Page 36 of The Cowboy and the Stray

"For a bit of inflammation? Nah." I crouched down by Brimstone's hindquarters. "I've doctored plenty of hoof abscesses. We'll see how it looks after a good soak."

I tapped the back of Brimstone's fetlock, clucking my tongue. He shifted his weight, then grudgingly lifted his hoof. I caught it, running my hand down his leg to check for heat.

Tess edged closer, peering over my shoulder. "What are you looking for?"

"Making sure it's just in the hoof. If the leg is warm the infection has spread." I settled Brimstone's leg into the bucket, the salted water sloshing around his ankles. "If the infection gets into the bones, that's real trouble."

Brimstone heaved a sigh, his barrel of a chest expanding. I stayed in a crouch, one hand resting on his cannon bone. "There now. That feel better?"

Tess crept up beside me, her eyes fixed on the horse. With tentative movements, she reached out, laying her palm against Brimstone's shoulder. He flicked an ear but otherwise didn't protest.

Tess stroked Brimstone's coat, her touch whisper soft. I watched her from the corner of my eye, surprised by the gentleness in her hands. For someone who claimed not to know horses, she had the right instincts. They'd bonded a bit before, but it still surprised me.

We stayed like that for a while, me holding Brimstone's hoof while Tess soothed him with her presence. The peppermints she slipped him didn't go unnoticed. The minutes ticked by, marked by the lazy swish of Brimstone's tail.

"Why'd you call him Brimstone?" Tess asked eventually, breaking the easy silence.

I huffed out something close to a laugh. "You mean besides his talent for raising all kinds of hell?"

She smiled at that, quicksilver bright. "I figured that part was self-explanatory."

"Well," I shifted on my heels, resettling Brimstone's hoof, "when he was born, we all thought he wouldn't make it."

I stared at the ripples in the soaking bucket, my mind turning back the years. "He was so damn small. All legs, barely strong enough to stand. His mama died bringing him into the world, so he was an orphan from minute one."

Brimstone nosed at my shoulder, huffing his hay-sweet breath into my face. I scratched under his chin. "I spent hours with this fellow. Trying to get him to take a bottle, keeping him warm, teaching him he hadn't been born alone, even without his mama."

"That must have been hard," Tess said softly. "Raising him like that."

"Hardest damn thing I ever did," I admitted. "There were so many times I thought he'd slip away in the night. Seemed like no amount of care or fighting was enough."

I shook my head, my throat tightening with old ghosts. "But we made a deal, Brimstone and me. I wouldn't give up on him, and he wouldn't give up on living. And little by little, day by day, he got stronger."

Brimstone chose that moment to yank his hoof free of my grip, water slopping over the bucket rim. I grabbed for him with an exasperated noise. "Ornery from the start, too."

Tess laughed, and I felt an answering smile tug at my mouth. I got Brimstone settled again, patting his rump. "Anyway, after fighting through those first months, it seemed fitting to name him for hellfire and damnation. A reminder of how close he came to the brink, and how far he came back."

"And you were with him," Tess said. "Every step."

I shrugged. "He needed me."

She looked at me then, her green eyes dark with some emotion I couldn't name. "He still does. Look how much he trusts you."

I glanced back at the horse, at the easy cant of his ears and the slack line of his spine. She was right. Brimstone leaned into my touch without a flicker of fear, his wariness unwound.

"I guess so," I said roughly. I eased his hoof back to the ground, giving it one last inspection. "Think that's probably good for now."

We slipped out of the stall together, Tess trailing behind me as I latched the door. In the dim hush of the barn, I could hear the horses shifting in their stalls, the drowsy swish of tails and rattle of feeders. The simple rhythm of their existence, pared down to its most basic cycles.

I realized abruptly that I'd stopped and was staring. Tess stared back, her brows drawing together in mute question. I gave my head a hard shake, looking away.

"We best be getting back," I said. "Still got a ranch to run."

But as we walked out of the barn together, I felt the wistful ache of that longing chase me still. The want for something simpler, freeing in its directness, its honesty.

Maybe that's why Tess unsettled me so badly. She stirred that yearning to the surface, made it harder to push away into the dark. Made me see how the web held me fast, and how I still strained against its grip, all the same.

18. TESS