Wyoming Brave

“One more,” she said. She pulled the second treat from her pocket, held it out on her palm. Again, his head lowered and he took the treat gently from it with his lips. He wolfed that down, too.

“Sweet boy,” she said softly. She held out her hand.

He hesitated only for a minute before he moved closer and lowered his head toward hers. She pulled him down by his neck and laid her head against the side of his. “Oh, you poor, poor thing,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Poor horse!”

He moved his head against her, almost like a caress. She didn’t see the two returned cowboys in the back of the stable, gaping at her. There was Hurricane, laying his head against her. They were spellbound.

She touched the bridle. Hurricane hesitated at first. But then he stilled. She reached up and unbuckled the halter. Very carefully, she took it away from his head and slipped it off. She grimaced at the bloody places there and on his body.

“Sweet boy,” she whispered as she put the bridle aside. She reached her hand up and stroked him gently. “Sweet, sweet boy.” She laid her forehead against his with a long, heavy sigh.

After a minute he lifted his head and looked at her and whinnied.

“You need medicine on those cuts, don’t you,” she said softly.

“And you need therapy,” Ren Colter said coldly from behind her. “You were told to stay away from that horse!”

Hurricane jumped and moved back from the gate. He shook his mane and snorted.

Merrie turned with the halter in her hand. She walked toward Ren and pushed it toward him.

He stared at it, and her, with utter shock. “How did you get that off?”

“He let me,” she said simply. “Do you have medicine I can put on the cuts?”

“He’ll kill you if you walk into that stall with him,” Ren snapped. “He’s injured two cowboys already.”

“He won’t hurt me,” she said quietly.

He started to speak. But then he looked at the horse. Hurricane wasn’t stamping and running at the gate, as he had before. He was simply looking at them.

“You’re sure of that?” he asked in a quiet undertone.

She looked up at him with quiet, sad pale blue eyes. “Sort of,” she said. “Of course, if I’m wrong and he kills me, you can always stand over my grave and say you told me so.”

The sarcasm pricked his temper. “You think you know how a horse feels?” he asked sarcastically.

She shivered a little, even though it wasn’t that cold in the stable. She didn’t want to discuss anything personal with that cold, hard man. “He hasn’t attacked me, has he?”

He hesitated, but only briefly. He turned to the two cowboys who’d been standing there while Merrie worked magic on the dangerous animal. “Do we have some of that salve the doctor left?”

“Uh, yes,” one man stammered. He went to get it and handed it to Merrie. “Ma’am,” he said, taking off his hat, “I ain’t never seen nothing like that. You sure have got a way with animals.”

She smiled. “Thanks,” she said shyly.

Ren’s dark eyes narrowed. “If he starts toward you, you run,” he said firmly.

“I will. But, he won’t hurt me.”

They moved back, out of the horse’s line of sight. Ren was concerned. He didn’t want his brother’s girlfriend killed on his ranch. But she did seem to have a rapport with the horse. It was uncanny.

She opened the gate and moved into the stall, with firm purpose in her step and no sign of fear.

“Sweet boy,” she whispered, blowing in his nostrils again. “Will you let me help you? I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

He shifted restlessly, but he made no move to attack her as she reached up and put some of the salve very delicately on the bad places on his head. From there she moved to his injured flanks, wincing at the cuts. She put salve on those, too, but she could tell they needed stitching. It was no wonder that he was still in this condition. He’d injured anyone who came near him. He was afraid of men, because a man had hurt him. Women, on the other hand, were not his enemies.

She finished her work, smoothed her hand over his mane and laid her head against his neck. “Brave, sweet boy,” she whispered. “What a wonderful horse you are, Hurricane.”

He moved his head against her. She patted him one more time and left the stall, securing the lock. She smiled at the horse and told him goodbye before she walked back down the aisle where the men were.

“The cuts on his flank really need stitching, I think,” she said softly. “But he’s afraid of men. A man hurt him. Women didn’t.” She looked up at Ren. “Do you have a female vet anywhere within driving distance?”

Ren started. She was right. The horse hated men. “There’s one over in Powell, I think. I could send one of the boys to bring her here.”

“He’ll probably let her stitch him up.”

“You can come out and work your witchcraft on him to get her in the stall, can’t you?” Ren asked sarcastically.

She drew in a breath and turned away. She didn’t bother to answer him as she left.

He stared after her with mixed feelings. He hated women. But this one...she was different. All the same, he wasn’t letting her close enough to bite, even if that wild horse would.

“You shouldn’t be so harsh with her, Mr. Ren,” the older cowboy said quietly. “Looks to me like she’s had some of that at home already.”

He glared at the cowboy, who tipped his hat, turned and lit a shuck out of the stable.

* * *

MERRIE WENT TO her room. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t! That Wyoming bad man wasn’t going to upset her.

She pulled out her drawing pad and her pencils and went to work on a study of Hurricane. He was so beautiful. Black as night. Soft as silk. She was drawn to him, because he was like her. He’d been through the wars, too.

It took a long time to finish the drawing. She colored it with pastel pencils, delicately. When she finished, she had an awesome portrait of Hurricane. She smiled as she put it in the case with her other drawings. She’d have to do one of Ren, she decided. But she’d have to make a decision about whether to put just horns or horns and a forked tail on the subject of the picture.

* * *

WHEN SHE GOT DOWNSTAIRS, she was late again for supper. But this time Ren was there and he wouldn’t let Delsey put anything on the table.

“You know the rules,” Ren said harshly. “If you don’t get to the table on time, you don’t eat!”

She didn’t want to tell him that she’d been drawing his horse and had gotten lost in her work. She didn’t want to fight. She’d had so many years of fighting. It was easier to just conform.

“All right,” she said in her soft, quiet voice.

He glared at her. He hated her beauty. He hated the way she knuckled under. He wanted a fight, and he couldn’t start one.

He turned away from the table and pulled off his belt. It was a new one and he’d cinched it too tight. He doubled it, pulled it together and snapped it.