Forever's Affection (Forever In Luck Series Book 3)

by J. Darling

  Their eyes met again, and she gave him a husky rebuking, “You’re staring.”

  He didn’t even try to deny it as he looked her over from top to bottom. Nodding, he opened the bottle of beer and handed it to her. “What’s that?” he asked, indicating the open box on the table.

  Bottle almost to her lips, she stopped and said, “First the hip waders, and now you don’t know what fishing lures are. You need to get out more.”

  Laughing, he watched as she downed half the beer, then answered. “I’m trying, but you said no, remember? You like fishing?”

  Putting the bottle on the table with a smack, she focused on the box as she shook her head. “No, I don’t like fishing, I love fishing.”

  Kris could swear he heard the trumpets of heaven sounding right at that moment, followed by a round of hallelujahs from the angels above. “Can I show you something?”

  “Depends.”

  “Yes or no?”

  “I’m not interested in seeing your worm,” she said flatly.

  Caught off guard, he paused, then busted out laughing. Unable to stop for whatever reason, he leaned against the wall and looked at her as he laughed feeling kind of embarrassed. She was…nothing like what he’d encountered before, that was for sure. “No worm. A simple yes or no, please.”

  “With me, nothing is simple.”

  “You got that right.” Grabbing her hand, and refusing to stop when she gasped and yanked back, he pulled her through the kitchen and out the porch to the side of his truck. Unlocking the storage unit located in the bed of the truck, he threw open the lid. “Look.”

  Eyes wide open, she looked around, then gingerly stepped up, taking a peek inside. She smiled brightly.

  “I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours,” he said, as he leaned against the truck, giving her a wry grin.

  She started laughing and her eyes took on a sparkle. “Not interested in bait, big guy, but we could talk tackle.”

  “Deal.” Moving his fishing rods, he grabbed his tackle box and they headed back inside. “So what kind of fish do you like to fish for?”

  “Trout, I love fly fishing, but any kind of fish will do really. If I don’t want them—she shrugged—I just put them back. How about you?”

  Damn, he felt like dancing a jig and he hated dancing. This was almost normal. Shoving the pizza in the oven, he looked at her. “Walleyes, definitely. I have a nice surprise for you.”

  Looking at him, she became instantly leery, the spell having been broken.

  “We have ten minutes before the pizza’s done. Trust me, you’ll like this, I promise. Put some shoes on.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, if you don’t I’ll have to carry you, and although I wouldn’t mind, I think you would. Put on some shoes.”

  She took a deep breath, her eyes turning gray and edgy. “Just so we’re clear, I don’t trust men.”

  No, really? Well, at least she was honest. “Oookay, gotcha. Shoes please.”

  After she slipped on her boots, he took her hand and led her out back of the house and down aways. She tried pulling out of his grip.

  “You don’t need to hold my hand, I can walk and follow directions at the same time.”

  “I know,” he answered, without letting go. Stopping on the banks of a stream of sorts, he turned to her and said, “This is the south fork of Trade River, and it’s one of Wisconsin’s designated trout streams.”

  Looking sharply at the stream, then back to him, her eyes lost all apprehension and lit up. She stood a little taller and smiled brightly. “Really? Trout here? On this property?”

  Oh man, she had a beautiful smile. “Told ya you’d like it,” he said feeling pretty proud of himself. “It’s a class one stream too.” Looking at him warmly, her smile reached her eyes and he felt like a hero.

  “What’s a class one stream?”

  “It means it’s not artificially stocked, it sustains itself.”

  Turning to the house, she pulled on the hand of his holding hers, dragging him along. “Come on, I need a fishing license.”

  Laughing, pleased with her enthusiasm, he said, “They’re closed now, but we can get you one tomorrow.”

  “Damn it,” she snapped, coming to a halt.

  He could see her mind working on the issue. “Will you let me take you fishing after?” He paused, then went for it, “Let me take you fishing after we get you a license, I would love to take you fishing.”

