by KC Klein
“Why thank you, Cole.” Sarah’s pink nails fluttered to the lacy neckline of her shirt, drawing even more attention to her cleavage, as if that was needed. They all but screamed, “Ask me who my plastic surgeon is.”
Jealousy took seed in Katie’s heart and bloomed into a thorn bush of rage. But she couldn’t look away, and a painful glance at Cole showed he felt the same way—his dimple out and flashing like the damn North Star.
Sarah moved and talked as if each expression was an art form in femininity: a tug of lip between white teeth, a lowering of mascara-thickened lashes, a flutter of well-placed sighs and laughs.
Uncomfortable, Katie moved the plastic basket in front of her pale legs. Where had Sarah learned that? The slight tilt of her hips that drew your attention to the way her jeans rode low on her waist. Had her mother pulled her aside and showed her the intricate dance of seduction? Were all motherless girls as awkward as she? Or was it that girls like Sarah would always outshine girls like Katie?
Katie pushed her hair back behind her ear for the thousandth time, and wished she’d at least put on lip gloss. She felt in her pocket for her cherry lip balm, and applied with relish.
Was this the kind of woman Cole wanted?
Katie’s gaze went back and forth between the two as they bantered. Her eyes stung as she watched Cole throw his smiles away for free when she had to work so hard for one flash of a dimple. And even worse, he seemed to have all but forgotten that she was there. They both had.
“Well, call me,” Sarah said, winding up the conversation.
Cole nodded. “I’ve got your number.”
Oh God, I’m gonna throw up.
Sarah turned to leave, the scent of lilacs in her wake, as Katie tried hard to get the world to stop spinning.
Cole reached over and ruffled her head. “God, your hair’s crazy. Come on, kid, if we hurry I’ll get you an ice cream on the way home.”
Chapter 5
Desperate times called for desperate measures, and if this situation wasn’t desperate then Katie didn’t know what was. It was time she stopped taking orders from everyone. Well, everyone that included Cole and Pa. It was time to prove she was ready to come into her own. So she’d ditched school today, and had hidden in an empty stall until Cole left for work. Her heart thudding in her chest the whole time. The wait hadn’t helped her nerves any. Her legs still trembled, barely able to support her weight, as she walked toward the tack room. The other ranch hands were around, but no one would bother her . . . or help her either.
The scent of honeysuckle followed her through the open barn door, sweet amidst the smells of horse sweat and manure. Horses rustled in their stalls and nuzzled their gates, eyeing Katie and looking for an easy handout. But there were no treats hidden in her back pockets. She didn’t want Sweet Thing nipping at her clothes looking for a carrot or an apple. It was time to work; any treats would be for later.
Katie swallowed hard as she scooped up a lead rope. Sweet Thing was ready. For a little over a week Katie had been working the mare in the round pen, and as long as Katie didn’t bring in any tack with her, the horse was alert, but calm. At the sign of a harness or a lead, Sweet Thing would retreat and stomp her hooves, tossing her head like a crazed devil.
Katie paused before the stall. Horses sensed fear. Katie looked deep within herself and found the confidence that was always there when it came to horses. She tucked the lead rope behind her back and stepped forward.
“Come here, gal,” Katie called in a voice low and smooth.
Sweet Thing walked over, ears peaked forward, and head bobbing with contentment. Her nostrils twitched in anticipation of her daily treat.
“Hi, baby gal. This is a big day for you,” Katie said. The horse nuzzled her palm, looking for her daily treat.
Never taking her gaze off Sweet Thing, Katie unlatched the gate and slipped inside, then quickly closed it behind her. Sweet Thing’s nose flared, and her head snapped to the side in response to Katie’s invasion. Alert, but not aggressive. So far, so good.
Katie continued murmuring in a deep, calm voice that she’d learned from years of working with her father. She went up and patted the mare’s withers, then turned her back, letting Sweet Thing know she had nothing to fear from her. She carefully let the looped rope rest at her side. The horse paused. Katie turned back around. With a steady hand, she put one arm over the mare’s neck and passed the rope under with her other. Sweet Thing flicked her mane, but otherwise stood still.
