by Emery Rose
A white star, the paint peeling to expose the stained wood underneath, was painted above the open barn doors. I leaned down to pet a black and white border collie with a red bandana tied around his neck. He wagged his tail in greeting. “Who’s a good boy?” I asked, rubbing behind the dog’s ears before I strode into the barn.
Dust motes floated in the sunlight, the air scented with hay, manure and dry cedar. My black leather high tops moved soundlessly across the wide wood planks as I passed the stalls, all of them empty, the dog following close at my heels. When I reached the end of the row, the dog barked twice as if in warning. I peered over the top of a double stall that opened to a small paddock, home to one chestnut horse. She was munching on her breakfast, so I left her to eat in peace and walked back the way I’d come.
I poked my head in the doorway of the tack room that doubled as an office and inhaled the scent of leather, running my hand over an intricately carved western saddle. My eye caught on a row of gold belt buckles and trophies collecting dust on a shelf, but Brody was nowhere to be found.
I looked down at the dog sitting next to my feet. “Where’s Brody?”
“Brody’s in the round pen,” a male voice answered.
I lifted my head. A guy, in his late teens or early twenties, carrying a bale of hay on his back, grinned at me, one dimple appearing in his cheek. He set down his load and took off his backward ball cap, ran his hand through his sweaty brown hair and replaced the cap. “I’m Chris. Work for Brody.”
“I’m Viv. I’m staying at the guesthouse.”
His gaze lowered to my black Japanese Ramen Noodles T-shirt. “Cool T-shirt.”
“Thanks.” He was staring. I cleared my throat. “Where’s the round pen?
“Just on the other side of the barn. But tread carefully. He’s in one of his moods.”
“What kind of mood?”
He chuckled. “A Brody McCallister mood.”
That was all he said before he lifted his load again and left me standing there.
I followed the dog past a flatbed truck loaded with hay to a round pen where Brody was working with a gray horse. Two older men stood a few feet back from the metal tube fencing, their eyes on Brody. One wore a cowboy hat with a short-sleeved plaid shirt, cowboy boots and Wranglers. The other one was in a dark green polo shirt and khakis. They both saw me, so I had no other choice but to walk over and introduce myself.
“Hi.” I gave them a smile. “I’m Viv. I’m staying at the guesthouse.” I was starting to sound like a broken record.
The man in the polo shirt with salt and pepper hair and a powerful build raised his brows. “So you’re Viv. Huh. You don’t say.” He held out his hand to me with a smile. “I’m Patrick. Brody’s uncle.” We shook hands, his grip firm. There was no sign of recognition in his blue eyes and I sighed in relief.
“Nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
“Wade Kimball,” the other man said, shaking my hand. “See you made a new friend.”
I smiled at the dog who was sitting right next to me, his ears perked up. “What’s his name?”
“Buster,” Patrick said with a chuckle.
With the introductions out of the way, I watched Brody working with a horse in the round pen.
“What’s he doing?” I asked, my voice hushed so as not to disturb him.
“Starting a colt,” Wade gestured in Brody’s direction. “A wild mustang. Never been saddled or ridden. Brody’s breaking him for me... sorry.” He held up his hands, eyeing Brody who scowled at him, although I couldn’t imagine how he could have heard us when we were keeping our voices low. “He don’t like that term. He’s gentling him. Brody’s the only trainer I trust to get the job done right.”
“He’s always had a way with horses.” Patrick’s voice was filled with pride. “Ever since he was a boy.”
Wade nodded and stroked his ginger beard. “He’s one of the best in the business. I’m always telling him he should do some videos. Make some money off his training methods. But he don’t wanna hear it.”
“Boy’s always been stubborn,” Patrick said with a shake of his head.
Even knowing Brody as little as I did, it didn’t surprise me that he had no interest in doing videos or that he was stubborn.
I focused my attention on Brody whose sole focus was on the horse, his posture so calm and relaxed, and he never once raised his voice.
