He studied me for a long moment with dark blue eyes, the same deep blue as the spikes of lupine that bloomed all over the hillsides in spring.Then he turned without a word and headed toward the barn.
I followed.
There was something comforting about being inside a barn.I inhaled the scent of warm hay and horses and immediately my nerves settled.
Dawson moved down the aisle and stopped at a stall holding a stocky buckskin gelding."Meet Rio.He’s eight years old.I use him for ranch work and some arena events.He doesn’t spook.You should be safe with him."
"Perfect."
Dawson pulled the gelding out and cross-tied him in the aisle.I grabbed a brush from the nearby grooming kit and ran my hand along Rio's neck, feeling for tension.He stood there relaxed, his ears swiveling toward me.
"Do you need anything from my tack room?"Dawson leaned against the stall door, arms crossed.
"Not yet."
I worked the brush over Rio's coat in smooth, deliberate strokes, murmuring low enough that Dawson couldn't hear the words.The gelding’s breathing deepened.I moved to his shoulder, then his barrel, checking his stance and muscle tone.
Dawson watched without comment.
When I finished grooming, I unclipped the cross-ties and led Rio toward the indoor arena.Dawson followed a few paces behind.
Once inside, I turned Rio loose and let him move.He trotted a lap, snorted, then circled back toward me.I stepped into his space and rested my hand on his withers.He didn't flinch.
"Are you just going to stand there?"Dawson called from the rail.
"Patience isn't your strong suit, is it?"
"Not lately."
I grinned and vaulted onto Rio's back in one smooth motion.I didn’t need a saddle or a bridle, just my hands tangled in his mane and my legs finding balance.Rio startled half a step, then steadied.
I pressed my calves against his sides, and he moved into a walk.Then a trot.
Dawson straightened at the rail, his gaze fixed.He was giving me his full attention, and I’d always thrived in front of an audience.
I shifted my weight and Rio turned.Another shift and he stopped.I slid forward onto his neck, then pushed up into a crouch, and planted my feet along his spine.
Rio's ears flicked back, but he held steady.
I dropped into a seat and patted his neck.
Dawson's expression hadn't changed, but his hands gripped the top rail.
"Alright."His voice carried across the arena."You can use the stock.But we do this my way."
Satisfied I'd passed his unofficial test, I directed Rio toward Dawson."What's your way exactly?"
"My way means you don't touch the broncs.Not even to look at them sideways."Dawson's tone left no room for negotiation."You work with finished stock only… horses I clear.You schedule your arena time around mine.If I'm training, you wait."
"That sounds reasonable."It actually sounded like heaven compared to my last mistake… the one I’d be paying for forever, or at least for the foreseeable future.
"You don't adjust tack, feeding schedules, or turnout rotation.You want something changed, you ask me first."
I slid off Rio's back and led him toward the rail."Got it, boss.Anything else?"
"Yeah."Dawson's gaze dropped to my hands tangled in the gelding's mane, then back to my face."You get hurt, that's on you.I'm not responsible for broken bones or bruised egos."
I rolled my eyes."I've been doing this since I was sixteen.I know how to fall."