There were days before Pa had retired that he would come home from work beat up, bruised, and a few times bloody. In his line of work he had confronted a lot of angry bulls; sometimes he lost, most times he won, but always afterward he’d tell her he’d just danced on the edge of his grave. Today, Katie understood the sentiment.
The rope hung loose and unacknowledged around the mare’s neck, but one false move and Katie could get a large chunk taken out of her arm. There were stories of cowboys who’d been caught in a stall with a wild horse and ended up being stomped to death. It happened, even to people experienced with horses. She stroked Sweet Thing’s white forelock. Yeah, a bite or a lot worse.
A handler had better control over a horse with a halter, but she’d never get the leather over Sweet Thing’s mouth and so a lead rope was her best shot at control. Control or the illusion of it. In a contest between a twelve-hundred-pound horse and a hundred-pound girl, Katie was just a fart in the wind.
This is crazy.
Logic competed for space inside her head. But there was another voice that was soft, sure, and always there. Some people described it as a gut reaction, but to her it wasn’t that simple. At times it hummed in her blood and rushed past her ears in a wave. At others it was just a whisper of her mother’s voice, a gentle scratch at the door of her mind.
When Katie listened, she knew things. She knew Sweet Thing was ready, knew Cole loved her. But there were other noises, other voices that screamed of fear and failure. There were times when she had backed down and let her insecurities triumph, but not today. Today she had to win.
Katie pushed the stall door open and started down the aisle, the lead rope firmly in hand. The horse followed.
“What are you doing, senorita?”
Katie recognized the thick Spanish accent as belonging to Lupe. Even though he spoke calmly, she startled. Sweet Thing pulled back and neighed aggressively. Quickly, Katie turned and held firm to the lead rope. Quiet shushing sounds came from her mouth and she stroked the spot between Sweet Thing’s eyes. Kind words and a gentle touch worked on horses and men, or so her father had always told her.
Damn, she’d forgotten about Lupe. Out of all the ranch hands, he was the only one who would stand in her way. Lupe was the first person Cole’s father had hired when he’d opened Logans’ Horse Ranch. Lupe had been old, even back then, but Cole’s father had taken a chance on him and Lupe had never forgotten it.
“I’m taking her to the round pen. She’s ready to ride.”
But am I?
Katie closed her eyes to silence her doubts, focused inside, and kept walking.
But Lupe wasn’t easily put off, and quickened his shuffling gait alongside her. “That horse is loco, and you’re gonna get yourself killed.”
Katie didn’t reply, part of her thinking he had a point.
With a quickness she wouldn’t have believed, Lupe used his hunched frame to block her way to the round pen.
“Get out of the way, Lupe.” Panic laced her words. To a horse, survival and moving forward were one and the same. If she forced Sweet Thing to stop, the mare would see it as a form of control, and Katie wasn’t in position to control anything.
“Boss man’s not going to like this,” he said.
“Cole’s not here,” Katie countered.
Lupe wasn’t a stupid man, though some would argue the fact. As a retired farrier, he’d never learned to read or write. He would carve a notch into a stick to keep track of how many hooves he shod at the end
of the day. But Lupe knew horses. So now, even though his vision was too poor to hit a nail straight, he always had a place with Cole as a man who could read a horse better than anyone alive.
Responding to the tension in Katie’s voice, or more than likely the look in Sweet Thing’s eyes, Lupe unlatched the gate and moved out of the way.
With quick movements, Katie slipped the slack rope off Sweet Thing’s neck, and just in time. The mare bolted to the far end of the round pen.
Katie stepped out and slammed the gate. Her legs shook a bit at the thought of calming a horse who wouldn’t think twice about killing a man. But would Sweet Thing act like that with her? Katie was counting on their connection to keep the horse calm.
“You think you’re going into that pen?”
Katie sliced her gaze to Lupe. She couldn’t read the older man. His face was partly hidden by the brim of his sagging hat. He’d come from a different generation, one in which you didn’t buy new clothes until the ones you wore fell off.
“You’re not going to stop me,” Katie said with more bravado than she felt.
“Don’t have to,” Lupe said. “Boss man will.”
