“Howdy,” he said, his deep, silky voice curling around her like tendrils of warm smoke. “How can I help you?”
He could start by getting his buttons fastened. Her tongue was stuck to her teeth. “I, um … I’m looking for Jake Coulter.”
He brushed wood chips from the rolled-back sleeves of his shirt. “You’ve found him. What can I do for you?”
He couldn’t be Jake Coulter, she thought stupidly. He looked nothing like Robert Redford.
The sheer idiocy of that thought jerked Molly up short. Naturally he looked nothing like Redford. It was just that he was so young. Not that she’d ever met any horse whisperers to know how old most of them were. It just seemed to her that they should be fifty or better, with lots of experience under their belts. She guessed this man to be in his early thirties, only a couple of years her senior.
He searched her gaze, his eyes a blaze of azure that looked too deep and saw too much. Molly groped for her composure.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
Everything was wrong, the man, the situation, everything. “No, nothing. You just aren’t what I expected.”
His wide, firm mouth twitched at one corner as if he were biting back a smile. “Sounds like you’ve got an unhappy traveler on your hands.”
“Very unhappy.” Molly rubbed her damp palms on her slacks. “I, um—I’m Molly Ster—” She caught herself and gulped. If Rodney had the police combing the state to find her, she didn’t dare give her real name. “I’m Molly Houston.” Where the name Houston had come from, she had no clue. Unless it was because she wished she were in Texas right then. She pressed a hand to her waist. “I—um—”
Um? It was one of her favorite words when she grew tense. At least he was buttoning his shirt. That was good.
Sonora Sunset chose that moment to whinny and kick the doors of the trailer. Molly jumped. Jake Coulter slowly shifted his gaze to the source of the noise. He gave the impression it would take a dynamite detonation to startle him.
When her heart settled back into her chest, Molly swallowed and tried again. “As you can see, I’ve got horse problems.”
He nodded, his eyes filling with questions. “Looks that way.”
“A trainer in Port—” She caught herself and cut the word short. The less he knew about her, the better. “A trainer in southern Oregon told me you’re a horse whisperer.”
His mouth did tip into a smile then—a slow, bone-melting grin that made her insides feel funny.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “If it’s a horse whisperer you’re looking for, I’m not your man. I don’t even believe such a thing exists.”
Right in the middle of a flutter, her stomach dropped. She’d risked life and limb to get Sonora Sunset here. “But the trainer seemed so sure you could help me.”
He glanced at the Toyota. His attention came to rest on her hurriedly packed belongings in the back seat and cargo area. A slight frown pleated his thick, sable brows. “I didn’t say I couldn’t help you, just that I’m no horse whisperer. What seems to be the problem?”
Given the ruckus Sunset was raising, Molly wondered why he would ask. “He, um …” She lifted her hands. “He goes berserk when anyone tries to get near him.”
Jake Coulter cocked an eyebrow and said, “Ah.”
Ah? That didn’t strike her as being a suitable response from a man who was supposedly such an expert. “Can you work with a stallion that’s totally uncooperative, Mr. Coulter?”
“Could be. Depends on the horse.”
Oh, God, she was tired. Down to the bone tired. She wanted him to reassure her and say he’d fix everything. Instead he just stood there, studying her thoughtfully. It was the horse that needed help, not her.
“The trainer says he’s dangerous,” she went on, “that if something isn’t done, he may have to be destroyed.”
“How long has he been acting up?” He swung up onto the wheel well with the ease of a man familiar with horse trailers and the gigantic, four-legged critters hauled in them. As he looked in at Sunset through the side slats, he asked, “Did this just start or—?”
Sunset shrieked and lunged so sharply away that the conveyance pitched sideways. Coulter grabbed for handholds to keep his footing.
“Holy hell.” He directed a smoldering glance at Molly. “Lady, this animal has been whipped.”
She wrapped her arms around her waist. “I realize that. I didn’t do it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Who did?”
