by Stasia Black
He comes to another paddock where two horses graze in the distance, a honey-colored one and another that’s a darker brown. He leans his elbows on the fence so that he’s in profile, the good side of his face toward me.
“His owners didn’t pay close enough attention to who they sold him off to. The new owners were bastards who thought they knew better than all the professionals. They tried to force him to race by whipping and abusing him, shooting him full of illegal steroids. They got a few off-circuit races out of him, but he was uncontrollable and more hazard than he was worth. He was found crazed and half-starved when the DEA raided a stable yard in Arizona. They were about to put him down when I offered to pasture him here.”
All of this has just come in a long stream while he stands, arms on the fence, looking out at the pasture and the grazing horses. He’s just suddenly opened up like a font of information. I’m not sure if that’s more shocking or the implications of all he’s saying.
“So…” I put together the bits and pieces he’s told me as I look over my shoulder and then scan the few outbuildings and paddocks all around us. Apart from the first separated paddock where Samson was isolated, they all create a loose hexagon shape. “You basically run this place to take care of old or abused horses. This is a horse rescue.”
I have to blink a couple times as the concept sinks in.
He doesn’t so much as twitch at my pronouncement. “Close your mouth,” he finally murmurs. “You’ll catch a fly.”
Then he starts forward again, delivering one sharp jerk on the rope to signal me to follow, as always.
Like I could frigging forget.
Yeah, he’s really got a heart of gold. The rescuer of all the poor, needy animals who also just happens to like keeping women tied on a leash like a dog. Right. Pardon while I go get a hanky for the touching scene.
I’m surprised when he actually opens the gate to the pasture. We haven’t gone up close to any of the horses except those in the stable who were securely closed up behind stall doors. But he’s just heading straight in, no buffer at all between us and the horses.
Um, hello? Doesn’t he remember lesson one? Two thousand pounds and all that?
“These are two of my gentlest, both mares,” he says, apparently not worried in the slightest. He explained earlier the difference between mares—females, geldings, and stallions. Geldings and stallions are males, but geldings have been castrated. I’ve been learning all kinds of fun facts like that all morning.
Xavier pauses to close the gate behind us. “Hot Lips is pregnant, though, so if she shies away from you, we won’t press it. But Sugar is the gentlest on the ranch. Some more basics. Always approach a horse from the front left shoulder and make sure to let them get a look at you before coming close. Never come at a horse from behind or when he’s agitated.” This last part he says sharply, looking me in the eye.
I raise my hands. “Got it. Don’t come up behind a horse.”
“Which side do you approach from?” he quizzes.
“Left shoulder.” Geez, he just told me two seconds ago.
“Good, and only after you’re sure they’ve seen you. Above all, horses can sense your mood. If you’re tense, they go tense. Breathe and be calm. The more you project calm and serene, the more the horse will respond to you.”
With that, he turns on his heel and starts across the field. Not wanting him to tug on the damn rope, I hurry on his heels. He locks the gate behind us and then we’re off across the uneven ground of the paddock. It’s full of divots and—oh yep, that’s a giant horse pie. I dodge out of the way and then jog to keep up before the line between us pulls taut.
He approaches the two mares with a carrot extended in each hand. We only go halfway through the paddock before the interested horses amble toward us.
These two aren’t frenzied like Lulu, though they too nuzzle Xavier first thing. Their huge, sloppy muzzles come for his carrots, exposing large horsey teeth.
Holy crap those are big teeth.
I can’t help taking a step back. Isn’t he afraid he’s going to lose a finger?
But no, he just keeps his hands out for them to nibble and lick at far after the carrots are gobbled up. A serene smile tugs at his lips. I take the opportunity to look the horses over. And wow, sure enough, the honey-colored one does look extra fat in the belly.
Pregnant.
Even as I think it, Xavier rubs down her left side and down to her belly, where he strokes her engorged stomach.
