A full minute goes by. Then another. I brace myself on the fence and try to keep my weight off the ankle.
Riot tosses his head and paws at the ground once.
She doesn't move.
He takes a step in. Drops his nose a bit, then jerks it back up, trying to startle her. She still doesn't move. He circles her in a wide lazy arc, and she turns only as much as she needs to keep him in her peripheral vision.
She says something in a low voice, but I can't hear the words from where I'm standing.
Riot's ears come up one at a time. Not both at once—that'd be too much surrender. Then he takes another step.
She opens her hand at her side, palm up.
And in moments, he closes the distance in three slow steps, drops his head, and fits his muzzle into her palm like he's sliding a key into a lock.
I’m shocked.
In all my years with this horse, I've watched him take a chunk out of a stunt coordinator for standing too close on day one of a shoot. I've watched him chase an award-winning actor around his trailer because the guy smelled weird. I've watched him refuse to let a veterinarian in his stall until he was presented with a bucket of his favorite molasses biscuits.
He doesn’t close his eyes the way he is now, while she scratches under his cheek. He doesn’t lip at her belt and nose toward her pockets.
He doesn’t trustanyonethis fast.
Except, apparently, this woman.
I’m not gonna lie. I was not prepared for this. It scares me a little.
And there goes my heart again.
Riot exhales into her palm. A long, slow breath that shows he's decided she's safe.
Laurel smiles at the side of his face. It’s damn pretty.
"Well," I manage to say, because I have to saysomethingor I'm going to drown out here in broad daylight. "If you're this good with difficult males, maybe you could fix me, too."
She continues to stroke Riot’s face with two hands, and doesn't look up. "Out of my pay grade."
The laugh comes out rougher than I mean it to.
She murmurs something against the horse’s neck, and then turns and walks back toward the gate like she hasn't just performed a miracle in mere minutes.
She latches the gate behind her, and breezes past me with a nod. “I’ll go grab my bags,” she says, heading up the slope toward her truck.
I stand at the fence with my busted ankle and my dumbstruck heart and watch her go…from the sway of her hips to the little puffs of dust her boots kick up in the grass. And behind me, Riot comes up and noses the back of my shirt.
"Yeah," I tell him. "I like her, too."
He huffs against my spine.
She reaches the truck, pops the driver's door and leans in.
Her sweet ass taunts me.
I groan and shake my head.
Riot flicks an ear.
"What the hell am I going to do with myself?" I say.