She groped frantically for a safe answer to that question. When one didn’t come to mind, she settled for telling the truth. “My ex-husband.”
“He should be horsewhipped himself.”
Molly thought running Rodney’s male pride through a laundry press sounded more satisfying. “This isn’t the first time it’s happened. It was just never so bad before.”
“Lord Almighty, I’ve seen some mistreated animals in my day, but never anything like this. How could you allow it?”
Molly bristled. “I didn’t allow it. I had no idea it was happening.”
“Your ex has been whipping your horse, and you didn’t know it was happening? If this animal is yours, why didn’t the trainer notify you?”
She thought quickly. “There were never any marks on Sunset before.”
“Even so, the horse must have acted up afterward.”
Until this morning, Molly had observed Sunset only from a safe distance. “I never noticed him behaving strangely, and if the trainer did, he never said anything.”
He mulled that over for a moment. His gaze still sharp on hers, he finally jumped down from the wheel well. “Does this horse even belong to you, lady?” he asked with lethal softness.
Molly was afraid he’d tell her to hit the road if she admitted the truth. Without his help, Sunset could end up at a glue factory. “Of course he belongs to me. How would I have brought him here otherwise?”
“Good question.” The frown creases between his dark brows deepened as he regarded her. “Do you have papers to verify ownership?”
“Papers? Oh, dear. I totally forgot to bring them.”
“He looks like a very expensive animal. If he should injure himself while I’m trying to work with him, I could get my ass sued off.”
“I’ll sign a waiver,” she offered, “absolving you of all liability.”
“A waiver wouldn’t be worth the paper it’s written on if you don’t own the horse.” He rubbed his jaw, his eyes darkening as he searched hers. Then he cut another glance at the trailer and swore under his breath. “I can’t afford a bunch of lawyer fees right now.”
He was about to send them packing. She just knew it. Molly listened to Sunset’s panicked grunts, and her heart nearly broke for him. She couldn’t take him back to Portland and let people who cared nothing about him decide his fate. There was also the very real possibility that Rodney might hurt him again. “I just told you I own the horse, Mr. Coulter. Are you accusing me of lying?”
His jaw muscle bunched, and for what seemed an eternity, they engaged in a visual standoff. She held up her hands in supplication. “Do I look like a horse thief?”
She couldn’t read his expression, and her nerves screamed as she waited for him to answer. He glanced at the stuff in the back of her Toyota again.
“No,” he finally admitted in a gravelly voice, his mobile mouth tipping into a sheepish grin even as he sighed in defeat. “All right. Let’s have a look at the poor fellow.” He turned toward her vehicle, suddenly all business. “Are your keys in the ignition?”
Before she could answer he was in the Toyota and cranking the engine. She stepped out of the way as he jockeyed the SUV to get the trailer lined up with the gate. He made backing a trailer look so easy she wondered why she found it so difficult.
“You aren’t going to turn him loose, are you?” she asked as he climbed back out of the 4Runner.
He was so tall that he’d mashed the top of his Stetson on the roof of her ca
r. “To get a feel for the horse, I have to unload him.”
“If you decide you can’t work with him, will you be able to put him back? He’s being very difficult. This morning it took the trainer and three stable employees to get him up the ramp.”
He drew off his hat to reshape the crown, then settled it back on his head. “I think I can manage. If need be, I’ll get my brother Hank to help. He’s off in the north section, but I can call him in by radio.”
Molly closed her eyes in dread as he opened the trailer doors and extended the ramp. She heard his boots thumping on the wood. Then he said, “Easy, boy, easy.”
Sunset whinnied and, judging by the noises that followed, started kicking for all he was worth. Molly opened her eyes partway, half expecting to see Jake Coulter come flying out the back end of the conveyance.
“Easy, boy,” she heard him say again.
A second later, she glimpsed Sunset’s hindquarters. The stallion nearly danced off the ramp, but somehow Coulter managed to get him going in the right direction again. The thunderous tattoo of hooves on wood made Molly hug her waist and clench her teeth.