“How far along is she?” I ask, watching the gentle, almost reverent way his hand moves with the grain of her thick, coarse hair. Then I scrunch my eyebrows together. “Is it nine months for horses, too?”
“A normal, healthy equine pregnancy will be eleven months long. Hot Lips is six months in. And she’s doing beautifully. Isn’t that right, my lovely lady?” He scratches and rubs her some more, up and down her long body, from shoulder to flank. She turns into his touch, nuzzling her head into his shoulder. He bows his head and cradles her long neck so that for a moment, it looks like he’s having some sort of spiritual communion or praying with the horse. I can just barely hear him muttering little noises of praise to her.
I can’t help staring on in fascination. It’s so bizarre to see this side of Xavier. I imagine him being as gentle with a little newborn colt.
Or holding his own baby in his arms.
The thought is a jarring one.
Because while I usually cringe at all things babies, the idea of Xavier holding a small baby is only… charming. Thinking of the giant man cradling a tiny baby? My heart goes all gooey in my chest at the thought.
I blink several times. I am not a woman who goes gooey over babies. Or men. So the combination should produce zero goo.
Luckily a huge snout headbutts the back of my hair, distracting the disturbing turn of thought. I turn to see Sugar has come up behind me. She nickers and snorts a big puff of air that blows my hair away from my face. I can’t help laughing in surprise as she noses toward me again, bumping into my cheek.
Holy crap, this is a huge animal. She towers over me and my first instinct is to back away. But when her big, wet tongue slips out to lick my cheek, I’m startled into another laugh.
My hands rise and I’m not sure if I mean to ward her off or pet her. She’s too busy nosing against the other side of my neck and making the decision for me. My fingers come into contact with her wet, snuffling nose. Then her tongue sneaks out again and licks my fingers. I squeal a little and laugh more.
I’m worried for a second that my shrill giggle will scare her off, but nope, she just keeps nosing at me, bumping me with her huge head, sniffing, and licking. I stumble a few times. She’s so big and obviously has no sense of personal boundaries, but I’m finally brave enough to follow Xavier’s example and gently scratch at the short, finer patch of fur between her nose and eyes and touch her mane. She seems to delight in the attention and bucks even more into my touch.
I don’t know how long I’ve spent just getting acquainted with her before Xavier’s pressing a carrot into my hands. Sugar immediately zeroes in on the carrot and there’s no time to really second-guess it before she’s chomping away at the vegetable. Within two bites, the huge teeth I was so freaked out by earlier tug the carrot out of my hand. Her wet horse lips slobber all over my fingers. I can’t help grinning at the feel of it and I go back to scratching at her.
“You’re a silly girl, aren’t you?” I murmur affectionately. “Such a silly girl.”
She finishes chomping the carrot and then goes back to headbutting me and generally trying to get my attention in any way possible
Careful to stand at her left shoulder, I finally loop an arm up as far as I can around her neck and hug her. She seems more than happy to welcome the affection. I marvel at the huge warm animal body tucked so close to mine. I press my ear against her shiny coat.
I had no idea… I mean, I was never one of those little girls who was horse crazy growing up. But I ha
d no idea they were so… well, amazing is the only word I can think of to describe them.
I look to Xavier, only to find him standing with his arms crossed, watching me with an intensity that’s discomfiting. Hot Lips has wandered off and is munching on grass near the fence.
I straighten up and let go of Sugar. Whoa. How did I just let myself get so totally absorbed in her? And how long has Xavier been staring at me like that?
I swallow and give Sugar one last pat. “She’s amazing. A real sweetheart. What’s her story?”
“She’s a mustang like Samson. BLM rounded her up from the wild and I adopted her about a year and a half ago.”
“What?” I exclaim as she lands an especially sloppy lick all the way up my cheek. She was a wild horse? As recently as a couple years ago? I wipe my cheek and look at Xavier to see if he’s messing with me. But he looks completely serious as he steps up and pets her muzzle.
