"And every time I get in the chute, my hands shake," Ryder lied. (They didn't shake, but the kid didn't need to know that). "Fear is just your body telling you to pay attention. It keeps you safe. But you can't let it be the boss. You have to be the boss."
Ryder looked toward the corral.
A mare was standing near the fence. Beside her was a foal—a three-week-old paint, wobbly and curious.
"See that baby horse?" Ryder asked.
Leo looked. He flinched. "He's big."
"He's a baby. He's scared too. Look at his ears. They're twitching. He thinks you're a monster."
"I'm not a monster," Leo said indignantly. "I'm a boy."
"He doesn't know that. He just sees a giant in red boots. He needs someone to tell him it's okay. You think you can help him?"
Leo looked at the foal. Then at Ryder.
"How?"
"Come with me."
Ryder stood up. He held out a hand.
Leo hesitated. Then, his small, sticky hand slid into Ryder’s large, scarred one.
The contact sent a shock through Ryder that nearly knocked him over.My son.
They walked to the fence.
The foal approached, curious.
"Don't reach out," Ryder instructed softly. "Let him come to you. Hands down. Knuckles forward. Let him smell you."
Leo stood frozen, his hand gripping Ryder’s so hard it hurt. He held his other hand out, trembling.
The foal stretched its neck. It sniffed Leo’s hand. Its velvet nose brushed the boy's knuckles.
Leo gasped.
"He's soft," Leo whispered.
"Yeah," Ryder said. "He's velvet."
The foal nudged Leo’s hand. Leo giggled. The fear vanished, replaced by wonder.
"I did it!" Leo beamed, looking up at Ryder. "I'm the boss!"
"You're the boss," Ryder smiled. He reached out and ruffled the boy's hair. It was soft, just like the foal.
For a moment, the world was perfect. No broken leg. No secrets. Just a father and a son at a fence rail.
Then, Ryder heard the car door slam.
He looked toward the driveway.
Elena was standing there. She was still in her scrubs, her bag in her hand.
She was watching them.