Sunset had nearly killed his trainer this morning. She had neglected to tell Jake Coulter that for fear he might refuse to work with the horse. Now she wished with all her heart that she’d been honest.
If the fool man got hurt, it would be entirely her fault.
Chapter Two
As it turned out, Jake Coulter proved to be perfectly capable of handling the stallion by himself. When Sunset tried to rear and strike with his front hooves, the well-muscled rancher foiled the attempt, holding fast to the animal’s halter and using his weight to keep him from throwing his head. In a flurry of sound and motion, man and beast spilled down the ramp into the corral.
Coulter was incredibly fast on his feet. When he released the horse, he made for the fence with such speed that all Molly saw was a blur. She released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding as he vaulted over the barrier, hat still perched jauntily on his head.
He blotted sweat from his brow with the cuff of his sleeve. “Boy, howdy, you’re right. He’s a handful.”
A handful? A two-year-old child was a handful. The horse whinnied and circled the corral. His hooves kicked up clouds of dust that burned Molly’s nostrils. Still hugging her waist, she made tight fists on her white cotton blouse. She’d seen Sunset in action this morning and was afraid he might jump the fence.
Coulter didn’t seem worried. He shoved up the trailer ramp and drew the corral gate closed. After securing the latch, he rested his folded arms on a fence rail to observe the horse’s behavior. At least that was what Molly guessed he was doing. It put her in mind of the way doctors observed patients after they were admitted to a psychiatric ward, a close scrutiny that stripped away layers and missed nothing.
A thick, suffocating feeling came into her throat. She watched Sunset circling the corral, so sad for him that her bones ached. Maybe horses didn’t feel the same way people did about having their privacy invaded.
The shift of his shoulders snapping the chambray taut across his chest, Jake began tucking in his shirt with hard stabs of his fingers. Watching him, Molly got a bad feeling. Her trepidation increased when he jumped up to straddle the fence. “Mr. Coulter?”
If he heard, he gave no indication of it. His gaze was riveted on the horse. Molly stared up at his profile, noting the determined set of his jaw. In the sunlight, his bottom lip shimmered like silk, the only hint of softness in a face that might otherwise have been chiseled from granite.
“Mr. Coulter, you aren’t thinking about going in there again, are you?”
He flicked her a look. “How else can I decide if I can work with him?”
“But, Mr. Coulter, he’s dangerous.
“A thousand pounds of horse with an attitude problem is most always dangerous. That’s what keeps me in business.”
“At least get something to defend yourself.”
“What do you suggest, a club?” He braced his hands on the rail to lift up and get more comfortable. After watching Sunset for a few seconds more, he shook his head. “If I have something in my hands, he’ll think I mean to beat him with it.”
“I really wish you’d reconsider,” she said shakily as he swung his other leg over the rail. “He almost killed his trainer this morning.”
If that gave him pause, he concealed it well. He glanced down, his blue eyes twinkling. “Don’t worry, I won’t get hurt.”
Molly clung to the fence rail, watching helplessly as he lowered himself into the enclosure. Sunset reared and pierced the air with a frantic whinny that held a note of warning.
“Whoa, boy.” Coulter set his dusty boots wide apart, his legs slightly bent, the flex of muscle in his thighs visible under the denim of his jeans. “No point in getting worked up.”
Sunset was having none of that, not that Molly blamed him. Coulter looked formidable—strong, lightning quick, and prepared for anything. Not even a huge, swift animal like the stallion could hope to escape such an adversary within the confines of a small corral.
Molly knew how it felt to be cornered and helpless. The quivering terror and underlying outrage, the claustrophobic panic that made it nearly impossible to breathe. Oh, yes, she knew.
Sunset wheeled and ran to the opposite end of the corral, then turned to face his tormentor. The whites of his eyes formed crescents over his irises. The muscles in his shoulders quivered with terror.