  Her eyes darted to his and looked at him intensely. “Depends,” she answered straight up.

  He prayed for mercy. “On?”

  “If you like to talk when you fish, because it’s a deal breaker if you do. Absolutely no talking, it scares the fish away.”

  Definitely his kind of woman. Smiling, he nodded, giving her hand a tug. “It’s a deal. Let’s go eat pizza and talk tackle.”

  “You can let go of my hand now.”

  “I know.”

  He didn’t.

  *****

  After feeding and watering the animals, Dani went to work cleaning out the stalls of the barn. Having gotten up early so she could get as much done as possible before going fishing, she had to admit she was excited to go. She loved all things manly, just not the men that you encountered in doing them, or at any other time for that matter.

  In a way, given her interests, she supposed it was normal for her to be a tomboy, having been raised in a male dominant environment, and she did like men from the standpoint she didn’t sway the other way, but she’d learned early on that men thrived on the weaknesses of others. Yes, there were a few good men out there, she knew that, but you had to go through a hell of a lot of bad ones to find one good one, and then still it was a hell of a lot of work to groom them from there on. Even then, given the rancid details, it rarely worked out. She just wasn’t interested, it hurt too much.

  Thinking back to last evening, she knew she shouldn’t have let him in, and she should’ve said no to fishing. He wasn’t going to give up, she knew it, he wouldn’t. How could she get him to understand, get him to go away, to give up, without having to show him the broken, worn person inside? How? She shook her head. She couldn’t do it. She would not enter into a relationship with this man. No, she was done trying to make things work, she was done being vulnerable, she was done being weakened by the process. She did not care how handsome, caring, loving, or understanding he was, or could be, she would not do it.

  “Up early I see.”

  She screamed a blood curdling scream as she spun about, pitchfork in hand. He reached for her as she stumbled up against the stall wall and she screamed again. “Don’t!”

  He immediately stepped back.

  Tripping her way over to a bench, she fell onto it, and watched him from a distance, trying to calm down. After a few minutes, she spoke up, her voice weak and wobbly, “Don’t ever sneak up on me, ever.”

  Putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans, he looked to the floor as he kicked at some straw. “I didn’t realize driving up with a boat trailer banging behind me and slamming the pickup door, while yelling for you, would be considered sneaking up on you.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “Did you eat breakfast?” he asked quietly.

  Opening her eyes, she looked at him. He was scratching his head, clearly not sure what to do. She nodded.

  “Jules sent along fresh made caramel rolls and some good strong coffee, as well as sandwiches and snacks for our outing.”

  Continuing to look at him in silence, she thought about what he’d said. “Does she like to cook or something?”

  Laughing a little, he seemed to relax some. Then he nodded. “She feels for cooking, what you feel for fishing.”

  Some people have all the luck. “That’s nice. She’s a good cook.”

  Nodding in agreement, he slowly made his way closer before stopping near the stall door. “She’s a great cook, and we’re lucky to have her here with us.”

  Hmmm, appreciation and grat
itude. Interesting. “Why’s that?”

  “For many reasons, but mostly because she was hurt badly before she and Jake were married and he almost lost her. We all helped with her rehabilitation. You can barely tell now, but she was nearly left a paraplegic and needed to learn how to walk all over again.” Moving to his left, he glanced over the stall wall. “What can I do to help?”

  First appreciation and gratitude, now helpful commitment followed by thoughtfulness. He was proving to be a rare bird. “Nothing, I’m almost done.”

  Glancing around, he said, “I see two more stalls to do.”

  “I’ll do them tomorrow.”

  “You’ll have five to do then.”

  Standing up, she continued looking at him and shook her head. “I pasture my horses, unless it’s extreme heat or cold, or they’re sick. I’m just cleaning up the mess the previous owner left. I can finish this tomorrow”

  A loud rattling and banging sound was growing louder, and a distant scream was heard in the air. Setting down her pitchfork, she walked to the barn’s door. Two men got out of a pickup. “One of you Dani Reed?”