“Did they,” I wave a hand, “tame her or something before you adopted her?”
He actually gives a half roll of his eyes—my statement is apparently that ludicrous. “I’m the only one I’d trust to train any horse on this property. Besides, that’s not what the BLM does. No, she came here just as wild as Samson.” He nods in the direction of the stable and the front pasture beyond it.
Then he looks back at her and his face softens like it did earlier when he was with Lulu. “She just needed someone to show her she didn’t have to be afraid anymore. She was always a sweet girl underneath.” He runs a hand up her long nose, his voice gentling. so that I’m not sure if he’s talking to me anymore, or the horse. “She had to learn how to trust. It took a while for me to break through, didn’t it, girl? But we got there in the end.”
He bows his forehead to her nose like he did with Lulu, doing that strange communing thing where both animal and man are still and quiet for a long moment.
When he speaks again, his voice is still just above a whisper. “But once I did, it was the most beautiful thing. You’re my beautiful girl, aren’t you, sweet Sugar?” Then his voice drops and he starts whispering things to her that I can’t hear at all. She nuzzles into him and makes little delighted horsey noises.
I swallow hard, uncomfortable all of the sudden. Does he look at me the same way he did when he first got Sugar? As another animal he just has to train?
Finally, he steps back. “All right, now that you’ve met everybody, let’s get started on the day’s work. Lulu and Pioneer still need to be let out for the day. Then I want to get started with Samson.”
Samson. The wild one. “You mean training him? So you just start straight off?”
He nods as we start walking back to the barn. I guess it’s obvious, but I don’t know. I thought maybe he’d leave the stallion alone for a day and let him just get used to the paddock.
You know, kind of how he did for me.
I cringe a little at the thought. God. I am not a freaking horse! Thankfully there’s not much time to think about it anymore because we’re soon back in the stable.
Xavier keeps encouraging me to interact with the animals. Pioneer allows me to approach him and touch his shoulder. Hesitantly, I rub down his left side to his flank. He steps and licks his lips and Xavier reminds me to breathe.
Yeah, I try that, but I’m relieved when Xavier takes the huge gelding’s lead and guides him out into the center of three paddocks that branch off from the stable. Except for the fact that Xavier’s also got my lead line in his hand, so, you know, again I get that feeling that I’m just another of the horses he’s letting out of the stable for the day. Because that’s not degrading or anything.
When he goes in to work with Samson, he ties me to a fence post.
“Stay,” he says unnecessarily after looping the rope around the post. He ignores my furious huff and pulls a baseball cap out of his back pocket, which he settles on my head. I guess so I don’t get too much sun? It’s always such a weird mix of caretaking and humiliation with this guy, I don’t know how to make heads or tails of him.
That goes double for the ‘training’ he spends the afternoon doing with Samson. I was expecting to at least get a little spectacle out of the whole thing. You know, like getting to see a real live cowboy break a horse. Isn’t that what they call it? Sounds a bit barbaric, but hey, I didn’t make up the term.
Instead, the afternoon just goes on and on and on endlessly. And all Xavier does is walk up to Samson. Samson starts stamping his feet and backing away and then Xavier walks back. Sometimes Xavier will snort and throw his head around like a horse. He walks back and forth in a manner a little reminiscent of Samson himself.
Is it odd to watch a grown man pretend to be a horse all afternoon? No more than anything else that’s happened to me since I got here. I take it in stride fairly quickly.
What really surprises me is that Xavier doesn’t even try to touch Samson or corral him with a rope or make him run in a circle—none of the stuff I feel like I’ve seen cowboys do in TV shows or movies.
He just spends ALL afternoon approaching and then stepping away from the horse. Oh, and I can’t forget the really long stretches where he and the horse just stand still and stare at each other. Xavier’s stance is never aggressive like I might expect—he just… stands there.
