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Until now.
The dark dapple gray nickered as if he’d recognized his name. He nudged at her until she rubbed his nose.
“Shade, this is Jackson,” she said to the animal. “He’s going to be yours for the day, so see to him, all right?”
The horse gave a whimsical-sounding snort, as if to say,Like I ever do anything else?Jackson couldn’t help smiling.
In the next stall, another head turned to look, a black-and-white paint horse that looked a bit like Jeremy’s favored pony in coloring.
“That’ll be the challenge,” Nic said when she saw him looking. “He’s not mean, just spirited. Takes a stronger hand than the ranch sweetheart here.”
She took the halter that hung on a hook outside the stall door and handed it to him. He took it, looked at her face, saw her very neutral expression.
“And so the testing begins,” he said. He saw the flicker in her gaze and added quickly, “Which is as it should be. You need to know, for the sake of the horse, if I have a clue.”
“Indeed,” she said, and he thought he heard a note of approval in her voice. That low, sweet voice he was really trying to deny had an odd effect on him.
He spent a couple of minutes talking to Shade until the horse nudged him, much as he had Nic. Only then did he slip on and buckle the halter, then open the bottom half of the stall door. The gray stepped out the moment he turned around, no pull on the lead rope required.
They followed Nic to the other end of the barn and the tack room. A glance inside told him there were a lot of saddles racked up. “The brown King is his usual,” she said, pointing to a well-used, but also well-maintained, saddle whose brand name happened to match one of his own. “But I don’t know if it’ll fit you.”
Her gaze had shifted to his belt and below. He knew she was just assessing how he’d fit in the seat of the saddle, but it was still a bit disconcerting. He looked away as he said, “Better it not fit me than him.”
“Good answer,” she said, and when he glanced at her, she was smiling again.
He’d expected her to watch his every move while he tacked up the gray, but she didn’t. She turned and walked back down the rows of stalls. Nevertheless, he went through his usual routine, given the horse’s back a brushing to be sure all the hairs were going the right direction, then lifting the saddle pad aboard and sliding it back before going for the saddle. He checked the stirrup length, knowing by experience it was too short for him;being six foot one had its drawbacks. But he got enough by dropping the length to the max, then hooked the right one over the saddle horn to keep it from essentially kicking the gray in the ribs on the off side when he swung it over.
He knew Nic was back, he’d heard theclip-clopof the hooves of the horse she led. But he’d have known, anyway, because he could practically feel her gaze. Still, he didn’t turn until he’d tightened the cinch just enough to hold the saddle in place for the moment, then went to get the bridle hanging on the same rack he’d taken the saddle from. He glanced at the bit, then at Nic. “Plain snaffle?”
She nodded. “Told you he’s a sweetheart.”
He smiled. “Lucky me.”
He looked at the horse she’d gone to get, and it didn’t surprise him that it was the same solid, muscular sorrel who looked as if he knew a thing or three. He liked the way the horse’s reddish coat was set off with a mane and tail that almost matched her sandy-blonde hair. Together, they made a striking pair.
“Problem?” she asked, and he realized he’d been staring.
“No,” he said quickly. “He just looks like Sorry, minus the blond mane and tail.” At her look he explained, “He’s the horse I rode the first season ofStonewall. He’s a sorrel, and the nickname just stuck.”
“Only the first season?”
Was she was thinking the horse had proved too much for him? For a guy whose business usually involved being assessed and judged, usually in a string of auditions, he wondered where this newfound sensitivity about it had come from.
“Turned out he was a little too spooky for the work. The noise and equipment set him off, and one day, while just waiting to start a scene, he got spooked, broke the tie line, and took off. Ended up in a mess.”
He thought he saw realization flash in her eyes. “The mud flat.”
So she knew. Maybe she’d even seen the video somebody had posted that had become a big deal, although he didn’t see why. Anybody who loved horses would have done the same.
“Yeah. That one.”
“Was he okay?”
He nodded. “Nothing that wouldn’t heal. But they didn’t have the time to wait for that, so they switched me over to Buck, and I’ve ridden him since. He’s a good horse, and we’ve really bonded, but I still felt... a connection to Sorry.”
“What happened to him?”
He grimaced. “They were going to get rid of him, and nobody would tell me to who or where.”
