Page 28 of Cowboy in Colorado
No one is moving except me and Demon. The other men have all turned their back to him, focused on keeping the horses in the pen without closing the gate. Turning their backs to Demon is also a posture, I realize. If he’s a prey animal, putting your back to him would be an act of disinterest. Nothing to fear.
Like lulling a bullish owner into thinking you’re just a ditz instead of a barracuda.
It’s me and Demon. No one else exists.
When I woke up this morning, if you’d told me I would be luring a wild stallion the size of a small elephant with peppermint candies, I’d have said you were crazy. Yet here I am.
No time to think. Demon sees the candy and hears the wrapper, and his ears prick up and swivel toward me, and his entire posture is one of hesitant, wary curiosity. I unwrap a candy and put the rest in the pocket of my blazer. I keep my palm flat, close to my body. Demon snorts, nostrils flaring. Suspicious of a trick, probably. Looking at me, assessing. He steps forward, extending his neck again, lips reaching and wriggling, and this time I do laugh.
“You’re just a big old funny guy, aren’t you?” I say, in a soft, quiet, high-pitched voice, the tone I use for my dad’s surly old Chihuahua. “You just want the treat, huh? Well, you gotta come and get it.”
He responds with another shake of his head and a derisive snort, but his big hooves shuffle closer, and his nostrils flare and his lips reach. I keep it back, toward my body, and he finally takes a full step closer. Now he’s towering over me, head high, looking at me with one big black eye, head bobbing warily, body shifting and dancing. Then, with one last chesty murmur, he dips his head and nuzzles my palm, taking the candy.
“Touch him,” Will hisses. “Slow, careful.”
I slowly lift my palm—he’s standing less than a foot from me, munching and crunching, watching me. He tosses his head once, but then brings it back down to sniff my outstretched hand; I press my palm to his nose, gingerly, my eyes on him. His nose is soft and silky, his breath warm and damp.
“Good, very good. Now step toward him. A shuffle. See how close he’ll let you get.” Will’s voice is behind me, faint, as he’s still facing away.
“What if he stomps on me?”
“He won’t. Move slowly.”
“This is crazy. He’s a wild animal.”
“Not totally wild. He’s not an actual wild mustang—he was born and raised on this ranch, and he’s been around people his whole life, but this herd is all unbroken yearlings and two-year-olds, a few three-year-olds. The best of the best. These are the ones we’re going to train and sell, and your boy Demon there is the biggest and best of them all, with the best pedigree.” A dry laugh. “Bitch of it is, he likes you. I’ve been trying to get close to him for six months, and he won’t let me within twenty damned feet. You, a green city girl, have him literally eating out of your hand within minutes.”
I feel a little swell of pride, even though I know it has nothing to do with me. He just chose me for some reason I don’t begin to understand. I unwrap another candy, and this time I don’t offer it to him until I’ve taken a slow step toward him. He dances back, but then forward again, sidling sideways. I open my palm and hold it against my ribs, and when he takes it, I move up against him, and he lets me rub my hand along his neck while he crunches the peppermint.
At that moment, my hand on his neck, rubbing his hot, silky fur, thunder booms like a cannon overhead, startling him. He whinnies in fear, dances backward and rears up, spinning on his hind legs. He doesn’t go after me, though—instead, he charges forward, into the pen with his herd. The second he’s in, the ranch hands close the pen, leaving me shaking, standing alone in knee-high grass.
Will is beside me. His eyes fix on me. “That was impressive, I gotta say.”
I’m trembling, and now my legs, which had been locked, finally give out, and I collapse, fighting hyperventilation. Will’s arm goes around my waist, holds me up, and his body is hard against mine, big, and warm, and powerful, and he smells like horses and dust and sweat and his eyes are as stormy as the sky overhead.
“You’ve got real balls, Brooklyn. Coming out here alone.”
“Clint followed me,” I murmur, trying to get my feet under me.
“Yeah, well, I’m gonna have words with Clint. He was supposed to take you home.”
“He tried. I wouldn’t let him.”
“He should’ve put you over his saddle horn if he’d had to.”
That puts steel into my spine. “He’d have ended up with a broken wrist if he’d tried that,” I say. “I’m a brown belt in Krav Maga.”
Will’s arm unwraps, and I’m standing on my own again. “I’d have paid to see that,” he says. “Regardless, you should’ve gone home. You’re lucky to be alive right now. A few inches and Demon’s hoof would’ve crushed your skull like a grape.”
I swallow hard. “Trust me, I’m well aware how close it was. I’ll have nightmares for weeks, probably.”
Thunder cracks overhead, and then a raindrop plops on my head, followed by another, and then there’s a bright flash of lightning and another sky-splitting, ear-shattering blast of thunder.
“Boss?” a voice calls from near the pen. “This ain’t no simple thunderstorm. Look at the sky to the west.”
I follow Will’s gaze, and the violent, angry gray-black of the thunderheads are tinged green, roiling and billowing. “Shit,” Will mutters. “Not good.”
“What?” I ask.