And they both knew it was true. Lupe’s loyalty to the Logans ran deep; sometimes he would even forgo his paycheck for a six-pack to help Cole out. In turn, one call from Lupe and Cole would come running.
“Wait.” Katie stepped in front of the old man to prevent him from walking toward the house and calling Cole. “I can do this.”
Lupe spit out a stream of tobacco and adjusted the wad in his lower lip. “You’re not ready.”
Anger flashed at the man who all but acted like he owned the ranch. Lupe had never been a tall man, but now his shrunken form barely reached Katie’s shoulder. Needing every advantage, she straightened to her full height. “How do you know? You don’t know me.”
Lupe pushed up the brim of his hat so she could see his face. “I’ve seen you. I’ve seen the way you act with Boss man. I’ve seen the way you are with your pa. Both of them are strong men, and when they push, you run.”
Katie felt the words rather than heard them. She wished she could deny Lupe’s claim, but the truth was harder to dismiss, especially when it was thrown at you by a crotchety old man. Pa always pushed, with college, with how he wanted her to live her life, never taking her opinion into consideration. And Cole . . . Cole simply pushed her away, not wanting to acknowledge what could be between them. Well, Katie was ready to push back. “I’m not going to run, Lupe. I want—need to do this. Help me.”
Lupe tilted his head so Katie could catch a glimpse of upturned lips. Relief eased her chest and her eyes stung with moisture, but not wanting to show weakness, she bit her lip instead. She might have won the first round, but Sweet Thing made Lupe look like a doting grandfather.
“This is no game, girl,” Lupe said.
“Just tell me, what do I need to do?” She was breathless as rabid butterflies pounded their wings against her stomach.
Lupe folded his sun-baked arms and rested his elbows on the fence. He shook his head as he watched the horse quiver with the power of its gallop. “You’re thinking, right here and now, that this is about the horse. That it’s about getting this horse under control. But you’ve got it backwards. This horse is watching you. Every move you make, every breath you take is the way you’re speaking to her. This is her language. She sees you as a predator and herself as the prey. To that horse, what goes on in the round pen is real, there’s no practice run. She’s fighting you for her life. So my question is . . . are you doing the same?”
Katie faced the arena and watched as a thousand pounds of horse whipped and kicked around the pen. Sweet Thing kept her distance, her gaze pinned on Katie. Her ears were laid back and her long teeth showed behind curled lips.
Katie’s palms dampened at the thought of walking straight toward a spirited horse in the middle of a swirling cloud of dust. She reached for her lip balm, and smeared it on like liquid armor. “Yes.”
“No!” Lupe said, and slapped his crumpled hat against the fence. A puff of dust floated into the air. “The answer is no. You need to prove you are the better horse. Let her know she can trust you, that you’re strong enough to lead her. When you walk into that pen, you’d better have the confidence you need. You’ve gotta tell her what you want and what you don’t want. There’s no in-between with horses. You’re either gonna win or you’re not. So, whatcha gonna do?”
Heated blood flowed through Katie’s veins, more potent than a sip of red wine, more of a rush than her first kiss.
She studied Sweet Thing, each toss of her head, each high-pitched neigh, and she knew what she was up against. A few of the ranch hands had taken their share of kicks. They’d gotten to where they didn’t walk other horses past Sweet Thing’s stall.
“I’m gonna win.” Katie placed her hand on the gate and drew a breath.
Lupe nodded. “I wouldn’t let you do this if I didn’t think so. But remember, whatever you do, don’t let this horse run you out of the pen. Like in love, once you commit, you don’t walk away ’til it’s over.”
Katie slowed her breath, hoping to influence the beating of her heart.
Lupe slid over and squeezed her arm. “Every relationship you have is mirrored, right here, right now, with this horse. So you gotta ask yourself, what do you want most? What do you long for, Katie?”
Katie couldn’t take her gaze off of Sweet Thing. In her mind’s eye she saw herself with Pa . . . with Cole. And in a moment of clarity she saw herself in Sweet Thing. She saw the mare fighting for something primal, for some need essential to her survival. Sweet Thing had been telling Katie what she wanted all along.
