by Liz Isaacson
Sure enough, her red mustang pulled into a parking space and she unfolded herself from behind the wheel. She wore a dark-wash pair of jeans today, a short-sleeved shirt the color of the bluebonnets that grew across the lane, and that black cowgirl hat. Today, though, she’d put on an indigo hatband to match her shirt.
She swung her gaze across the ranch, sweeping from left to right, before she turned and found him loitering in the doorway of the barn.
Dwayne’s breath lodged somewhere behind his lungs. His brain screamed at him to breathe as she walked toward him. He found a limp in her stride, though she was definitely trying to hide it.
“Hey,” he said, finally remembering how to inhale.
“How are you this morning?” She stopped several paces away and tucked her hands in her back pockets.
“Just fine.”
“Oh, I brought you something.” She turned back, her dark ponytail swinging with the movement. She retrieved something—the way she favored her left leg was obvious to him—from the mustang and approached him again. She came nearer, and nearer, until he could smell the sweetness of her perfume and see the laugh lines around her eyes.
“I’m not the best baker, and it’s the first time I’ve used the oven in my cottage, but it’s my mom’s recipe.” She held out a loaf of bread. “It’s banana chocolate chip.”
He took it, his fingers itching to touch hers. “You bake?”
Apprehension filled her eyes. “Don’t be impressed.” Her features softened as her worry melted away. “In fact, I wouldn’t eat that without butter. And probably a lot of milk nearby. Or coffee. It’s probably really dry.”
Dwayne started peeling back the plastic wrap, releasing a sweet, banana scent that made his stomach grumble. “Smells good.” He lifted the bread to his lips and took a big bite, right there in front of her.
Her eyes widened and then she tipped her chin toward the sky and laughed. And laughed.
Dwayne could barely chew, as he was trying to keep his own chuckles contained. He managed to swallow, say, “Not bad,” and then he joined his joy to hers.
Chapter Seven
“I can’t believe you gnawed on it like a bear,” she said, still giggling.
Dwayne stuck the last piece of bread in his mouth, having eaten it as he showed her the newly leveled training ring. “I didn’t gnaw on it like a bear,” he said. “I took a bite. And it was good, as you can see I’ve just finished it.”
She shook her head, her smile wonderful and warm and everything worth having. Dwayne wanted to make her laugh and smile every day for the rest of her life.
“So, why are you limping?” he asked.
Her head whipped up. “I’m not limping.”
He rolled his eyes and held up his right hand, which clearly trembled. “And my hand doesn’t shake.”
Fire entered her dark eyes, only exciting Dwayne further. “Fine. I twisted my ankle yesterday.”
“When did that happen?”
Her jaw jutted forward. “I’m fine.”
“I know you are.” He made his voice as soft as possible. “I’m just wondering when you got hurt. I didn’t think anyone else had gotten injured.”
Something fearful passed through her eyes. “Remember when I told you I thought I could tame the bulls?”
Dwayne cocked his head, searching his memory for that conversation. “No,” he said slowly.
She sighed, and her shoulders visibly deflated. “I guess I didn’t tell you.” Felicity kept her gaze on the ground as she said, “I was coming back to feed Linus and Lucy, and I saw the bulls. For some reason—” She cleared her throat and backed up a step.
Dwayne took a step forward to keep their proximity close. “Yeah?”
“For some reason, I thought I could calm them. Get them back where they belonged.”
“Alone?”
“And without a horse, or a rope.” Her voice carried notes of sorrow, agony, shame.
Dwayne reached out and put two fingers under her chin, gently lifting her face until she looked at him. Sparks shot between them, and he knew then that the attraction he felt for her wasn’t one-sided.
“How did you get hurt?” he whispered.
“I obviously couldn’t soothe that bull. When I figured that out, I ran back to my car—”
“You were out of the car?” Horror bolted through him.
She nodded, her mouth drooping a little. “It’s my fault you got hurt. I’m so sorry.”
