Wyatt felt heartsick and went back to studying the frantic horse again. She was finally starting to settle down, but every muscle in her body was knotted with tension. “I worked for a guy once over in Medford. That was the one and only time I ever got fired. I was at that ranch so briefly that I can’t remember his name now, but he trained parade horses, and I got so pissed at how he was doing it. We had words, and he told me to get off his land. I was so angry I didn’t even collect my pay.”
“How was he training the horses to high-step?” she asked.
“He would toss lighted firecrackers at their front feet. I couldn’t hear the explosives going off, but I saw them bouncing around and how it frightened the horse.” With a heavy feeling in his chest, Wyatt closed his eyes for a moment. “I think that’s what happened to Violet. I’m not saying the same man owned her, only that people like that are piss-poor horse trainers, and they’re mean to the core. The man I knew had no compunction at all about beating a horse, I can tell you that.”
“Did you turn him in after you quit the job?”
Wyatt nodded. “I filed a report with the police and the local humane society. I was told the man would be investigated. I have no idea what came of it.”
Erin shifted her tear-filled gaze to the horse. Her mouth started to quiver. “You think Violet had firecrackers thrown at her feet?”
Wyatt nodded.
“No wonder she’s traumatized. I could see how constantly touching her poll might get her over being afraid when someone reaches for her head. But firecrackers at her feet? How will I ever get her over that?”
Wyatt took a moment to answer. “Repetition,” he finally pushed out. “But before we settle on that idea, we need Slade’s input first.”
Erin immediately said, “No! You promised not to tell him.”
“No, Erin. I never promised that.”
“You’re wonderful with horses. Why do we need Uncle Slade involved in this?”
“Because he’s one of the best horsemen I’ve ever known. Because I trust his instincts and know what a kind heart he has. He won’t make you get rid of the horse. Once he hears about this, he’ll be pissed off on behalf of the horse, but otherwise, he’ll feel as bad for her as we do.”
* * *
* * *
Uncle Slade’s first reaction when Erin and Wyatt approached him about Violet was to say, “That rotten, no-good son of a bitch!”
Vickie came running from the kitchen, her curly hair clamped down over her head with a net. Her blue bib apron had flour and what looked like blood all over the front of it, but Erin suspected it was marinara, judging by the delicious aroma coming from the back of the house. “What on earth? Slade, why are you shouting profanities?”
Uncle Slade closed his eyes for a second. “Vickie, those are not profanities. They’re bywords. And I’m yelling because that man who sold me the mare was a rotten, abusive son of a bitch!”
When Vickie heard about the firecrackers, she went pale. “How horrible. I’ve heard of people doing that. Then, during a parade, they dropped fake bombs at the horses’ feet to make them prance. All they care about is the showmanship, the horse be damned.”
“Was he from Medford?” Wyatt asked.
Uncle Slade gave him a perplexed look. “How did you guess that?”
Wyatt’s jaw clenched. “Because I once worked for a man who raised parade horses. He was making big bucks off those horses. Over time, some of them get so used to it they don’t go crazy, or so I was told, but the more timid ones are ruined. Or at least that’s my opinion. I don’t believe in using fright tactics to train anything.”
Uncle Slade grabbed his Stetson off the hall tree and stormed out the front door. Wyatt followed him, so Erin did as well. They ended up at Violet’s paddock. Uncle Slade just stood there and studied the horse. Then he vaulted over the fence, collected the bubblegum container, and returned to where Wyatt and Erin were still standing.
“The only way I know to get her over being fearful of something dropped at her feet is to do it repeatedly,” he finally said. “It won’t be fun, and it sure won’t be pretty, but if you’ve got the heart for it, Erin, she’ll eventually stop blowing up when it happens.”
Erin didn’t know if she could do something that she knew would terrify the mare. “Won’t that just make her distrust me?”
Uncle Slade sighed. “Maybe at first, but over time, she’ll learn that the stuff you toss doesn’t explode, and she’ll lose her fear of it.” He turned the damaged container in his hand. “Don’t do it too often the first few days. No point in getting her all riled up and keeping her that way. Just, oh, I don’t know, maybe three times a morning.”
