felt better than I had in a long time. The pain was coming. The onslaught of grief that I wouldn’t be able to stop. It was there, hiding behind a wall that hadn’t yet come down, and sooner or later I wouldn’t be able to hold back that avalanche of emotional hell.

  But if only for today, I wasn’t numb and I wasn’t sad, and I wasn’t letting go of that.

  This afternoon, after I’d finished everything that needed to be done before the afternoon feeding, Dustin was in the barn when I went to take Blue out for the first time. I hesitated at the stall door, halter in one hand and half-fastened door latch in the other, waiting for him to come to his senses and tell me to get back to fences and horseshit.

  He didn’t, though, and I was really working with Blue now.

  Blue, whose ground manners were awful. On the way to the arena, he wasn’t too bad. Not great and certainly in dire need of work, but not as bad as he was in the arena. The minute we were through that gate, he was a nervous wreck. It wasn’t as obvious when he was ground-driving, since there was no one for him to step on when he decided to spook or just not pay attention, but when I led him? Different story. We’d been in the outdoor arena for fifteen minutes, and he’d already stepped on my foot three times.

  The worst part? Even the gentlest correction could, and frequently did, trigger the equine equivalent of a child’s meltdown. Not out of defiance, of course. It was the fight-or-flight response of a creature who’d been heavily conditioned to expect violent retribution for the slightest offense. By the time he’d settle down, there’d be a twenty-foot stretch of churned-up dirt between where it had started and the place we finally stopped. Whatever he’d done would be long forgotten, and he’d be in a panting, nostril-flaring sweat with his eye whites exposed and his legs shaking.

  As I petted his neck and murmured softly to him while he calmed down from another freak-out, I decided there had to be a better way to do this. He could ground-drive without too many problems, but he still wandered and spooked and occasionally freaked himself out. Those habits were decidedly more problematic when I was leading him rather than walking ten, fifteen, twenty feet away holding a long set of lines. He had to learn to behave and work correctly when he was being led, especially since there was no getting in the saddle until he could be trusted on the ground.

  And establishing ground manners with a youngster was decidedly easier than with a traumatized adult. One who’d already reached his full height and build, instead of being a spidery half-grown yearling who would have a harder time cracking a rib or something.

  Oh, Blue, whatever am I going to do with you?

  I finished our lesson on a reasonably positive note: getting him to walk quietly along the short end of the arena without stepping on or crashing into me. On the way back toward the barn, he settled down a little. In fact, he settled down considerably. I didn’t want to push my luck and sour the end of the lesson, but…

  “Whoa.” I stopped, and Blue took two extra steps—one of them sideways—before he too stopped. It was a start. “Good boy. Walk.” I started walking. He followed. “Whoa.” Only one extra step this time, though he wandered sideways a little and nearly clipped my shoe with his hoof. When I led him in a small circle, he wandered again, turning the circle into something closer to an irregular star, but at least he wasn’t as spooky and panicky as he’d been earlier.

  I glanced past him at the arena. Then looked at him. Maybe that was part of the problem. He was conditioned to expect mistreatment in the confines of an arena, and that conditioning made it extremely difficult for me to keep his attention. But outside the arena, he was better. Still nervous, still full of bad habits, but noticeably better.

  It was quite possible that the more I worked with him out here, away from the arena that unnerved him so much, the more he’d learn to trust me. Which meant I’d eventually be able to coax him into the arena and make some progress in there. It would take time, but it was worth a shot.

  Except you’re not going to be here forever.

  Finger-combing a few tangles out of his coarse, messy mane, I wondered if there was a way to accelerate our training outside the arena. I knew damn well, though, the only way through this was to be patient and consistent. It couldn’t be rushed, and I only had maybe an hour a day to work with him.

  Unless…

  I threw a sweeping look around the sprawling labyrinth of fences across the ranch. Fences I had to check twice a week and repair as needed.

  This could work. It might, it might not, but it was worth a try.

  Assuming Dustin was okay with it, of course.

  Don’t ask permission, some voice in my head commanded. Just do it, and if he asks, explain it.

  No, better to be on the up-and-up with Dustin. He was obviously fiercely protective of his rescue cases, and if he was—inexplicably or otherwise—trusting me to work with them, I’d be wise to make sure he and I stayed as close to the same page as possible at all times.

  So I put Blue away and went looking for Dustin.

  I found him on his way out of the office. “Hey, Dustin.”

  He turned his head. “Oh, hey.”

  I didn’t cringe away from eye contact with him, which was a first.

  Funny how you’re so much less intimidating and infuriating now that I’ve danced with you.

  I cleared my throat. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  His eyes widened a little. “Sure. Yeah.” He slipped his thumbs into his belt loops, which only made him look more tense. “What’s up?”

  “Listen, I was wondering—” I paused, clearing my throat.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “About Blue.”

  “About—” He straightened. “About…” Then he shook himself back to life. “Right. Right. About Blue. What’s up?”

  It took me a second to realize what had caught him off guard. He knew damn well who Blue was and what I was doing with him, and he certainly wouldn’t have forgotten any of that, so I suspected he’d thought I wanted to have A Talk about last night.

  I barely kept myself from giggling. Nope, sorry. I’m not ready to ruin last night with an awkward conversation today.

  Pretending I hadn’t had those thoughts at all, I gestured toward Blue’s stall. “Well, as long as I’m going to be working with him, I’m thinking maybe a little groundwork that isn’t groundwork would help him.”

  Dustin cradled his elbow in one hand and ran his other thumb along his chin. “I’m listening.”

  “Just, you know, leading him,” I said. “Maybe take him with me when I go around the property to check and fix fences. Not really asking anything of him, just letting him get used to being led without anything to distract him.”

  He didn’t answer right away. His eyebrows knitted together, and his eyes lost focus, but he didn’t speak.

  I went on, “It might ease him into the habit of having good ground manners when he’s not so wound up and nervous about everything else I’m asking him to do.”

  After a moment, Dustin nodded slowly. “You know, I think that’s a good idea.”

  “You do?”


  “Well, yeah.” He tilted his head and furrowed his brow. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I—” Because until yesterday I thought you thought I was a complete idiot when it came to all things horses? I shrugged. “I don’t know. I just wanted to make sure it was okay with you before I did anything unusual with him.”

  “Unusual is perfectly fine,” he said. “With horses like him, sometimes that’s what it takes.” He locked his office door and pocketed the keys. “Just let me know if you’re taking him out for a long time. So I know he’ll be out for a while.”

  I smirked. “So you don’t come by his stall and wonder if he took himself into town or something?”

  “Something like that, yeah.” He smiled. Like, actually smiled. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  Casually leading Blue around turned out to be a lot easier said than done. Any ground manners he’d ever had were long since replaced by nervously aggressive habits. Biting, mostly. Stepping on my feet because he wasn’t paying attention, and then snapping at me or throwing his head because I brought it to his attention. By halfway through the first day, I’d decided I was an idiot for ever suggesting this. If I could have devoted all of my attention to leading him and keeping him from taking my hand or head off, it would have been fine, but I still had to do things like fill water buckets, open and close gates and mark boards and posts that needed to be fixed.

  Pride and sheer stubbornness kept me from giving up, though. There had to be a way to get through to this horse, and I was fresh out of ideas besides this, so damn it, I was going to make it work.

  I hesitated to use a lip chain because I’d worked around traumatized horses. I’d been around a few—Walkers and otherwise—who were so badly abused the jingle of a chain could send them into a panic. With as touchy as Blue was about everything, a chain could be counterproductive. It wouldn’t hurt him, but just the sound of it might freak him out.