"I got Quicksilver," he declares, then steps in front of the stall next to Vandal's and tries to hide another wince. He reaches for the brush and opens the gate, moving slower.
"I can do it. You're hurt," I point out.
He grunts. "I'm not dead."
"Still…" I offer.
"I'm fine," he claims as he strokes Quicksilver's mane.
I study him for a minute, then return to grooming Vandal.
The quiet between us builds with the rapid elevation of my pulse.
I finish brushing Vandal, pat him on the neck, then step out of the stall. I lock the gate and return the brush to the metal shelf. Then I grab an apple and hold it out, cooing, "Here you go."
Vandal chomps on it, and I lean against the stall, staring at Wyatt.
He moves the brush in long strokes and then steps to the other side of Quicksilver. He tries to hide his discomfort but can't.
I blurt out, "So practice didn't go well?"
He pauses for a second, his jaw clenching.
I quickly add, "Sorry. I didn't mean to pry."
He resumes brushing Quicksilver and states, "It's okay."
Silence resurfaces.
He finishes, gingerly steps out of the stall, and locks the gate.
I grab an apple for Quicksilver and hold it out. He gobbles it like Vandal did.
Wyatt defeatedly mumbles, "I don't even know if I lasted an entire second."
Wyatt was so excited last night when he told us he moved up a level and was going to get a chance to ride Snarlhide. And I know enough about cowboys and their bruised egos. Wyatt's no different in that regard.
So I tilt my head, offering, "It's okay. You'll figure it out."
He looks away and grinds his molars.
I put my hand on his forearm and softly say, "Hey."
He slowly meets my gaze, and it tugs at my heart. It's the same expression he's had after encounters with his father. Shame, disappointment, and helplessness appears in his sharp features.
"Next time will be better," I offer.
He snaps out of it, nodding and puffing out his chest. "Darn right."
I beam. "Snarlhide will regret the day he set eyes on you."
Wyatt chuckles. "That's right, sugar."
My heart skips another beat.
He leans closer. His scent of sweat, dirt, and leather sinks into my skin, causing more chaos in my veins. He murmurs, "I'd say I'm sorry I got you reeled into doing barn chores all week, but then I wouldn't be able to have you all to myself right now."
All to himself.