The colt was running in circles around the perimeter while Brody stood in the middle, turning in a slow circle to follow the horse’s movements. Then the colt stopped abruptly, turned around and started running in the opposite direction. My gaze moved to Brody to see what he’d done to make the horse change direction. He took a few steps forward, crossing an imaginary line and flicked the coiled rope in his hand against his thigh, causing the horse to change direction again.
When Brody clucked, the horse stopped and looked at Brody. For a few seconds neither of them moved a muscle. Brody approached the horse slowly, not making any sudden movements until he was standing close enough to touch him. He was talking to the horse and although I couldn’t hear what he was saying, the horse appeared to be listening to his every word.
Then Brody had the colt follow him around the enclosure and into the middle. He turned to face the horse. Brody moved forward, and the horse backed up, accomplishing all of this without even touching the horse.
“You gonna try putting a saddle on him?” Wade asked.
Brody was standing right in front of us, his back turned, giving me a view of his broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist, his black T-shirt fitted, and his faded jeans slung low on his narrow hips. Not a bad view. Not bad at all.
“Nope. Not today. Need to do more groundwork. You only get one chance to do it right and he ain’t ready yet.”
Just then, Buster started barking and tore off toward the woods that bordered the property. I held my hand over my forehead like a visor and searched the trees for whatever distracted him. Two whitetail deer ran past with Buster in hot pursuit.
“Buster! Get back here,” Patrick shouted.
I’d been so distracted I hadn’t even noticed what was going on inside the pen until Wade said, “Oh shit.”
The colt was bucking, its ears pinned to its head. This didn’t look good. I wasn’t even standing close to the fence, but I backed up all the same and wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans as the horse kicked up its back legs.
“Brody. Get out of there,” I warned. That horse might only be a colt, but he was big and strong and could easily kill Brody with one of those powerful kicks.
But Brody ignored my warning.
“Stop showing off,” Brody chided, unfazed by the horse’s rebellion. “We’re done for the day.”
“How the hell you gonna get him out of the round pen now?” Wade asked, his voice low. The colt snorted, eyeballing Brody as he backed away then spun around and ran in the opposite direction as if to prove he wasn’t about to get caught or told what to do.
Brody was quiet for a few minutes, his gaze calmly following the horse who was running right for the fence and looked like he was about to jump it. Brody snapped the rope against the ground, and the colt stopped dead in its tracks. Brody approached the colt and lay the rope over its shoulders, sliding it back and forth and pushing his body against the horse’s side until he had him up against the fence.
What was he doing?
Seconds later, I exhaled a breath of relief when Brody clipped the lead rope onto the horse’s bridle and led him through the gate like nothing had happened. He set him free in a paddock behind the round pen where a few other horses had gathered to watch and closed the gate, leaning on the fence to watch the wild mustang canter away with the other horses.
“Hey Cowboy,” I said when he joined us.
“Viv.” His eyes narrowed with suspicion and he crossed his arms over his chest. His dirty blond hair was matted down with sweat and curled up a little where it met the collar of his T-sh
irt. Despite the sweat and his surly attitude, I still found him downright edible. “What’re you doing here?”
“Just looking for you.”
“I’m busy,” he said brusquely. “If you need something, call Kate.”
O-kay. Looked as if I wouldn’t be getting charming Brody today.
Dismissing me, Brody talked to Wade about the colt for a few minutes, then Wade said his goodbyes and left, and Brody turned his attention to Patrick.
“You want the bad news or the good news?” Patrick asked him.
“Don’t tell me. My house needs a new roof.”
“Afraid so.”
Brody muttered a curse and ran both hands through his hair, holding the back of his head. “What’s the good news?”
“I’ve got a good crew that can start next month. Thought I’d put Ridge on one of my crews. It’ll do him some good to do some honest work.”
