“You.” She poked him in the chest, pulling away at the same time. “You sound like a pig when you grunt like that.” She made a snorting sound and slapped a hand over her mouth.
Chase leaned his shoulder on the wall and crossed his ankles. His shoulders shook, and just when she thought he’d found a way to control himself, he burst out in a loud bellow of laughter.
Several horses snorted back and poked their heads out to check out the noise.
Michelle’s amusement ripped out. She bent at the waist, anchoring her hands on her thighs, and laughed until the room spun around her. When she tried to straighten, her ribs ached, forcing her to brace them with her arms around her waist. “I…can’t…breathe.”
Chase wiped tears from his eyes, his shoulders continuing to quake. “I’ve never had anyone call me a pig before.” He took off his hat and fanned his face with the brim.
“Sorry.” She gasped for breath and tried again to stand up straight.
“Don’t apologize.” He used the heel of his hand to wipe his face again. “It’s worth it to laugh like that.”
“I can’t remember the last time I laughed like this.” She patted her cheeks and smirked at him. “Pun intended.”
“Everything okay in here?” Maude peeked around the edge of the double doors.
“Fine.” Michelle wiggled her fingers at the older woman. “I think I’ve made Chase second-guess my sanity.”
“Not even close.” His laughter drifted off with the light bubbling of butterfly wings.
She sniffed back the remaining giggles and leaned her head back. “Okay. I’m better now. Let’s get to work.”
He shot amused looks her way while explaining how much feed to give each horse, giving her a rundown of the horse’s personality and quirks as they walked back and forth from the feed room to the individual stalls. “You’ve already met Samson’s toxic trait.” He stepped out of the stall right as Samson picked up a hoof and stomped it back down. “Missed me.”
Another laugh threatened to burst out. She choked it down, swallowing hard. How did he show such patience? Had he learned it over time, or was he one of those people born with an inordinate amount of grace?
“What about her?” She stopped at Sasha’s stall. “I noticed she always puts her ears back, but she doesn’t seem to be in a bad mood.” A few more hours on YouTube last night had given her more insight into equine body language, but Sasha confused her.
“She doesn’t like being in here, so she’s a bit mad about the whole situation.” He held out his hand to the mare, and she lipped up the treat from his palm. “But she’s too sweet to be mad.”
Made sense.
They finished feeding and Chase handed her the same pair of work gloves she’d worn Saturday. “You’ll want those when we get to the barn.” He angled his chin, drilling a look into her eyes. “Horse or truck?”
There was a challenge in his words, and as much as she wanted to rise and meet it, she held back. “Truck.” She held up a finger. “I want you to teach me to ride, but I’m not one of those people you can pull the ‘sink or swim’ mentality on.”
“I know.” He said it so low she almost missed it.
Realization dawned, and her cheeks flushed. “I remember riding.”
His gaze shuttered. “You do?”
“I think so.” She ached to close the distance and take his hand, to offer some form of comfort. She refused the urge. “I think I had a memory come back, but I don’t know if it’s real. I remember being in the saddle, talking to a boy.” What had they talked about? Something about the rodeo. “I think he wanted to ride in the rodeo.” It had happened so fast that the words jumbled together. She remembered how he made her feel. Safe. Protected. Like nothing in the world would ever hurt her.
Well, the worldhadhurt her.
No sense dwelling on it. Her doctors had drilled that into her. If her memories came back, it would be when she least expected it. How did she just let go of trying to drag them back?
“You knew me when we were kids?” She made it into a question but didn’t wait for him to answer before she continued. “Did I have control issues?”
“Not sure I want to answer that.” He closed the feed room door and walked out of the barn.
Warm rays beat on her face when she followed him. “Why not?”
He stopped at the passenger door and opened it, holding out his hand in a motion she’d seen in Regency films when the manhelped the woman into the carriage. He did so with such natural fluidity, that same easy grace on display. “I can’t tell you who you are, Michelle.”
“No, but you could tell me who I used to be.”
