Page 26 of Cowboy in Colorado

All I see is the heaving, sweating black flank of the errant horse and his eyes fierce and wild as he thunders at me, and then he’s screaming, a deafening sound, forehooves raking the air in front of me. Molly’s answering whinny sounds scared, but she’s still moving, hind legs carrying her in a skidding circle, away from him even as he paws the air inches from my face.

I think I’m screaming, but everything is a blur and loud and confused and I don’t know what is happening.

The world spins and turns and flips, and then the sky is down and the grass is up and time is moving syrupy slow—

SLAM!

My lungs empty with a squeaking gasp as something crashes hard against me, knocking a whirl of white stars in front of my eyes, shaking me like a rag doll, sending me rolling. I blink and gasp, but I can’t breathe, can’t see. There’re dark gray storm clouds boiling overhead, angry and cracking thunder. Everything hurts. Something is still screaming and snorting—Molly is dancing away, just inside my field of vision, stirrups empty and jouncing against her belly, mane flying and whipping. I try to move, but I can’t.

The ground shakes, rattles, and I blink and try again to breathe, to move, and I desperately, greedily suck at the air as my lungs start to work again—something massive and black and round rips into the grass near my face, and the next thing I see is the horse whom I’ve named Demon, rearing above me, front hooves slicing at the air over me, hind legs dancing a yard away from my legs. I am utterly paralyzed—

For a split second.

And then some panicked instinct deep in the most primal, survivalist core of my brain takes over and I roll and roll and roll…and feel those hooves the size of dinner plates crashing into the ground inches from my head, smashing and slicing and pounding inches away each time I roll—

And then Will is there, on his feet, literally standing astride my prone form.

7

Ican only lay on my back gasping for breath, staring up at Will as he stands over me like a warrior, guarding me. He has his ball cap in one hand, bullwhip in the other, and he’s swinging the whip overhead—CRACK!!—the tip snaps inches from Demon’s snorting nose, and he rears again, pawing furiously at Will, who stands his ground, utterly fearless, shoulders back, chin high.

Another deafening crack of the whip, and he stepstowardDemon. “I’m not scared of you, horse,” he says in a voice loud enough to be heard, but still in a soft, gentle tone. Not angry, not aggressive. “Back up. Back up.”

Somehow, it works.

Demon keeps his front paws on the grass, bobbing his head, snorting, pawing the ground, but he backs up. Will lets the bullwhip dangle in a coil at his feet, replaces his hat on his head, and steps toward Demon again, a slow, careful, wary sidle a few inches forward. He glances to one side, at one of his men—the one at the gate. Nods, a lift of his chin. The man at the gate quickly opens the gate, and several others spread out both on foot and on horseback, to block off Demon’s escape routes. Demon sees this, waggles his head, stops moving and examines all of us. His big black fury-gleaming eyes fix on me.

“Stand up, Brooklyn,” Will commands. “Now.”

I scramble to my feet, aching all over.

“Stand beside me,” he says.

I obey, moving to stand next to him. I’m shaking all over, from adrenaline still coursing through me, and from pure terror at the horse in front of me, glaring at me with hate-filled eyes, killer hooves raking at the grass.

“He can’t get away with that,” Will murmurs to me. “You can’t let him make you cower.”

“He’s terrifying,” I whisper, not at all ashamed of the high-pitched quaver in my voice.

“He’s a wild stallion. He’s run this herd for three years, watching me cull his girls and the other stallions over time. He’s pissed. He’s defensive, and territorial, and just doing his job as the alpha.” He says all this without looking at me, without taking his eyes off Demon. He moves forward. “But I plan on catching him and breaking him myself. And he cannot, and will not, get away with terrorizing people. So you have to show him you’re boss. That you’re not afraid of him.”

“But…I am.”

“I know that, and so does he.” Will glances at me quickly; storm-blue eyes furious and boiling, seething, even as his tone is calm and collected. “You have to get past it and back him up into the pen.”

“How?”

“Act like you’ve got bigger balls than he does.”

I laugh out loud at that. “His balls are the size of watermelons,” I say. “I saw them as he was trying to attack me.”

“I mean figuratively,” he says. “Don’t be angry or try to scare him, just act dominant. Like you expect him to obey you, no matter what.”

“Why can’t you do it?” I ask.

“Because he didn’t attack me. He attacked you. If you let him win, you’ll know it forever, and so will he.” Will’s eyes demand obedience. “You wanted to follow me out here, where you don’t belong? Well, this is how things work on the range, Brooklyn. Let a horse trample you literally or figuratively, no horse that saw that will ever forget it or respect you, and with horses, love and respect are everything. So walk his big butt backward into the pen. Now.”

I swallow the diatribe in my throat, because I know he’s right. I don’t know a damn thing about horses, but I know that after what just happened, I don’t ever want to be around another horse again. It’s like when I got in a car accident when I was sixteen and newly licensed; I got sideswiped and spun around, rolled into a ditch, and by sheer luck escaped with only bumps and bruises. I didn’t want to drive again after that, but Dad made me. He sat in the car with me and talked me through it, and eventually I got my confidence back and resumed driving. It was terrifying at first, but if Dad hadn’t made me get behind the wheel again, I wouldn’t have had the courage.