“Less,” Wyatt chimed in. “I saw her blow. She went completely berserk. Once, maybe, to start. Let her get used to the idea that nothing happens before you start conditioning her more often.”
Erin swallowed. Her throat felt raw with tension. “I’ll try.”
Uncle Slade leveled a look at her. “No try to it, honey. If you love her and want her to have a good life, you have to get her over her fears. Otherwise, she’ll be a danger to anyone who tries to handle her.”
“And if she doesn’t get over it?” Erin asked. “What’ll happen to her, then?”
Uncle Slade met and held her gaze. “That’ll be up to you. She’s your horse now. The only thing I’ve got to say is, proceed with caution. Don’t be inside the paddock when you toss something at her feet. I saw last night that she doesn’t want to hurt you, but a frightened horse is a—”
Erin cut him off with, “A dangerous horse. I know.”
Slade nodded. “And don’t you ever forget it, sweetheart. She’s a big, powerful animal. She could kill you in a blink.” He removed his hat and slapped it against his pants leg. “I’ll leave you two to cuss and discuss. I’ve got a phone call to make.”
After her uncle walked away, Erin looked up at Wyatt. “Who do you suppose he’s going to call?”
“The cops,” Wyatt said, his voice pitched low. “Slade already suspected that the Medford man doped the horse before he went to look at her. He couldn’t prove anything. But now, if it’s the same man I once worked for, he knows there’s been at least one complaint filed against him already.” Wyatt met her gaze and smiled slightly. “I wasn’t much more than a kid back then, and I was pretty much nobody in Medford. The complaints I filed with the authorities may not have been enough to launch a real investigation.”
“Uncle Slade is nobody in Medford, too. How likely is it that they’ll listen to him?”
“He’s made a name for himself. If he files a complaint, it’ll catch everyone’s attention.”
Erin looked down at the container that Uncle Slade had handed to her before he walked away. “What if she gets so wound up that she hurts herself?”
Wyatt planted a hand atop her head with a gentle touch. “Erin, look at me.”
His voice compelled her to lift her gaze. He smiled even though the gesture didn’t quite reach his eyes. “With horses, you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do.”
Just then Domino ran up and bumped Wyatt’s leg with his nose. Wyatt released Erin and reached down to stroke the dog’s head. “Having an animal is a big responsibility. If you keep working with her, she’ll one day be one of your best and most trusted friends. To a point, anyway. Never . . .”
Erin interjected, “Let my guard down with a horse. I know. I’ve got it.”
He flashed a crooked grin. “Yep, I think you finally do.”
* * *
* * *
The next morning, Erin began training with Violet by tossing the bubblegum container over the fence at her feet. Violet shrieked and went totally berserk for at least five minutes and was lathered up by the time she calmed down. Erin waited until then to enter the paddock. She left the container lying on the ground, hoping that the mare would beg
in to accept that it was just a piece of plastic and couldn’t harm her.
As the morning progressed, Erin decided Uncle Slade was right. Violet was a wimpy name for such a spirited horse. Shrinking violets were timid creatures afraid of their own shadows. This mare had good reason to be fearful. She had been abused by a human, who was supposed to be a superior being. Instead he’d been the lowest of the low, beating on an animal and terrifying her until he’d almost ruined her.
When the mare finally decided to take a treat from her palm, Erin got up and moved in close to her shoulder. “From now on, I’m calling you Firecracker,” she whispered to the horse while she lightly rubbed her neck. “Firecrackers are a part of your history, and with your beautiful red coat and white markings, you need a name with some pizzazz.”
* * *
* * *
The following morning, Erin tucked a quirt into the waistband of her jeans before she entered Firecracker’s paddock. Erin wasn’t sure what the man might have used to beat Firecracker, but she guessed his weapon of choice would have been something he always had on hand, and Erin had watched enough movies to know that riders often used quirts. They were a shorter version of a whip. She’d never seen any man on the Wilder Ranch use a quirt, but after searching the tack room, she found one.
