I glance briefly toward Red without turning my head. He reads it instantly, shifts one step to the left to block the open aisle without making it obvious.
Willy subtly moves the other direction, giving the horse space but removing options.
The gelding’s breathing stutters, then slows by a fraction. His ears flick toward my voice.
Now.
I lift one hand, palm out, low and non-threatening. “Come on, big guy. Let’s reset.”
I take a single step back. He hesitates.
Then tentatively takes one step toward me.
“That’s it,” I say softly. “Good choice.”
Another step.
I don’t reach for him until his neck drops, just a little, tension easing out of the line of his back. When I do, my hand settles against his shoulder. I’ve been there all along.
His breath huffs warm against my arm.
“It’s over,” I murmur. “You made it.”
Red steps in only when I nod, retrieves the dangling halter, smooth and unhurried. The gelding barely reacts as it’s slipped back into place.
Emmett lets out a breath he’s clearly been holding. “Holy shit.”
Willy grins. “That was pretty.”
I finally exhale.
“Smoke stress,” I say, giving the horse one last steadying pat. “They don’t forget for a while.”
Red studies the gelding, then me. “Didn’t raise your voice.”
“No need,” I reply. “He was listening.”
Red’s nod hangs there, a period at the end of a sentence nobody’s quite ready to move on from.
Then Willy ruins the moment, because of course he does.
“So,” he says casually, hopping down from the fence and dusting off his jeans, “you gonna tell us about the woman now, or we pretend that was all just professional adrenaline?”
Emmett perks up immediately. “So thereisa woman?”
I close my eyes.
This is what I get for competence. People assume intimacy follows.
“I didn’t say there was—” I start.
Willy arches a brow. “Doc, you just soothed a half-feral gelding with your voice. You don’t get to lie badly on top of that.”
Red doesn’t smile, but his gaze sharpens. “You’re not usually this scattered.”
“That’s not true,” I mutter. “I’m frequently scattered. It’s part of my charm.”
I scrub a hand over my face, fingers catching on sweat-damp hair. The barn smells of hay and leather and warm animal bodies, but it’s not enough to keep my thoughts where they belong.