His fingers drifted down her neck, drinking in the softness of her skin. He brushed her shoulder and then let his hand drop. “It’s not your fault.”
“I certainly didn’t calm anything down.”
“You didn’t make Tiger get out of the pen. You didn’t make him charge.”
Felicity’s eyes seemed too glassy to Dwayne, and he really hoped she wouldn’t cry. He didn’t need to carry that around with him. His humiliation was heavy enough.
The moment between them lengthened and strengthened, until Dwayne thought maybe he could carry around her sorrows, her griefs, her burdens. Would she help him shoulder his?
With his thoughts running rampant, the way Tiger had yesterday, he forced himself back a step. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He pushed his cowboy hat lower over his eyes and put more distance between them. “Should we get started with the horses?”
“Yes,” she said, and her voice sounded strong, no tears in sight.
Dwayne breathed a sigh of relief—at least until she opened the gate to the pasture where the wild horses were kept and walked right in.
“Whoa. What are you doing?” Dwayne’s hand landed on her lower arm and gripped.
Fire flamed through Felicity, same as it had when his skin had touched hers the last time. A shiver erupted down her spine at the ghost of his fingertips along her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder. This hold was just as thrilling, just as pulse-pounding.
“Getting the horses.” She managed not to sound like a leaky balloon when she spoke. How, she didn’t know.
“You don’t even have a rope. Or a saddle. Or anything.”
She looked at him, realizing that he really had no idea how to start training a horse. “We don’t need ropes or saddles right now.”
He glanced over his shoulder to the training ring, and Felicity followed his gaze. It looked different somehow, but she couldn’t put her finger on what had changed. She squinted and frowned, then understanding hit her.
“The ring’s been leveled,” she said, switching her gaze to him. “Did you do that?”
“Yes.” He clipped the word out between narrow lips.
“We might not use it for a few more days,” she said as gratitude and warmth flowed through her. Here was Dwayne, injured, and yet he’d spent at least a few hours this morning getting the training ring ready. For her. He’d spent his precious time getting something ready for her.
She definitely hadn’t invented the lightning between them, nor had she missed the way he’d stepped back carefully as confusion and desire warred in his expression. Felicity felt the same things battling each other inside her heart and mind too, so she couldn’t fault him.
“Right now,” she said, stepping slowly. “We just want the horses to get comfortable with us in their space. We control who comes and goes, not them. We’ll go to them first, but they have to learn to come to us whenever we want them to.”
She moved through the wild grass, glad when Dwayne came with her, positioning himself on her right side. “So how did you start with their training?”
“Oh, you know.” He didn’t look at her, but kept his eyes steadfastly on the four horses who’d clumped together in the shade of the barn.
“No, I don’t know,” Felicity said.
“Well.” He exhaled like he needed to prepare for a long day of boring activity. “I’d make ‘em walk behind me. Have them get used to the reins, the saddle, the bit. That kind of stuff.”
She nodded. It wasn’t bad training. Just not the order she went
in. “A well-trained horse should want to be with you,” she said. “Unless there’s a really great patch of clover nearby, or a cowboy with a hay cube in his pocket.” She smiled as she thought about her childhood horse, Cornflower.
“I had this beautiful mare when I was a little girl,” she said. “My dad named her Cornflower, because she was so white she sometimes seemed to have a purple fringe around her.” Felicity almost stumbled when she realized she’d vocalized a memory about her father and hadn’t felt the crushing blow of sadness that always seemed to be one breath away.
She smiled and continued. “That horse would follow me anywhere.” She giggled and tossed her ponytail over her shoulder. “Except if my father was around. Somehow she knew he had the access to the treats, and she was such a glutton. When I got frustrated that she seemed so enamored with a simple hay cube, he told me to put one in my pocket.”