The world quieted into a lullaby only Sweet Thing and Katie could hear—the blow of air through nostrils, the rhythmic pounding of hooves on dirt. Katie lifted the latch and left the world and everything outside the white-slatted fence behind. “She wants to be a contender.”
With skilled hands she looped the rope and made herself bigger . . . arms stretched out wider.
“Good,” Lupe said. “But deeper. What’s underneath it?”
Sweet Thing’s eyes rolled, the whites showing huge against the red of her coat.
“Respect,” Katie whispered, then louder. “Well, you want respect, gal, then you gotta work for it. Show me what you’ve got, pretty lady.” She cracked the rope hard on the ground.
Sweet Thing reared, neighing her displeasure.
“Let’s play.”
With a loud “Ha!” Katie pushed the mare forward by closing in on the horse’s rear flanks. In the wild, the dominant horse would trigger another horse’s natural herd reflexes by crowding in on its space. By forcing the other horse to move, the dominant animal would prove he was strong enough to be the leader. Katie just had to demonstrate to Sweet Thing that she was the leader, that she deserved respect.
Katie closed in on the mare’s rear flanks, keeping a safe distance, but letting Sweet Thing know she was there. Katie put her arms out wide, looped rope in hand. Sweet Thing took off in a burst of speed, and Katie was lost in a cloud of brown. She rolled the grit across the roof of her mouth and swallowed.
Come on, get in there. Katie advanced. Stay with her. Be the better horse.
Katie walked closer, pressing the mare to the back fence. Sweet Thing ran. Katie pressed again and watched as Sweet Thing galloped away. Over and over they did their dance. Katie wore the mare down, showing her she had nothing to fear. And as Sweet Thing’s fear lessened, the mare’s confidence grew and she paid less and less attention to Katie.
“She’s winning. You’re not earning a damn thing out there,” Lupe said. “See how she turns her butt toward you. If a horse respects you, she won’t take her eyes off you. Now what are you afraid of? Get in there and push!”
Afraid? Katie wasn’t afraid. Didn’t she prove it by being in here? By taking on a horse no one would touch? And yet, when Katie could’ve stepped closer, really showed she was the leader, sh
e hesitated. She couldn’t ignore the way Sweet Thing’s back legs quivered with power. Katie knew the horse’s aim was damn accurate.
Again she ran toward Sweet Thing’s flanks with her rope coiled, making her seem larger and hopefully in charge. “Ha!”
Sweet Thing trotted forward, disdain in every muscle as she turned her hindquarters straight toward Katie’s face.
“That horse just gave you the finger, right here in front of God and the world.” Lupe’s laugh was like the crackle of old newspapers.
Katie slowed to catch her breath. She put her hands on her hips and sliced her gaze to Lupe.
“Don’t put those eyes on me, missy. It’s her you need to be watching. She’s telling you that you’re not worth it. Are you gonna let a horse talk to you like that?”
Shut up, old man.
Katie ran her hands through her dampened hair. Did she have to pick the hottest part of the day to match wits with a horse?
Sweet Thing tossed her head and looked out through the fence.
I’m not even a threat. Not even a concern in this mare’s brain.
She was assailed by memories of how Cole had dismissed her with a hair rumple and a “if you hurry, kid, I’ll get you an ice cream.” Or how Pa wouldn’t even hear of her reasons why she wanted to stay and go to college close to home. No, he simply put the college applications in front of her and walked away. Katie was tired of Pa ignoring her wants and of Cole’s dismissive attitude. Katie needed this win. It all came down to whose will was stronger.
A hard kernel in the pit of her belly heated and spread. Anger slicked its fingers up her throat.
Don’t discount me.
Katie snapped the rope and it cracked on the dusty ground. Sweet Thing’s head popped up. Ears swiveled like satellites. Katie stepped forward, slowly this time, crowding Sweet Thing in her space. The mare shifted forward, unsure. Her tail was rigid, eyes widened. Katie put the pressure on. Forward. Closer. Aggressive.
They had done this every day for the last week. Sweet Thing would turn and run toward Katie, chasing. Katie would ease back, giving her room, and let her go, and then they did the series of steps all over again. Forward. Back. Push. Pull.