“Whoa, boy!” Red bellowed. His voice tore at his throat. “Easy! Easy now!”
But the horse was wild-eyed, nostrils flaring, ears deaf to commands. And Benny’s bravado and maturity melted into terrified screams, muffled into Red’s jacket.
“We’ll be okay, boy!” Red growled the words he did not believe, his hands aching on the reins. “Look at me, Benny.” His voice shook, but he forced it steady and stole a glance at his great-grandson. “You’re all right. You hear me? You’re safe. He’s gotta run it off.”
The boy’s tear-bright eyes lifted. He nodded, trembling.
Red gritted his teeth and hauled again, pulling Copper’s head to the side. The horse skidded, hooves spraying snow, momentum carrying them in a long arc across the meadow.
For one awful second Red thought they’d tip—the sleigh leaning, runner digging—but it thudded flat again. Copper lunged on, angling straight toward the far ridge.
“Not that way,” Red muttered, tugging with every ounce of strength left in him. “Not today.”
Copper stumbled, then found his footing. His ears flicked—at last listening to commands.
Finally—finally—Copper slowed, foam flecking his bit. His chest heaved, great clouds of steam rising into the frigid air. Red wrenched him to a halt, the sleigh jerking so hard both of them nearly pitched off the bench.
And it was over. Nothing but a panting beast, a whimpering child, and Red’s poor heart walloping his chest. For a long, long moment, no one moved.
Then Benny hiccupped a sob. “Grandpa, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“’Sokay. We’re okay. We just need help, ’cause the sleigh’s pretty messed up.”
Benny moaned. “I lost the phone,” he wailed. “I dropped it when I jumped in the sleigh.”
Red huffed out a breath and looked back to where they’d been—a half mile of drifts and snowbanks that would hide that phone until late spring.
How would they get home? Maybe they could take turns riding Copper, but he doubted the spooked old horse would stand for that. How would they get over the creek?
How long would they be out here, frozen and scared?
The meadow stretched silent around them, the hill’s drop just yards away. Copper stood quivering, sides heaving. Benny pressed into Red’s chest, clutching him like a lifeline.
Red felt tears sting his eyes—hot against the icy wind.
“We’ll be all right,” he whispered, mostly for Benny, maybe a little for himself. “We’ll be all right.”
But he didn’t quite believe it. Not yet.
Red stroked the boy’s back, trying to steady his own breathing. But then he saw Copper shifting, favoring his front right leg. Not bad, not broken, but the horse kept lifting it, pawing the air like the weight of the harness was too much.
“Blast it,” Red muttered. “He’s strained himself.”
Benny looked up, wide-eyed. “What do we do?”
Red’s gut clenched. Jack was the one who always handled the harnessing with quick hands and mastery of the skill. Red had learned the basics, sure, but he hadn’t unharnessed a horse in years. He eyed the heavy traces, the straps cutting dark lines across Copper’s coat. The animal trembled, breaking Red’s heart.
“We get him loose,” Red said, though his voice came out rough. “If he pulls with that leg like this, he could do real damage. He needs to walk it off a bit.”
Benny scrambled down into the snow with him, hovering close but careful.
Red fumbled at the first buckle, his fingers clumsy in thick gloves. “Come on, now,” he gritted. “Jack makes this look easy.”
The strap finally gave with a snap, loosening just enough that Copper shook his head. Red moved to the next, yanking with frozen fingers, shoulders screaming from the strain of the ride.
The gelding stamped again, jerking sideways. The sleigh rocked. Red swore under his breath, bracing his knee against Copper for leverage as he worked the last buckle free. The leather had stiffened in the cold, fighting him every inch.
“There,” he muttered, tugging the final trace loose.