  “That would be me,” she said stepping forward. There was another loud banging sound.

  The driver looked to the horse trailer he was pulling, then back at her. “He’s a rough one and a handful. We were told to only bring him because he requires special handling.”

  Perfect, right up her alley. “He’s scared. Be careful bringing him out.” Going to the fence gate, she opened it and stood watching as the men worked to unload the horse. Kris came and stood beside her. The horse fought and kicked, but slowly, inch by inch, he was coaxed out. Just as he was free, he stood on his hind legs and let out a high pitched scream.

  “Lord…good God in heaven…” she said, stunned and dazed by the sight of him. She stood a little bit taller, paid a little more attention. He was a sight to behold, and Dani was immediately taken with him. “He’s magnificent,” she whispered, as she felt a pulse of his energy flow through her. Mindful, she brought herself into the realm of equine consciousness and felt an instant connection to him. She watched and observed all she could, immediately taking an accounting of his, and the others, behavior.

  With one man on each side of the horse holding a taught rein attached to the bit, the horse threw his head up and down, pulling and stepping backwards as he yanked and tugged, moving away from them, dragging the men along as they worked equally hard to pull back on the reins. Ahhh, gotcha, sweetpea, I’m on it. He’s scared and in pain. Heading to the barn at a near run, she went to the tack room, grabbed a bridle of her own, as well as her lasso, then ran back out, nearly knocking into Kris as he’d followed her. Side stepping him, she quickly went back outside.

  “Loosen the reins,” she said loudly. “Bring them to me, please.” Both men just stood where they were and looked at her, not listening. She shook her head, mumbled under her breath and stomped off to the side towards one of the them. The horse skittered off the other direction, then backwards some more as he snorted and swished his tail. Grabbing the rein from the man, she loosened it and walked forward and away from the horse. Then sidestepping her way to the other man, she took the rein from him and loosened it. The horse skittered away, stepping back from them, but not far enough to strain the lines.

  The stress had been on the part of the men and it had started when they man handled him out of the trailer. Irritated, she growled, then bit out, “Step far, far away, now.” Then she focused on the horse, watching his reaction to the men moving.

  “Lady, you’re crazy,” the driver said.

  “Get back, now!” she demanded, holding the reins in a tight grip.

  The guy threw up his hands, and the two went over to the barn door and stood next to Kris.

  Once they were ample distance away, she nickered and blew a long huff, then gently tossed her head back and forth. The horse stopped pulling and testing the line so much, and looked at her, one ear coming up and towards her while the other was back attending to the men. Good boy. Lasso and reins in one hand, she unrolled her lasso and swirled it over head then tossed it around the horses head. Dropping the reins, she held firm to the lasso and baby stepped her way towards the horse, nickering and huffing along the way, stopping when the horse snorted and pulled his head back, testing her and the bit.

  She whinnied, then nickered and huffed, and he huffed back. Talking softly, she moved closer until she was almost able to touch him. More horse sounds, his head coming down and nudging her, then a treat in her open flat palm. He sniffed and huffed, then took the carrot. Carefully, she touched him, while easing the reins out of the lasso’s hold. Once done, she gave him another carrot. She touched his neck and around his bridle, unbuckling it as she went, then gently eased it from his muzzle, tossing it to the ground.

  Taking out the bridle she’d brought with her she let him sniff it, then gently worked it over his head and into his mouth. Now, she gave him part of an apple and praised him with horse sounds. He raised his head a little and brought his ears forward as he listened. Relaxing his lips, he tested and chewed the bit then swished his tail a little as he groaned. Waiting, she watched until he was finished and they stood looking at each other.

  Clicking and whinnying, she slowly walked forward, putting gentle pressure on her lasso, not the bit, and took a deep breath when he followed. Passing through the gate and into the pasture, she walked him around in a circle a few times, then stopped and gave him the rest of the apple. “Kris, can you close the gate, please?” she asked from a distance.