Brody’s eyes narrowed. “You wanna put Ridge on a construction crew?”
“School will be out.”
“Unless he’s in summer school,” Brody muttered.
“Summer school? What the hell? How could you let him fail—”
“He’s not going to fail,” Brody said through clenched teeth.
“I told you you should have let him live with us.” Patrick crossed his arms over his broad chest. “That boy needs discipline and a firm hand.”
“I’ve got it. Don’t worry about Ridge. He’s my responsibility. And take it easy, you hear me? You’re working too hard. We don’t want you having another heart attack.”
Patrick scowled. “My ticker’s just fine. Work keeps me going. Retirement would have driven me to an early grave.”
Brody snorted. “Your retirement lasted all of three months.”
“Four. And it nearly killed me having all that free time on my hands.” With that, Patrick said his goodbyes then strode away, leaving me alone with grumpy Brody.
“Do you need some help?” I had to jog a little to keep up with him as he strode to the barn.
“Nope.” I waited for him outside the tack room where he grabbed a handful of bridles and some lead ropes then stepped aside to let Chris pass with another bale of hay. “I’m moving the horses to the back pasture,” Brody told him. “When you’re done unloading, I’ll need you to clean up the manure then mow it to three inches... second thought, make it four inches.”
“You got it, boss man.”
“Stop calling me that,” Brody grumbled before he stalked away.
Chris winked at me and we shared a smile before I trailed Brody to the last double stall at the end.
“Are you still here?” He wouldn’t even look at me.
“Put me to work. I don’t mind getting my hands dirty.”
He took my hand in one of his, not to hold it but to inspect it. When we touched, did he feel the same electric charge I did? My nails were painted midnight blue, a tiny tattoo on each finger, each one holding a special meaning to me. After studying my hand for a moment, he released it quickly as if my touch burned him. “Your hands were made for playing a guitar, not for manual labor. Why would you wanna help me?”
“Since you won’t take any money for the truck, I want to find a way to repay you.”
He blew out an exasperated breath like I was annoying him just by breathing the same air. A smarter girl would leave him be, but I’d never been one to back down from a challenge and this was starting to feel like one. If there was one thing I’d learned in life, it was that you had to go after the things you wanted. And I wanted Brody. Scratch that. I needed him.
“What do you really want, Shiloh?”
“I just told you what I want.” I planted my hands on my hips. “I don’t take handouts. Put me to work.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’ll be more trouble than you’re worth?”
I grinned. “I don’t know. I feel the opposite about you. I have a feeling you’re worth all the trouble.”
He ran his hand over the stubble on his jaw. “What’s your angle?”
I sighed loudly. “Why are you so suspicious?”
“It’s my nature.”
I tucked my hands in the back pockets of my ripped jeans and rocked back on my heels. “What if I told you there’s nothing I’d rather be doing than spending time with you?”
“I’d hand you a shovel and tell you to clean up your bullshit.”
I laughed. I got the feeling Brody’s bark was worse than his bite. He handed me the bridles and lead ropes, stepped inside the stall, and ran his hands over the horse’s sides and belly. “How are you doing today, Cayenne?” The horse nickered softly in response. This guy was nicer to horses than he was to people.
“Why isn’t she out with the other horses?”
“Expecting a foal any day now.” He stroked the horse a few times then joined me, and we walked out the open back doors of the barn to the pasture where the horses were grazing.
He held the gate open for me and closed it when we were inside, instructing Buster to sit and wait outside the gate. Obediently, he did as he was told. “Have you ever spent time around horses?”
“Not really. They’re beautiful animals though.”
“All animals are beautiful. But yeah, horses are special.” He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. I watched in amazement as the horses trotted over to him and gathered at the gate, jostling for position like they all wanted Brody to pay them special attention. I knew the feeling.
“Do they all just come to you when you whistle?”
