He’s listening. She mounts smoothly, no hesitation, no tightening. The saddle settles. The colt flicks an ear back toward her, then forward again, like he’s checking in and filing it away.
They move off at a walk. I expect the tension he normally displays. It never comes.
Nicole keeps her hands light, barely there. She doesn’t micromanage him. Doesn’t correct what doesn’t need correcting. When Red Ledger hesitates, she doesn’t push. She waits and the waiting works.
Several minutes pass. They circle the pen, rhythm steady, the colt’s body loosening with every pass. When she asks for a transition, it’s subtle enough that I almost miss it, but Red Ledger doesn’t. He responds without protest or panic.
I’m watching trust between these two, built in real time. When she cues him into a canter, my breath catches. The horse’s movement isn’t flashy. It’s controlled.
The colt moves into it like he’s been waiting for permission. He’s not forcing speed, just moving in a balanced and willing way.
I’ve spent a lot of money trying to get that result. Nicole didn’t force it. Sheinvitedit.
They go another round, then another. When she brings him back down, Red Ledger doesn’t fight it. He comes willingly, blowing out a breath that fogs faintly in the cool air.
She pats his neck only once. I realize something then, watching them. Nicole isn’t training him to perform. She’s training him to trust what comes next.
My hopes for this colt nearly bolt out of me at this point. Because I know what it’s like to be pushed before you’re ready. To be handled like potential instead of reality. To learn that anticipation is safer than hope.
Nicole swings down and leads him toward the gate, her hand resting easy against his shoulder. Red Ledger follows like he’s chosen to, not because he has to.
Whatever she’s doing with that horse, it’s working. And whatever’s happening between us, whether I like it or not, is moving at the same pace. The feeling creeps up on me quietly.I know it’s not intentional. But it’s harder to walk away from by the minute.
Chapter 10
Nicole
Idon’t rush Red Ledger once we’re done. I walk him out slow, reins loose, waiting until his breathing settles back into something steady. The horse is already damp with sweat when I swing him down into a long, easy walk.
I loosen the reins a fraction, letting him stretch his neck. His ears flick back toward me, then forward again. I turn the horse toward the gate and let him coast to a stop.
“Good,” I murmur. “You did so good.”
I swing down, landing in the dirt with a soft thud. The horse shifts, then settles again when I gather the reins.
I glance toward the open side of the arena. Harrison is there, leaning on the fence post just outside the gate, waiting like he is giving me the choice to invite him closer or not.
The sun is behind him, and it turns his shoulders into a dark shape against the light. He looks really handsome — the model cowboy. His eyes land on Red Ledger first. Then they move to me.
“That was really something, Nicole. Red Ledger is coming around.”
His voice does something to me. There’s real warmth in his praise.
Harrison’s gaze drops to my boots and then up to the dust on my knees. He looks back up, and his face tells me he is trying not to look too long. His restraint seems deliberate.
I walk the horse toward the gate, and Harrison steps aside to unlatch it. The gate swings open, held by calloused hands that could just as easily have left me to manage it myself. Something is different about him, subtle as a horse's ear twitch but just as telling.
Red Ledger blows out another breath and lowers his head like he knows he has earned his exit. Harrison reaches out, then hesitates, as if he is not sure whether he is allowed. He settles for running his hand down the horse’s neck instead, slow and thoughtful.
“Never seen him do that,” he says, voice lower now.
“Do what?”
He nods toward the horse’s relaxed posture. “Be … calm, yet controlled.”
I keep my expression neutral, but satisfaction fills me.
“He is not a bad horse, Harrison.”