Felicity slid her hand in her pocket now, but of course she didn’t find a hay cube. “Way down deep,” she said. “And to never give it to her until we were done for the day. So I started doing that. Carried one of those silly cubes with me everywhere I went. And that Cornflower, she was right with me, all the time.”
She removed her hand from her pocket and Dwayne’s hand brushed against it, too precise to be casual. Felicity sucked in a breath, and on the next step, he captured her fingers in his.
“Anyway.” Her voice came out higher than normal, and her heart thundered in her chest like the sky was about to split open. She hadn’t held hands with a man in a while, and certainly not someone like Dwayne. He seemed so different, and yet so much like, the other cowboys she’d dated.
“After a while, I forgot about the hay cube. I stopped giving it to Cornflower after we were done training, or done working, or done riding. I stopped putting one in my pocket. And she still came with me everywhere I went.”
They stepped, only the slight breeze rustling between them. His hand was so warm, and so large, and Felicity felt herself drop her guard another notch. She wanted to let him in, allow him to experience some of her life with her.
“So she learned her duty,” Dwayne said.
“Yeah,” Felicity said. “I guess she did.”
“It’s like what we do as humans,” Dwayne said. “In the beginning, we’re motivated by the prize at the end of the day. A paycheck for the work. A good feeling for serving someone. Doing what our mothers ask us to do. Something like that. We do our tasks out of duty.” He paused, and she let his words roll around in her mind, trying to make sense of them.
“Then, after a while, those things become habits. They become part of us. Then we do the job, or serve our neighbors, or eat our vegetables, not because we feel obligated to, or because we’re going to get a hay cube if we do it. We do it because we want to do it.”
Felicity paused and peered up at Dwayne. She could see his handsomeness. His kind spirit. Even his determination and drive. All of it was there, right on his face and in his countenance for anyone to see. But she hadn’t expected this quiet, powerful soul who spoke so philosophically. Who said things that resonated in her entire being—the way her father had.
“I think my father would’ve liked you,” she finally said, feeling his presence near. She tried to grasp onto it, make him stay, bask in the comfort he’d always lent her. Her heartbeat bobbed and bounced as the feeling dissipated into the hot, humid Texas air.
“I’m sure I would’ve liked him too,” Dwayne said, squeezing her hand and continuing toward the wild horses.
A sense of loss rolled over her, but that dismal sadness didn’t descend the way it had in the past. She glanced up into the sky and drew in a deep breath filled with the scent of grass, and horses, and Dwayne’s intoxicating cologne. A part of her that had felt forever shrouded in darkness lightened, and a smile touched her lips.
Thank you, she thought, unsure of why she’d thought it was God who had granted her this reprieve from the weight of her grief. In the past, she’d known of His goodness, His mercy, His grace.
Maybe now she needed to do what her father had always counseled her to do. When it doubt, try to believe until the doubts can be dismissed.
She cleared her mind and stopped walking now that the horses were within several paces. The big Tobiano spotted horse lifted his head, a wary look in his eye. The Rocky Mountain horse tossed his head, and Felicity held very still. The other two horses—a beautiful paint horse with precise markings and a bay with a glorious black tail and mane. She could see why Dwayne had bought these animals. They were stunning specimens of their breeds, and her appreciation for horses—and for Dwayne?—swelled within her heart.
She released his hand, and her head cleared a bit. Giving herself a bit of room to work, she clicked her tongue at the Tobiano. “Come on, Spotlight,” she said, her voice not sweet or sugary, not condescending or coddling. Her father had taught her to talk like she normally did, and expect the horse to come to her.
Still, it surprised her every time one of them did.
Felicity caged her fear and stuffed it as far from her as possible. Horses could sense such things, and she didn’t need this huge, wild horse making any false moves. Spotlight stopped outside of her reach, but he’d come.
She extended her hand and waited. The horse’s nostrils quivered and flared, and he took another couple of steps forward.
“How in the world did you do that?” Dwayne whispered.