“Nope.” He jerked his chin at the black horse trotting in the opposite direction as if to prove he wasn’t a follower. “They’re herd animals, but you always get the ones who won’t come when they’re called.”
He slipped a bridle on a reddish-brown horse with a black mane, clipped the lead rope to its bridle and handed off the rope to me, our hands brushing in the exchange.
I reached up a tentative hand to pet the horse. She nickered softly, and I took it as a positive sign that she liked it when I stroked her neck. I kept petting the horse while Brody slipped a bridle on a brown and white painted horse with one blue eye and one brown and led him out of the gate, beckoning me to follow.
“Just walk next to her. Loosen your grip. Relax. She’ll follow me.”
I took a deep breath and did as he said, adjusting my steps to the horse’s gait as we walked up a dirt and grass trail under a canopy of trees that protected us from the heat of the Texas sun. Brody’s land was beautiful. Lush and green with rolling hills and tall grasses swaying in the warm May breeze. I took deep breaths of the fresh air, feeling like it had been forever since I’d been able to breathe properly. I spent so much time on the road, living out of suitcases and sleeping in a different hotel room every night. Sometimes I forgot what it was like to be around nature. L.A. was home now, but it had never really felt like home.
Brody looked over his shoulder to make sure I was okay. “You good?”
I nodded. “Yep.”
When we reached the other pasture, I walked my horse into the enclosure and waited while Brody removed the bridles. Then we walked back down the path to get the other horses. “Why are you moving them?”
“Gives the pasture a chance to grow back.”
After we’d moved four more horses, there was still one that stubbornly refused to come to Brody. Instead of chasing after the black horse with the white star on its forehead, Brody closed the gate and walked away.
“You’re just going to leave him there?”
“Nah. She’ll come around eventually.” I wasn’t so sure of that. The horse seemed stubborn and not interested in following the pack. I decided she was my favorite horse.
“What’s her name?”
“Rebel,” he said with a chuckle and I got the feeling I was missing an inside joke. “Her name is Rebel.”
“Now that I know she’s a girl, I like her even better.”
“Figured you would.”
I helped Brody
fill the salt buckets hanging in the shelters in the pasture and clean and refill the water in the troughs. When that was done, Brody said he had to fix the fence in the first pasture, so I waited outside the shed that housed a John Deere tractor and farm equipment while he gathered his tools and planks of cedar then trailed along beside him. I wasn’t surprised when he refused my offer to help.
Leaning my back against the fence inside the paddock, I watched Rebel displaying her independent spirit. From the corner of my eye, I also watched Brody as he used a crowbar to rip off the damaged fence panels, the muscles in his arms bulging and flexing, the veins in his forearms pronounced. This was vein porn at its finest and try as I might, I couldn’t drag my eyes away.
I had a thing for a man’s hands and his were big and strong and capable looking.
How would it feel to have those calloused, suntanned hands touching my skin? Would he be rough? Or gentle? I thought Brody was capable of both.
“Enjoying the view?”
“It’ll do.”
His lips tugged up at the corners. I smiled to myself when he finally asked for my help after having denied he needed it.
Chapter Six
Shiloh
I held the cedar fence panel steady at the opposite post while he used a screw gun to secure it, his other hand bearing the brunt of the weight. I wasn’t used to being around men who worked with their hands and had the ability to fix things. The men in my life were better at breaking things than fixing them.
“Did someone die in the guesthouse?” I blurted when he rose to his feet and moved around me to screw the wood to the other post.
“Why do you ask?”
“Just a feeling I get.”
He side-eyed me. “What kind of feeling exactly?”
“I can’t describe it. But I sense someone else’s presence.”
“Like a ghost?”
“More like a strong vibration. But his spirit is good. Whenever he shows up, a feeling of peace and calm washes over me.” Wow. I was flying my freak flag. Not sure why I’d felt the need to share. You would think by now, after years of having my words twisted by reporters and quotes taken out of context, I’d have learned to use filters. Apparently not.