It’s mind-numbing to watch. I sit in the grass and make daisy chains out of the long grass, think of all the thousands of things I could be busy doing if I were in New York right now, and dream of how I’ll start my comeback once I’m done with this godforsaken place.
Maybe I’m already pregnant and we can get this show on the road.
My hand goes to my stomach and my heart jumps to my throat at the thought. Holy God, how could I even—no, just no. I can’t even contemplate that whole thing until it’s a reality. If it ever becomes a reality, considering he hasn’t even slept with me aside from those first two times.
I look back at Xavier where he’s locked in another stare down with the horse and shake my head. I can’t make up my mind if I want to hurry up and get pregnant so this can all just be over or if… my mind flashes back to the pregnant mare. Growing a life… inside my body? For God’s sake, that sounds more insane than anything that’s happened yet, and being locked outside in a dog kennel feels pretty damn crazy.
What’s Xavier’s deal anyway? He just up and decided he wanted a kid one day? So then he watches the news and saw my dad and figured I was an easy target, or what? From the little Mr. Owens told me, they’d obviously done their research into me and my family history. But why me out of everyone he could have chosen? Was there really no one who would have willingly had his child? How the hell did that whole thing play out? I haven’t given it much thought because frankly, thinking about it all freaks me the hell out.
But the more I get to know him… it’s impossible not to wonder why? Why does he want a child? For some horse farm legacy? Theoretically he’s got a lot of money to be able to afford the big resort and do what he did for my dad, but the man is certainly not flaunting it if he’s got it. And as far as I’ve seen today, these horses are the rejects, abused, and losers that no one else wanted. Not exactly a racing legacy to pass on.
Maybe he was just lonely out here all by himself with no one but the horses to keep him company? Or he has a terminal illness and he wants to pass on a family name before he dies?
My gaze shoots up to Xavier where he stands, tall, broad-chested, and confident in the bright light of the blazing sun. No, I can’t imagine such a larger than life man ill. Not just that, but I can’t see him as the kind of man who would bring a life into the world only to then abandon it. He’s just too damn controlling for that.
I breathe out and close my eyes. I’m just the oven. Whatever he does with the bun is not really my concern. I mean, I would be worried if I thought he’d like, abuse it. I’m not a monster. But seeing how gentle he is with the horses and even with me sometimes… Anyway, I’m sure the kid will be fine.
And I can go back to living my own
life. Right?
I just… this was all a lot easier when it was in the abstract.
I fiddle with the grass and try not to give in to my more anxious thoughts. And Xavier just keeps at his inanities with Samson. After at least four more hours, which I can only guess at because I start mapping the sun’s progress across the sky since I don’t have access to a phone with a clock, Xavier finally says something I can’t hear to the horse. Then he backs up and eventually starts walking toward the gate where I’m tied up.
Right in time because I’ve got to pee like nobody’s business.
Except that after a brief break for lunch—which yes, he feeds me—and the bathroom, thank God, he’s dragging me back out for more work.
Turns out the afternoons are all about mucking out stalls. It takes fifteen minutes for Xavier to demonstrate.
I see how he keeps his giant, muscled physique in tip-top shape. He’s using a heavy-looking pitchfork to sift the clean hay to the back of the stall and then drag all the messed hay—read, hay that’s full of horse pee and poop—out of the stall to the middle of the stable. Then I get to shovel that into a wheelbarrow and haul it across the field to the compost bins.
I also now intimately understand what’s meant by the term ‘back-breaking work.’ It takes me what feels like an hour to do a single stall. I almost immediately develop blisters from using the heavy pitchfork in spite of the thick work gloves Xavier gave me.
“How often do you do this?” I ask breathlessly after hauling the damn wheelbarrow back for the second time. “Once a week?”
His mouth twitches in amusement as he calmly sifts the hay in Tornado’s stall. “Every day. Twice if a horse is messy. Pioneer is especially bad about stepping in his own mess and getting it in all his bedding.”