Erin darted a glance at the horse. “Right. I’ll just ignore a twelve-hundred-pound beast who could mince me up like ground beef.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “He’s not a mean horse, Deputy De Laney. He’s just been through an ordeal, and he has to work his way past it.”
“It sounded like he was telling you all about it.”
“Did you catch anything I may have missed?”
Erin couldn’t break eye contact. Something about this man made her toes curl inside her boots. And it wasn’t just his looks, which were clear off the chart in sex appeal. Strength emanated from him. And he projected a soothing, rock-solid feeling of steady calmness, as if nothing unexpected or startling could rattle his composure. “He tried to talk to you. Unfortunately you couldn’t hear him and I don’t know horse-speak.”
The twitch teased his full yet firm lips into a slight smile. “Oh, but I did hear him. Not in the same way you can, but I still got the gist.” He reached back to rest a hand on Espresso’s shoulder. The horse huffed in response. “I hope those boys get the licking of their young lives when they get home. They beat him with the ropes.”
“Oh, no. Espresso told you that?”
He narrowed one eye to study her as he might a rare insect pinned to black velvet. “No. I saw the lash marks. I’m not certain what kind of ropes they had, but they were abrasive, and they put a lot of force behind the swings, because he has cuts.”
Erin’s heart squeezed again. She could be fairly accepting of violence and its outcome between two adults evenly matched, but hearing about a child or animal being abused always hit her hard. “Why would they do that? I know the horse needed to be caught. Somewhere on the grounds, a quilt show has drawn in hundreds of visitors, and a frightened horse at large is a threat to public safety. But it wasn’t a situation so urgent that the end justified any measures necessary to corner him.”
Wyatt was still studying her. The intensity of his gaze made her feel as if her skin was being turned inside out. “You’re really upset.”
Erin didn’t get the point he was trying to make. The horse had been shocked, God only knew how many times. Then two ornery teens had made sport of hitting him with ropes. Of course she was upset. “Wouldn’t most people be?”
“No.” A muscle in his lean cheek twitched. “As sad as that is, a lot of people feel no compassion for animals.”
Erin straightened her shoulders. “I’m no bleeding heart, if that’s your implication. I just hate when people do cruel things to animals—or kids.”
“You’re afraid of this animal, though.”
Erin’s first impulse was to deny her fear, but her sudden determination to break free of all the shackles her father had pushed upon her once again rose up within her. One of those shackles was her inability to admit she was afraid—of anything. Gordon De Laney believed that all scaredy-cats were losers, and she’d grown up abhorring the thought of having to wear that handle. “I am afraid of him,” she agreed. “I hope to get over that in time, but it will take a lot more exposure to horses to get me there.”
“Going to visit your uncle would give you some exposure.”
Erin bit down hard on her molars. “Jeez, this is like a rerun. Maybe you can think of something else about me that you don’t like, Mr. Fitzgerald, and bitch me out about that instead.”
The horse swung his head, and Wyatt was pulled off balance. After regaining his footing, he said, “It was a suggestion, not a criticism. And I have a reason for bringing it up. Slade is putting up extra tents at base camp for guests from town to stay in. For a minimum fee, people can go up and enjoy a campout, no fuss, no muss, with tents, bedding, and food provided. I thought you might be interested. And just in case the new cook he hired doesn’t show up, he’ll need all the help he can get in the cookshack.”
Concern welled within Erin. “A new cook? What happened to the young woman who always went up the mountain with him?”
“She’s expecting a baby. Her doctor ordered complete bed rest recently and no lifting or horseback riding. Slade got word only the day before yesterday. Someone who sounds qualified accepted the camp cook position, but you never know with people you negotiate with online. She may not show up. If not, he’ll be in an awful mess. Individuals who can afford guided hunts are dis-discerning in their tastes when it comes to their grub.”
Erin had never heard him fumble a word until now. But discerning was a confusing word, the s not followed by a hard c. “I’ll try to come up. I really will.”
