Page 44 of Tame Our Wild

I step up to a brown one, placing my hand on its muzzle, softly stroking down. Knowing that they are here gives me an odd sort of comfort that clashes with the twinge of homesickness that’s been stirring in my belly. Sometimes, my dad would have clients with horses who were anxious, acting up, abused, or hardheaded, and he’d let me work with them. I miss spending my time with them, building that trust. That communication. Cultivating and strengthening the special language that connects a rider and their horse, showing their mutual loyalty.

Mel promised to take care of my horse, Alaska, while I’m not in Arizona, but leaving her doesn’t make it any easier. At least being around others will bring a sort of contentment that I wouldn’t find here otherwise.

I hope Colson will let me go riding.

The silky-smooth texture of the horse’s coat glides against my fingers. I glance under the horse’s stomach, locking eyes with the proof I was looking for.

“You’re such a sweet boy,” I croon.

His ears flick when a thumping sound from farther in the stable makes me jolt. It happens again, and the horse and I peer in the same direction before I quietly pad across the floor. My hands tighten around the container of muffins. It must be Colson. I’m sure of it.

When I near the back, where there are feed stalls and an open back door letting a chilly draft float through the space, my attention lands on the last stall with an older mare. She paces back and forth in her stall anxiously, jerking her head in several directions uneasily. Her coat is stunning, with brown and white spotting. I’ve always admired paint horses and have worked with some, but I have never had one.

Aaron did.

And Alaska, my horse at home, is a white Appaloosa with black and gray spotting.

The mare eyes me suspiciously and releases a few tense snorts and whinnies. It’s not hard to understand why she is back here—she would make the other horses nervous.

I lean against the door and calm my breathing, just being present with her. After a few minutes, she settles and takes a few cautious steps toward the door, as curious about me as I am about her. But I don’t reach out and touch her—can’t be too hasty with a horse like this.

“So, you’re the black horse of the group, too, huh?” I say quietly. “I know how it feels.”

Her hooves move again until she’s so close that we’re sharing the same string of breath, staring into each other’s eyes like we can figure out a million things by one look alone. Unexpectedly, she rears back, making a strangled grunt, catching me off guard. Startled, I step back, hitting something hard. Large hands whip out to steady my shoulders. When I peer over my shoulder, Colson’s eyes are solidly locked on mine.

I may have a puffy winter coat on, but his body heat touches me all the same. It’s an unexpected comfort I shouldn’t want to sink into. “Sorry,” I breathe, stepping away from him like I’ve been burned by his touch. His hands fall from holding me. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“You got her to come close to you.” His voice is an octave lower than normal, and for some reason, I find myself wanting to cling to it. Which is confusing, since I could replay it in my head like a soothing lullaby or listen to it on repeat as my fingers slip inside me.

“What?” I ask. Why am I breathy?

He stands there, pondering what to say. “She hasn’t let anyone near her in a long time. But you—she came up to you.”

I watch the mare continue pacing at the back of the stall, similar to how I found her. “But she got scared of me.”

“No.” He moves to stand beside me but keeps his distance. He takes his cowboy hat off, pulling his fingers through his hair, and places it back on. “She saw me come up behind you. I wonder if she would’ve let you touch her if I didn’t interrupt whatever”—he waves a hand trying to find a word—“moment you two were having.”

“The others are so docile. Why do you have her? It’s not like you have a ton of time to work with or ride her.”

“I don’t know—” A soft red hue floods his cheeks. Colson lets out a solemn sigh and swallows. “I guess there are some connections that are hard to let go of.” His chest rises and falls, like he’s contemplating telling me the real reason. “There was a time when she wasn’t afraid of anything, but then something happened that changed her. I thought time might help her heal.”

My eyes linger on his, trying to hang onto this gentle side of him that I’ve never seen. Emotion is laced into every word, as if this is personal. I see it in the way his features soften when he’s talking about her, as if they have some connection despite the physical distance that’s been between them. There’s something else there, too, in the way he stares at the mare.

Colson slips his hands into his pockets. “I’ve tried to get her out enough to start working with her, but she won’t let me near her. So most of the time, she wanders the pastures. She’s at peace out there.”

“Does she have a name?”

His eyes don’t stray from her. “Cosmos.”

My eyes flit from Cosmos to Colson. “What if I tried?”

His head whips toward me, lines forming between his dark brows.

“I’ve worked with horses before, whenever my dad would bring a new one home or if he had clients who needed help with theirs.” I stifle a laugh. “When I finally became more mobile after my leg healed, but still couldn’t ride bulls yet, I got in a ring with our horses as soon as I could. Building that trust and training them were among the easier physical things I could do. Plus, it doesn’t hurt to try, and I’ll get bored around here if I have nothing to do. I have to repay you for coaching me somehow. If you’ll let me, I’d love to work with Cosmos.”

He regards me with an expression I can’t place. “Alright. You’ve already made more progress than I have.”

“Who takes care of them and the cattle while you’re competing? This is a lot to take on by yourself.”