I let another minute pass, then slowly rise, careful not to startle. Red Ledger steps back, but only a stride. His eyes stay fixed, not on my hands, but my face. That’s the part that gets me. Most horses, if they look at your face instead of your hands, they’re ready for a real conversation.
I don’t touch him and don’t believe I need to. I just let him read me, as if he’s waiting for me to betray my nature and not finding it doesn’t happen.
I step away first, toward the gate, and only then do I glance up to the window where Harrison waits. He’s there, arms folded, eyes fixed on me. For a second I feel my pulse skip, the way it sometimes does before a horse cracks wide open and shows you their big heart inside.
After a while, I step back and open the gate. The colt doesn’t bolt. He follows, slow, deliberate, like he’s considering an invitation instead of escaping a boundary.
That’s enough for today.
Red Ledger stands by the open gate, his weight balanced as if ready to step into something unknown, but not afraid. Ihold the halter at my side, loose. The handler looks at me with question.
“I’ve got him,” I say, and approach Red Ledger. He’s not aggressive, just uncertain. I show him the halter, slow and open, then pause, reading his body. He doesn’t pin his ears, doesn’t flinch. I wait for him to show willingness. There, he does it.
I slip the halter over his nose in one smooth motion, buckling it before he can second-guess the decision. Then I pause and barely let my fingertips graze the velvet dip between his eyes.
“You are perfect,” I whisper.
The handler stares at me like he’s never seen this before, probably because he hasn’t. Red Ledger leans into my hand, not enough to demand anything, but enough to say, I like you.
I motion for his handler to follow me as I lead the colt back to the stable. I want to brush him, feed him, and care for him … but only for a while. I give a nod as we walk to Harrison, indicating he should follow and meet us.
When I return Red Ledger to his stall, Harrison is already there. He looks at me differently than he did yesterday.
“Didn’t look like much,” he says carefully.
“It wasn’t,” I agree. “That’s the point.”
He nods once. “You always start like that?”
“With horses that have been pushed,” I say. “Yes.”
“I’ve got to get back to the ranch. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says.
“I’ll be here,” I reply.
He leaves without looking back. Settling the colt into his stall, I show his handler how to bond better with the horse by setting the example.
“Watch, please. Between you and I, this horse must learn to trust.”
With a horse like Red Ledger, that’s where everything begins.
Chapter 5
Harrison
The road home is straight and empty, the kind of Oklahoma stretch that invites thinking whether you want it to or not. I roll the window down an inch, and let the late-morning air cut through the truck’s interior. Red dirt, dry grass, fencing that runs forever. This is my familiar ground. I’m about thirty minutes from the track, from Red Ledger, and from Nicole. Too close for comfort, maybe.
I keep one hand on the wheel, the other resting against my thigh, thumb tapping once every few seconds. It’s a habit I picked up without realizing it. Happens when my mind won’t settle.
I’ve never seen that horse stand like that before. Calm isn’t the right word. Red Ledger isn’t calm. He’s alert, always … and wired. But today — today he wasdifferent,like he wasn’t waiting for the next correction to come crashing down on him. He trusted her.
He’s never reacted that way with me … or the last trainer I hired. That man talked too much and was always trying to forcea result instead of listening for one. I paid him well to rush a horse that wasn’t ready, and I’d known it even then. I just didn’t stop it.
Nicole did something different. She didn’tdomuch of anything at all. She stood there. Let the horse make a decision instead of forcing him for hesitating. That kind of patience isn’t taught in manuals. It’s learned the hard way, usually after someone or something breaks.
The image of her in the round pen flashes back. The way she crouched, eyes averted, body open without fear or challenge. She seemed to exude a calm certainty. I’d felt it from where I watched.
The ranch gate comes into view, the familiar metal curve catching the sun. The land stretches out beyond it, wide and predictable with cattle grazing where they’re supposed to. This part of my life makes sense. Women don’t. I have to stop thinking about Nicole.