He touched the brim of his Stetson. “My hat will be off to you if you show up. It would mean the world to Slade.”
Swallowing her pride, which this man had a talent for injuring, she said, “I’ll be there if it’s possible. And just for the record, I’m really not the uncaring niece you believe me to be. I haven’t had an easy time of it with scheduling. I hope to correct that problem, but it remains to be seen if I can.”
“Most of the time, I don’t enjoy being proved wrong,” he said. “But I’ll be delighted if you can ever say, ‘I told you so.’” He continued to stroke the horse, calming Espresso with light, comforting passes of his palm. “For now, though, let’s focus on this fellow. I need you to clear the way for me. Get all those people away from the trailer that Sterling delivered. Way back. The horse has hooked onto me for the moment, but he’s scared, and the way he sees it, he can’t even trust his owner right now.”
Erin directed her gaze to the equine. He had soulful eyes, and the expression in those liquid brown depths was mournful. As crazy as she knew it might sound, she said, “When I watched you with him, I got the weird feeling that the two of you were communicating, only I never heard you say anything.”
He inclined his head, an affirmation that her take on the situation had been correct. Then he cocked one eyebrow and asked, “Did you get that?”
Bewildered, she searched his expression. “Did I get what?”
He said nothing. Mind racing, she regrouped. “The nod, you mean? That you and the horse were communicating in some way?”
He dipped his squared chin again. Erin almost laughed.
“So what you’re not saying but are trying to impart to me is that communication can occur without words.”
“And that’s especially true with animals. They talk to others of their species. To a degree, they can even communicate with animals not of their species. They recognize some words that humans use, but their vocabulary is limited. It’s natural for them to communicate without words.”
“And you somehow figured out how they do that?” She heard skepticism in the way she had worded that sentence and wished she’d put it differently. She didn’t want to antagonize him, but at the same time, she found it difficult to believe that this singularly attractive man was the only human on earth who’d figured out all the mysteries of the animal kingdom. “And you can engage in silent conversation with a horse.”
His eyes darkened slightly, reminding her of a blue sky growing gray with the threat of an incoming storm. He said nothing, and yet she knew she’d just pissed him off. She had also offended him in some way, which, practically speaking, was absurd. When a person said he could talk to animals, he had to expect others to react with skepticism and doubt. Did he think he was Doctor Dolittle or something?
He turned away to center his attention on the gelding. “Crowd control, please. I need to get Espresso loaded into the new trailer and finish my business in town so I can get up the mountain before dark.”
Erin stared at his back, watching the tension drain from the muscles that padded his shoulder blades. Mood swing. He’d gone from angry to relaxed, from potentially explosive to gentle. The way he stood, the way he touched the horse—kindness emanated from him. He was communicating with the horse. Even she was getting the message. I won’t hurt you. It’s going to be okay. You can trust me. She tried to give herself a bri
sk mental shake, tried to blanket her imagination with cold, hard reality. Only this wasn’t a telepathic exchange. It was absolutely physical and just as discernible as verbal communication.
It hit her then. At some point in his life, the world must have seemed so frightening to him. As a young child, he wouldn’t have been able to talk. Learning how was incredibly difficult for a deaf child who’d never heard any sound, let alone how words were pronounced. Was it really beyond the realm of possibility that a deaf boy had discovered how to communicate without words? Now that she’d had time to think about it, Erin knew that was more probable than it was unlikely. A child had needs an adult couldn’t fulfill unless the child could somehow ask for things. It made perfect sense that Wyatt had learned how to request a drink of water or food to fill his belly. How to let his parents know when he was afraid or tired or cold.
“I’m sorry,” she pushed out. “Of course you can communicate without words. It was stupid of me to question that.”
He didn’t react, didn’t turn to look at her. Between them was a thick wall of absolute silence, and she kept forgetting it was there.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and then she walked away.