Satisfaction, combined with relief, filled her, but she refused to smile at the horse. The trainer didn’t smile until the horse had a rider on its back.
“Come on, Spotlight,” she said again, happiness parading through her when the massive horse took another step and then tapped his nose against her palm.
She dropped her hand to her side and glanced at Dwayne. “All right. Your turn.”
Chapter Eight
Felicity almost laughed at the disbelief on Dwayne’s face. He scoffed, the sharp sound sending Spotlight shuffling to the right.
“I can’t do that,” he said.
“Sure you can,” she said. “Use Payday’s name. Ask him to come. Wait for him. Show him your hand.”
Dwayne looked more uncomfortable than a cowboy should ever be around horses. Felicity wanted to give him the confidence he needed to get Payday to come over from the shady spot next to the barn.
“You’re in charge of the horse,” she said. “Just like you’re in charge of your cowboys. This ranch. Take that same authority, and transfer it to the horse.”
He cleared his throat, and she placed her hand on his arm. “No nerves, Dwayne. You’re in charge here. They can’t think or feel for even a moment that you’re not.”
Dwayne’s body turned toward hers, and he inched closer. “Maybe I need a lesson not in the pasture with the horses.”
“You’re doin’ fine,” she said, drawing out the word fine the way she’d heard him do before.
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he said darkly, his bass voice rumbling through her chest he stood so close.
“You’re asking the horse to come to you,” she said. “How would you ask Gaston to do that?”
“I’d say, “Come on, Gaston. Let’s go.’”
“Same thing here.”
Dwayne gave her a dubious look, put some space between them, and lifted his right hand toward the group of horses still hovering near the barn.
“Come on, Payday,” he said, his voice clear and loud and authoritative. Felicity tucked her hands in her pockets as she waited for the horse to respond. A sense of peace infused her, something she hadn’t felt on her family’s ranch in months.
She held onto this feeling, trying to pinpoint what had caused it so she could replicate it in the future.
Dwayne felt foolish standing there with his empty hand out, expecting a horse who barely knew his name to come forward. “I haven’t had Payday for long,” he said.
“Call him again,” Felicity said, her voice calm yet absolutely in control.
; “Come on, Payday,” Dwayne said again. To his surprise the Rocky Mountain chocolate horse turned his head toward him. “Come on.”
Payday took his sweet time, but he left the shade and plodded toward Dwayne. “Do I give him a treat?” he asked, suddenly panicking. “Did you bring any hay cubes?”
“He doesn’t get a treat for walking over to you. He has to do that every time he’s asked. Don’t drop your hand.” Hers shot out and lifted his. “Focus on him. He has to touch you before we move on.”
The Rocky Mountain horse stopped only halfway to him, and his confidence took a nosedive. “Now what?” he asked out of the side of his mouth.
Felicity stepped over to Spotlight and scrubbed his cheeks, leaving Dwayne with the sight of her buddying up to a wild horse. Leaving him standing there with his hand out.
“Come on, Payday,” he said again, a twinge of desperation in his voice, which earned him a sharp look from Felicity. But Payday took a few more steps. Dwayne stared at the horse, beginning a silent battle of wills with the animal. He couldn’t lose. Not on top of already being thrown and nearly gored in front of Felicity.
Come on, he prayed silently, refusing to even blink. The horse didn’t seem to need to blink either, and Dwayne’s eyes started to water.
“Payday,” he said, practically begging the horse to just take a few more steps and touch his palm. Maybe tomorrow he would conceal a hay cube in his pocket. “Come on.”
By some miracle, the horse plodded forward a few steps and nudged his hand. Joy burst through him, and he couldn’t help the smile that exploded onto his face.
“Good,” Felicity said. “Now we walk.” She edged away from the horse and headed for the fence line. Dwayne hastened to join her, hoping to hold her hand again. He was still sort of shocked she’d let him earlier, right there in the open pasture where anyone could see. He was definitely stunned he’d done it.