Hollie smiled, lifting the plate she had in her hands. “Want a cookie?”
My brows shot upward in surprise. “No way.”
“They’re nothing fancy. Just chocolate chip.”
“Obviously, yes, I want one.”
Her lips twisted as she fought back a big smile and pulled the plastic wrap off the plate. I groaned before I even tasted one; the sight alone made me weak. The only time I got homemade baked goods was when I saw my mom in Oklahoma because Bea didn’t make many sweets. Every single thing Hollie brought out of that kitchen was a delicacy.
“Hollie,” I spoke with my mouth full and shook the remains of my cookie, “this made my day.”
“I didn’t know you were so passionate about cookies. I would’ve made them before.”
“I just like eating.”
She giggled. “I do too.” She looked into the ring. “What’s going on today?”
I gave her a brief history of the farmer buying her, then said, “She’s got halter scars.”
“What’s that?”
I pointed. “You see around her face? That her fur is kind of discolored?”
Hollie frowned. “Oh yeah. There are lines.”
“Yep. That’s because the owner kept her tied up and never let her run free. The halter she constantly wore was so tight it gave her scars.”
Hollie tsked. “Oh my goodness. I feel sick thinking about that.”
“Yep. She, understandably, isn’t real comfortable with humans, so Tag keeps offering to connect with her.”
“Offering? How does he do that?”
“He’s doing it now.” Tag, standing in the center of the ring, tossed the rope behind her hindquarters, which made her lurch into a run. For a few long moments, all she did was run circles around the ring. Tag waited patiently for her to stop, turning his shoulders away from her now and then. “When you want to connect with a horse, you give them a little bit of pressure by facing them then release the pressure by turning away. Once she stops running, Tag’s gonna face her again and hold out his hand. Watch what she does.”
A few moments later, the mare pulled to a stop, breathing heavy. Tag turned his shoulders to her—the pressure. And lifted a limp hand—the offer. The mare turned away from him, accidentally knocking her head into the fence—a rejection of Tag’s offer and a clear sign that the idea of approaching him stressed her out.
Hollie frowned. “Why did she do that?”
“Well, that’s what we’re trying to figure out.”
“She doesn’t seem afraid.”
I tipped my head side to side. “Not at first glance. Her fear isn’t manifesting as flight or fight, but I think she’s emotionally shut down.”
Hollie hummed in thought. “What’s her name?”
“Her owner named her Blush.”
“Blush. I like it.”
We watched a while longer, until Tag decided to call it quits and give Blush a break. Our debrief didn’t uncover more than it had the day before. Gaining a horse’s trust took time. Tag rarely rushed.
He said to Hollie, “Y’all wanna come to the rodeo tomorrow? I’m takin’ the short go horses to a quick qualifier and it’s only about forty-five minutes away. Since we’re right aroundthe corner from the Fourth of July, there’ll probably be fireworks afterward. Thought the girls might like that.”
“Oh, that sounds so fun.” Hollie beamed at him, but her gaze slid to me. “Is everyone going?”
I tried to ignore the way the muscles in my torso tightened. Did she ask because she wanted me to be there?