* * *
• • •
Erin had herded the crowd to stand behind the three parked pickups, which created a physical barrier but didn’t obstruct everyone’s view if they stood near the lower sections of each vehicle. Everyone seemed eager to watch a horse whisperer in action, a measure of attention that Erin felt sure Wyatt would resent. There was little she could do to change the situation, though. This was public land. She could order the onlookers to stand well back, but she couldn’t make them vacate the entire area. She had requested silence, however, which didn’t normally work with crowds, but in this instance, it did. Nobody wished to frighten Espresso, and everyone wanted to see for themselves why Jack Palmer, a fabulous vet, seemed to think Wyatt Fitzgerald was such an extraordinary horseman.
When Wyatt and the gelding finally emerged from behind the building, no one made a sound. Erin stood with Jack and Barney behind the pickups, which seemed all wrong to her. She and Barney were the only law enforcement officers present, and if the horse panicked as Wyatt tried to lead it up the loading ramp, she wouldn’t be close enough to lend her assistance. Jack, however, insisted that Wyatt would need no help and told Erin, “Just watch and learn.”
The first thing Erin noticed was that Wyatt wasn’t leading the horse, not in any physical way. The reins dangled loosely from Espresso’s halter. Yet the horse followed closely behind the man as if they were attached by invisible strings. When Wyatt drew near the trailers, Espresso stopped and whinnied. Next to the front bumper of Erin’s vehicle, Ralph, the horse’s owner, now sat on a folding lawn chair that someone had found for him.
“He’s gonna blow up again,” he predicted.
Someone who stood nearby shushed him. Apparently embarrassed, Ralph bent his head. Erin moved closer to the older man and rested a hand on his shoulder. In a whisper, she said, “I know you’re worried, but Wyatt knows what he’s doing. He’ll get Espresso inside the trailer without a fuss.”
“How?” Ralph asked, also keeping his voice low.
Erin had no idea how Wyatt would manage. Espresso was a powerful animal. He’d suffered a lot of pain in the other trailer. He wouldn’t willingly go back for seconds. Borrowing Jack’s line, she said, “Just watch and learn.”
She expected Wyatt to be assertive with the horse now, but instead of grabbing the reins and trying to force the animal forward, he just kept walking. For an awful moment, his nonchalant air convinced Erin that he wasn’t aware the horse had stopped. But on some level she knew he was attuned to the horse in a way she couldn’t understand, in a way nobody watching could understand. When he kept walking, Espresso whinnied and slashed at the earth with a front hoof. Then a shrill cry erupted from him. Wyatt never missed a step.
“He’ll bolt,” Ralph observed. “Sure as rain’s wet.”
Only the horse didn’t. Clearly distressed about Wyatt leaving him behind, he kept whinnying to call him back and moved restively in place, but he didn’t run.
Wyatt bypassed the trailers to approach his truck. Hooking a hand over a sidewall of the bed, he vaulted into the back, bent to grab a hay bale, and pitched it out onto the ground. During her brief stay at Uncle Slade’s ranch, Erin had lifted rectangular bales and knew how heavy they were to pick up, let alone toss, but Wyatt made it look easy. After jumping back out of the vehicle, he swung the hay up onto his shoulder and started toward the trailer that Barney had delivered.
“Deputy De Laney, will you try to find a five-gallon bucket in the livestock building and bring it to the trailer filled with water?” he called back to her.
Erin tensed. She had no idea where the livestock building was. Jack stepped over and cupped her elbow with his hand. “I’ll get it. You’re needed here to keep these people quiet.”
Erin nodded and resumed watching Wyatt. He threw the bale of hay into the transport trailer and then jumped inside after it to cut both strands of twine with a knife he carried on his hip. For such a tall and strong man, he moved with incredibly fluid grace, reminding her of a cougar she’d once observed at the Seattle zoo. Like Wyatt, it had moved slowly and with well-oiled precision, but the unleashed power of its body had been apparent in every flex of lean muscle.
Jack returned, walking with a lopsided slant of his shoulders from the weight of the bucket he carried. At the sight of him, Espresso shrieked, reared, and then lashed out with his back hooves. Jack was well away from the animal and gave no sign that he even noticed. With a dip of his chin, Wyatt indicated that Jack should put the water on the ground next to the ramp. Erin couldn’t help but smile. Wyatt could definitely communicate without speaking.