“You poor, miserable thing.” Jake held out his hands so the horse could see they were empty. Tendons and distended veins roped his bronze forearms. “See there? Nothing to be afraid of.”
Sunset stood on his rear legs. He screamed wildly and struck at the air, forelegs churning, hooves flashing. When he came down on all fours, his feet hit the earth with such force that Molly could have sworn she felt the vibration.
“Easy.” The man was so focused on the horse now that Molly suspected he’d forgotten she was there. “Easy, boy. You’re in no shape for this.”
Arms still held wide, his lean body tensed to spring if the stallion charged at him, the rancher held his ground while Sunset cut circles around him. He turned to keep an eye on the animal at all times, but beyond that, he didn’t move, expending little energy while Sunset exhausted himself.
“You see? I’m not going to hurt you,” he said in that same low voice.
Molly dug her nails into her palms and bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, wishing with all her heart that Sunset would stop fighting the inevitable. Why couldn’t he understand that Coulter was only trying to help him? Sometimes those who seemed to be your worst enemies in the beginning turned out to be your best friends. Molly had learned that the hard way. Unfortunately, there was no way to impart that bit of wisdom to the horse. He would have to find it out for himself—just as she had.
The horse continued to dart back and forth until he was blowing and stumbling with weariness. His sides looked as if they’d been flecked with shaving cream.
She was dripping with sweat herself by the time the stallion succumbed to exhaustion. Hands locked on the fence, she stared at the horse through a blur of scalding tears. He stood with his rump pressed into a corner of the corral, great head hanging, sides heaving. He was so winded that he looked ready to drop.
She prayed the worst was over, but instead of leaving the corral, Coulter turned slightly sideways to the stallion and bent his head. Keeping his gaze fixed on the ground, he made a slow approach. The horse watched warily but didn’t offer to move until the rancher got about five feet from him. Then Sunset grunted and stumbled sideways.
Coulter stopped there. Bewildered, Molly watched him mark the spot with the heel of his boot. Then he backed away, only to approach the line again and again until Sunset showed no reaction whatsoever. Only then did the rancher seem satisfied.
“Good boy,” he said, his voice as smooth as warm honey. “We’ll get there. But that’s enough for today.”
“What purpose did it serve? You never got close enough to touch him.”
Resting an arm on the fence rail, he crossed his booted feet. The breeze kicked back up, molding his light blue shirt to his torso. “It’s enough that he knows I could have. On some level, he understands now that I don’t mean him any harm.” His firm mouth tipped in a grin. “And I learned the same about him.”
“You did?”
He nodded. “He’s a big old boy and fast as greased lightning. If he had a mean streak, instead of cutting circles around me, he could have tried to run me down. The horse isn’t vicious, just damn scared, and who can blame him?”
He walked over to a faucet at the north corner of the corral and began filling a five-gallon bucket. Observing him through the rails, Molly asked, “Does that mean you’ll try to help him?”
Instead of answering, he bent to shove the bucket under the fence and then backed away. Sunset eyed him warily. Then he stumbled wearily toward the water. When the horse almost reached the bucket, Jake stepped forward to snatch it away.
Molly clenched her teeth. She watched with growing anger as Jake repeated the process again and again, never allowing the poor horse to drink.
When she could bear it no longer, she cried, “Why are you doing that?”
He flashed her a deadpan look.
“You know he’s dying for a drink. Tormenting him that way is cruel.”
He moved to the east corner of the corral to slide the bucket under the fence again. “You can’t let an overheated horse drink his fill.” Once again, he waited until Sunset almost reached the water, then he quickly retrieved the bucket. “When horses get this hot, you have to walk them. Normally I’d lead him around for five minutes and then allow him to have a little water before walking him another five. Since I can’t put him on a lead, I’m getting him to move the only way I can.”
Molly jerked her gaze back to Sunset. In the heat of the afternoon sunlight, rivers of sweat had begun to crystallize on his lather-flecked black coat. “Oh,” she said weakly.
Sweet Nothings Page 2