  Kris came closer and the horse let out a snort and a squeal, then stomped its feet. “Kris, stop, don’t move.” Looking from the horse, to Kris, and back, she waited and watched the horse, then slowly reached up and undid the bridle, taking it from the horse’s mouth. Removing the lasso from his neck, she said, “Kris, will you shut the gate now?”

  As Kris stepped closer, there was another snort and a squeal, then the horse took off running further into the pasture. Stepping to the gate, she walked out, thanked the men who brought him, and saw them off. Walking to the fence, she stood and stared at the galloping horse in the distance. Pulling out her phone, she hit some buttons and put it to her ear.

  “Have you seen him?”... “No. What’s his story?”… “He’s Friesian.”… “That’s bullshit.”… “He’s a Friesian, and he’s been mishandled. Probably because they didn’t know their head from their ass. I’m going to need to rest him, he’s stressed.”… “Nothing but a twisted Bristol, I tried a Sweetwater, he took it.”… “Name?” She grunted. “He needs an official name.”… “I don’t care, change it, they got it wrong. Friesian naming is different, check his birth year.”… “Threeish, I’m guessing.” Looking around, her eyes fell on Kris, and she stopped, then stared. After a moment, she went back to her conversation. “Mmhmm. I’m going to need a bigger saddle.”… “Draft horse big, treeless if we have to.”… “Where?”… “Hamel, when?”… “Have him bring Goldie. Mmhmm.” Snapping her phone shut, she disconnected the call.

  CHAPTER 4

  “I sure could go for some answers,” Kris remarked, as he stood next to her.

  “I sure could go for one of those caramel rolls and some coffee,” she answered back, avoiding the obvious.

  “Alright,” he answered, “then you’ll tell me what’s going on.” Turning, he walked away, returning a minute later with two plastic containers and a thermos. “Here, hold out your hands,” he said, as he prepared to pour water over them. Then he poured coffee into the thermos lid and handed it to her. Opening the container, he held it out for her to take a roll. “Now, spill it, I want to know what’s going on.

  “Look at him,” she said, nodding to the horse. “He’s watching us, but more so you. Whoever had him was a man, a big man. When you walked away, he started to come closer, then ran away when you came back. He’s been handled with a heavy hand, and most likely abused, but not because he’s truly bad, but because they were novices and didn�
�t know what they were dealing with.”

  She took a drink of her coffee and a bite of her roll, as he turned and looked at the horse.

  She continued, “He’s a young male, full of energy, but because of his size he was perceived to be older than he is and started too young. On the flip side of that, he was still young and underdeveloped when he was surrendered, and without proper documentation, he was labeled Arabian. The owners may have even said he was Arabian to get someone to take him. He’s not. The two are not even close, but because he’s been going from rescue place to rescue place, no one’s really stopped to look at him, they just know they can’t handle him. He’s a Friesian, a baroque Friesian at that, and now that he’s getting older it’s becoming more and more obvious. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was purebred, but it’s irrelevant due to his sketchy past. He’d never make it past inspection.” She finished the coffee and roll.

  “Nonetheless, he’s majestic just the same. Friesians were nearly extinct at one point not long ago, but are starting to make a comeback. They’re rare in the United States, mostly found in Europe, having originated in the Netherlands, another reason he was mislabeled, and I consider myself one of the luckiest people on this earth to have him. Historically, Friesians were war horses, because they could carry knights in full armor. Whoever had him, named him Licorice because he’s completely black, a characteristic of the breed. That’s about all they got right. His mane and tail have been trimmed back, and his feathers cut, because they didn’t want to deal with the upkeep of a horse with long, long hair or they were trying to hide the obvious.”

  Turning to her, he asked, “What are feathers?”

  “The long hair at the hooves, like you see on a Clydesdale.”

  “You rescue horses then?”

  “I train horses, they may or may not be rescued.”