Curious about how Wyatt intended to get the horse into the trailer, Erin tried to think how she would go about it. Using the hay and water as lures was a good idea, but she didn’t think Espresso was hungry or thirsty enough to fall for it. Sooner or later, Wyatt would have to force the horse up that ramp.
Only, of course, that wasn’t what Wyatt did at all. Instead he dropped a small amount of hay on the ground so Espresso could see it and then just hunkered on the ramp in the same relaxed position she’d observed earlier—rump balanced on a boot heel, arms resting on an upraised knee, and head bent. It was about as exciting as watching a pastoral painting on a wall and waiting for the grass to grow. Person by person, the crowd dwindled until only Espresso’s owner, Jack Palmer, and Barney Sterling remained to keep the vigil with Erin.
Espresso crept toward the ramp, often moving back two steps for every step he took forward. Eventually he reached the ramp, whickered at Wyatt, and then began nudging him with his nose. Erin didn’t blame the poor animal. Wyatt appeared to be asleep. When Espresso kept nudging him for what seemed like a small eternity, Wyatt finally stirred, extending a limp hand toward the horse. Espresso let loose with an excited rumble of pleasure when Wyatt began to pet him.
Before the equine could get any of the hay or water, Wyatt swung over the side of the sloped loading extension to lift the bucket and a small amount of hay onto the ramp just below where he’d been crouching. Then he resumed his former position, once again looking as if he’d dozed off. Erin shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Ralph, still ensconced on the lawn chair, sat with his shoulders slumped forward and his bald head hanging. Erin hoped that the poor man didn’t have a concussion. If he slept, there was a chance that he might slip into a coma. She’d tried to convince him to see a physician, though, and because he seemed to be tracking okay, there was nothing more that she could do.
Espresso eventually went up onto the ramp to reach the water. Wyatt allowed the horse to take a few sips and then moved the bucket inside the trailer. The quarter horse danced on the ramp, striking the metal with such force that an earsplitting cacophony erupte
d, filling the early afternoon air with a maniacal rhythm that snapped Ralph awake.
Wyatt took up squatting rights inside the trailer. It took another half hour for Espresso to work up the gumption to set a foot inside the enclosure. Muscles all over the horse’s body twitched beneath his glossy, dark coat, giving measure of the poor creature’s trepidation. When nothing happened, Espresso whickered softly to Wyatt with a note of unmistakable inquiry. Wyatt offered no verbal response, but he did lower himself to the floor, making visible physical contact with wood and steel.
Come on, Espresso. Just go in, pretty boy. It’s safe. Erin wanted to say those words aloud. Wished that Wyatt would at least say them, but he remained silent. Minutes passed. Erin glanced at her Fitbit to check the time. If Wyatt still had supplies that he needed to get in town, he’d never make it up the mountain to Uncle Slade’s base camp before dark.
When Espresso finally decided that his yearning for water outweighed his fear of getting shocked, he moseyed into the enclosure and thrust his nose into the bucket. Wyatt stroked the animal’s neck and finger-combed his mane while the animal drank his fill.
Ralph released a taut breath. “That man has the patience of a saint. Most people would’ve just tried to muscle Espresso up the ramp.”
“Not this guy,” Jack said with a smile. “When it comes to horses, the clock stops for him. To Wyatt, it isn’t about how long it takes. It’s about the animal and only the animal. Doing it this way, he has convinced Espresso that there’s nothing to fear in that trailer, and chances are that the horse will remember this and happily enter other ones.” He winked at Ralph. “Unfortunately for you, though, even if you get the wiring fixed in that old tin can of yours, Espresso will probably never trust it again. You’ll have to get another horse trailer.”
Ralph nodded. “I’m overdue to make that decision, anyway. I’ll get that one fixed and sell it. I won’t ever try to make Espresso go into it again.”
Strawberry Hill Page 15