The mare snorted and huffed when she saw the riding whip. Then she ran to the opposite side of the paddock, stared at Erin, and stomped her feet. Wyatt had once told Erin she would learn the horse’s story from her behavior, and she felt pretty confident she’d just discovered what had been used to punish Firecracker. The quirt had a braided lash, which Erin doubted would cause an equine that much pain unless it was used viciously. Going on a hunch, she drew the quirt from her waistband, grabbed the braided section of leather, and swung the handle in a circular motion.
Sure enough, Firecracker screamed and backed up until her rump was testing the strength of the fence rails behind her. Erin had her answer. The mare had been frightened by only the sight of a quirt, but she was beyond terrified when Erin swung the handle. Erin tucked the device back into her pants. Uncle Slade had said repeated exposure would eventually condition Firecracker to no longer be afraid. If that tactic could work with a bubble gum container, why wouldn’t it work with the quirt?
Erin knew she was undoing all the trust she’d built between herself and the mare. That made her sad. But she was determined to get Firecracker back to being the wonderful horse she’d once been. And Erin had no question in her mind that Firecracker had once been an amazing animal. She didn’t know how the mare had ended up with her last owner. She only knew Uncle Slade had pegged him correctly. The man was a no-good son of a bitch.
Chapter Eighteen
Wyatt stood in the horse’s stall and watched Erin with a thoughtful smile. It’s happening, he thought. Erin was learning something new during every session with the mare. And she had been listening. Slade had given her one example of repetitious exposure to eventually cure a horse of being afraid of something, and Erin had extrapolated that bit of information and moved forward. And Wyatt believed Erin was on the right track. In fact, if he’d been working with Violet, he might have done the same thing.
When Erin left the paddock, Wyatt hurried out into the alley of the barn and pretended to be busy sorting through a bunch of tools that someone had left on a bench. He was aware of Erin’s approach this time because he knew she was coming, and as a consequence, he felt her presence in way that boggled his mind.
He glanced up and met her sparkling gaze. “Hey. How are you this morning?”
“Upset. Firecracker has been beaten with the handle of a quirt. What kind of man does such a thing?”
Wyatt straightened. “The kind of man who should never have animals.”
“Assuming it’s the same man you worked for, why’d he fire you?”
Wyatt wasn’t sure he wished to share that story. “I grabbed a lighted firecracker out of his hand and shoved it down the front of his pants.”
Erin’s eyes went as round as dimes. “Pardon me?” Then she waved her hand. “Never mind. I heard you clearly enough.” Then an impish grin curved her mouth and dimpled her cheeks. “That was evil.”
“Yep. It wasn’t one of my best moments, but for a few seconds, it sure was fun to watch him drop his drawers to get the explosive away from his—well, you get the picture.”
“I do. I wish I’d been there to see it.”
They both laughed. “I know you watch me a lot when I’m working with the horse,” Erin said. “You don’t say much, so I’m going to ask for feedback. Am I nuts to go in there with a riding quirt when I suspect that was what was used to beat her?”
Wyatt had known for a while that he was in love with Erin De Laney, but in that moment, his feelings for her ran so deep that they made his chest ache. “No, I don’t think you’re nuts. Gutsy, yes. Taking risks, yes. She’ll get a whole lot upset.”
She smiled slightly again. “Do you believe she’s dangerous?”
“I believe she can be pushed into it. When we’re cornered, all of us have the potential to be dangerous. But do I think she’s mean? No. I’ve been around mean horses. They do exist, just like mean people exist. But—is that what you’re calling her now, Firecracker?” At Erin’s nod, he continued. “If she gets so frightened she can’t think, she may do you harm. But she doesn’t strike me as being bent on hurting anyone. She just wants nothing to do with people.”
“Do you blame her?” she asked.
“No. Do you?”
