I let my hand dangle further in front of Maple and she works her way up my arm, smelling me as she goes. Her wide brown eyes never leave mine, and once she’s satisfied I’m not a threat, she looks toward Grayson, her head lurching forward to sniff his pockets.
“I know what you want, girl.” He chuckles, reaching into a pack bag that’s hanging over the side of her stable. He grabs a little box, and the smile grows on his face the needier she gets. He pulls out what looks to be a sugar cube, and with a flat palm, he reaches out, letting her nibble it from his hand.
“Is that sugar?”
He nods, pulling another one out and sealing up the container before tucking it back in the sack.
“A little treat for the horses.” He goes to hand it to me, and Maple’s giant tongue darts out, trying to pull it from his hand. “Not so fast, girl,” he teases. “This one is coming from Holly.”
“What?” I gasp, taking a step back. My movement must have been too fast because Maple tries to pull back, causing the rope to pull taught where it’s tied up.
“It’s okay,” Grayson says, reaching around to place a hand on the middle of my back. He must be able to feelthe tension radiating through my body because his hands slide up to my shoulders, and his lips lower to my ear. “She won’t hurt you, trust me.”
With a tentative step and trust in his voice, I move forward. He places the sugar cube in my hand, and I squeeze it tightly, rubbing the rough edge against my thumb.
“Like this,” he instructs, opening his palm flat and face up. “Keep your fingers flat so she doesn’t bite them.”
“She might eat my fingers?” I whisper-hiss, and Grayson chuckles, shaking his head. “If you stick them in her mouth, they might get in the way, but I promise, hand flat, it’ll just tickle.”
With a heavy exhale, I do as he says, opening my palm flat and presenting the sugar cube to Maple. She takes her time, moving one leg toward me as she cranes her neck, reaching for the cube. The moment her soft mouth makes contact with my palm, a smile splits my face. Grayson nudges me another step forward with gentle pressure on my back as his thumb rubs soothing strokes. I lean into his touch, knowing full well that he’d never put me in harm's way. Once Maple takes the cube from my palm, and I can hear her satisfied crunch, I reach a brave hand out to run my fingers through her thick mane.
“She’s gorgeous,” I whisper, not sure if it’s to myself or to Grayson. When he’s quiet, I twist to face him, and he’s fixated on Maple and me.
“She sure is,” he says, and the responding flush crawling up my chest makes him smile.
“I’ve had her since high school, to answer your question, by the way. She was only a few years old when I got her.”
“Someone was selling her?” I ask, moving closer to Maple so I can run a gentle hand over her long neck. Her coat is smooth, soft, and I can feel the strap of muscle that runs down her neck into her large frame.
“Something like that,” he responds. “They were looking to get rid of her and I was at the right place, right time.”
I mentally do the math, wondering how old Maple is now. “How old are you?”
Grayson’s quiet for a second before our eyes meet briefly over the neck of the horse. “Thirty,” he says. I nod along.
“I’m thirty-three.”
He nods in agreement. “Figured, with all the fancy schooling and such you’ve had.”
I’ve never dated a man younger than me, or even my same age, really. I’ve always gone for older men, assumingthey’d be the mature ones or have their shit somewhat together.
So far, that hasn’t proven to be true.
“So, Maple would be around fifteen or so?” I wouldn’t have guessed she’s that old, but since I have zero idea how long a horse lives, I wouldn’t know where to start. Now that I know she’s a bit older, I notice the start of white hairs around her face, mostly her eyes. But she’s strong, healthy, a lifetime of love and care obvious in her frame.
“Fourteen,” he corrects, pulling out another sugar cube and offering it to Maple. “Horses are my favorite animal, I think.” His eyes rake over her gorgeous hair, and I wonder how much they have shared together. Fourteen years is a long relationship, whether it’s with another person or an animal. “They’re sensitive, horses. They can tell if someone is angry or upset. They’re good at knowing when you’re sad, worried. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve wandered in here after a bad day just to talk to her.”
Grayson moves around the barn, taking a bale of hay that has got to weigh more than I do and tosses it around like it’s a couch pillow. He pulls a pocket knife out to cut the twine that holds it together and shakes the hay free, making sure to spread it around for the others. He walks me through each step, explaining that the horses are let out to graze in the field during the day when theweather is nice, but they come into the barn at night for safety. He shows me where they get water, ensures they have enough grain, and when he’s satisfied the chores are done, he opens the wooden gate, moving through the pen and talking in that low, soothing voice again. The horses gather around him, as if they know where he’s headed. He maneuvers to the back wall of the barn, opens a lock, lifts a metal chain, and swings a heavy wooden door to the side. A beam of morning sun shines in, and the horses move past him, nearly fighting for freedom as they trot away.
A high pitched scream comes from behind me, and I gasp, jumping to the side, right in Grayson’s path. He grabs my shoulders for stability, preventing me from falling into what is surely a mix of hay and poop. “What was that?”
He laughs, standing me upright and settling his hand on my lower back before he moves us back to where Maple stands. “That’s Maple’s high-pitched whinny, saying ‘Get me the hell out of here.’” He chuckles, moving to stand next to the big animal before he gently takes the harness from her face. He gives her one last nuzzle as she steps to the side, turning toward my direction. I take two giant steps to the left, making sure to get the hell out ofher way, and watch as she picks up speed, running out of the barn to meet the other animals.
Chapter Seven
Holly
“So, I just stick my arm … underneath them?” I reach a hand out, eyeing the hen hesitantly. Her beady eye never falters and doesn’t leave my hand the closer I inch to her belly. “Do chickens blink?” I whisper over my shoulder, and when I turn, Grayson is still by the entrance to the coop with his back pressed against the screen door. He had freely walked in the pen with several giant horses, so seeing him practically cowering in the corner, away from the half dozen or so chickens that are lingering has me ripping my hand back, tucking it safely to my side. “Wait, why am I over here, ready to steal eggs from some helpless chicken, and you’re all the way over there?”