Erin shook her head. Then she pivoted on her heel and walked away. At the door, she turned and said, “Can you read my lips from there?”
“Well enough to guess what you’re saying.”
“If you see me doing anything you believe is a disservice to Firecracker, please tell me. She’s very important to me, and my aim is to help her get better, not make her worse.”
“I can do that,” Wyatt replied. “Just be careful, Erin. You’re important to a lot of people, too.”
Wyatt could have added that when it came to people who cared about her, he stood at the front of the line, but his feelings for Erin had to remain his secret. Only Kennedy had guessed how Wyatt felt about her so far, and Wyatt wanted to keep it that way.
* * *
* * *
Over the next two weeks, Kennedy seemed to be around the ranch less and less, but he kept up with his work, and as the foreman, Wyatt was grateful for that. If Kennedy had been a flake, Wyatt would have been placed in an untenable position of having divided loyalties, one to his boss and the other to his brother. Wyatt understood Kennedy’s feelings about Jen and his need to be with her as she recovered. She had endured one of the worst traumas anyone could experience. If she recovered. That was the question that looped continuously through Wyatt’s mind, and there was no question that it plagued Kennedy as well. Physically, Jen would heal, but she might be emotionally messed up for the rest of her life.
* * *
* * *
June descended on the Mystic Creek valley, glorious in her shades of verdant green and patterned with brilliant color. Wildflowers bedecked the fields and woodlands, poking up their delicate faces like tiny maidens emerging in all their beauty from the dark underworld of winter. Wyatt had always loved spring, and it came late in eastern and central Oregon, refusing to be governed by the official date for the season. When summer officially arrived, spring would be in her full glory and bowing for an encore, much like a talented actress who refused to leave the stage and remove herself from the limelight. Then, as if it happened overnight, summer would elbow her way in and bring sudden heat that dampened shirts, brought perspiration to foreheads, and created dark sweat rings around the crowns of Stetson hats.
For Wyatt, who was attuned to nature as few people were, it was a glorious time. It was also a season of pressure on a ranch, when the calving was over and the babies were st
anding steady on spindly legs that often looked incapable of supporting their ever-increasing weight. Wyatt found each morning a challenge as he organized his crew and assigned tasks for the day. Livestock needed to be vaccinated. Bull calves had to be banded. Irrigation lines that had developed weaknesses during the brutal freezes of winter always popped a few gaskets. It was nothing to look out across a field to see five or six geysers spewing from wheel lines, and they had to be fixed, posthaste.
Kennedy aced his spring finals and switched gears from scholar to rancher overnight, but unlike in the past, he grabbed a shower and took off for town when his shift ended. When he had irrigation duty, he returned at six in the evening to move wheel lines and swap out defective sprinkler heads, and he was up the next morning to do it again at six. Slade held to a twelve-hour watering schedule, and Wyatt was proud of his brother for manning up to do his job even when it interfered with his love life.
Erin could no longer while away the mornings with Firecracker. Wyatt needed her to partner up with a crew member and do her share to keep the ranch operating like a well-oiled machine. He assigned her to work with Tex. He’d seen the genuine dismay in her expression when he’d told her that her competitiveness pushed the elderly Texan to work harder than his aging body could handle, and Wyatt hoped that Erin’s kind heart would overrule her tendency to outperform everyone when she was with the old man. She had a loving nature and a great capacity to care about others, be they human or animal. Working with Tex would be a constant governor for her, similar to the ones installed in new cars to keep them from reaching dangerous speeds.
Instead of neglecting Firecracker and allowing her to backslide, Erin began working with the horse in the predawn gloom and then again at night after the bunkhouse kitchen was cleaned up. Wyatt admired her for that. While the men did only the required work, Erin was tacking four extra hours onto her day. That told Wyatt more about her than she would ever know. She loved with her whole heart. She was compassionate in a way that many people weren’t. When she decided to help someone, in this case a horse, she didn’t slack off when the going got rough. He was proud of her, and he couldn’t help but wonder what more she’d discovered about herself while working with the mare.
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