Читать книгу Winning the Cowboy's Heart - Jeannie Watt - Страница 7
ОглавлениеCHAPTER THREE
THE NEXT MORNING Will drove Kylie to school in a haze. She’d missed the bus, but he’d skipped the usual lecture on responsibility and simply told her to hurry so he could get back home and start working the horses. He was fully booked and it took a good part of the day to put in his contracted time on each animal; after which he still had to clear the windfall branches and conduct a brand inspection for a horse sale.
“You okay, Dad?” Kylie asked when they reached the school. “I mean, you didn’t yell at me about the bus.”
“I’m fine. Just tired. I didn’t sleep very well.”
“Too much coffee, probably.”
“Probably. Behave, kid. And don’t miss the bus!”
She grinned and got out of the truck, oblivious to the fact that her jeans were getting too short and totally unaware that her father’s heart was squeezing tight as he watched her join a group of friends.
He pulled out of the lot and drove at the posted snail’s pace to the end of the school zone. He passed Kylie’s bus going in the opposite direction. The driver waved and Will forced himself to wave back, although he didn’t think it would have killed the driver to wait a few seconds while Kylie found her history book.
Right behind the bus was Regan’s small car.
So Kylie wasn’t the only one having time issues that morning.
He accelerated as soon as he was out of the safety zone, then made a conscious effort to slow down. With only a couple hours of troubled sleep, he wasn’t as alert as he should be.
Couple of hours? Probably more like thirty minutes. He’d finally dozed off just before the alarm rang. And then he’d been instantly awake and the worries had come crashing down on him.
Why the hell was Brett back?
It had been more than ten years since he’d last seen Brett and it had not been a happy parting. In fact, someone had had to call the sheriff and Will had barely escaped a night in jail. Brett had not.
They hadn’t spoken since that night. Brett had left town the next morning and that had been the last Will had seen or heard of his brother.
Now he was back. Why?
The thing that really set Will on edge was that he wasn’t quite sure about the legalities of his situation. He might be better off if he did know, but looking into those things meant opening a can of worms he was inclined to leave firmly closed. He wouldn’t do it—not unless he absolutely had to. Brett was a good eighty miles away at the moment and he’d better stay eighty miles away. If he didn’t, he’d be a sorry man.
REGAN PARKED in the only available staff space, some distance from the back door. She grabbed her work bag off the passenger seat and made a dash for the teachers’ entrance just as the bell rang. Flinging the door open, she ran smack into Pete.
“Ah, Miss Flynn,” he said, looking a bit like a satisfied bullfrog.
“Sorry I’m late.” She tried to speak calmly, even though she was winded from her sprint. “I had a problem this morning.” As in, an enormous elm branch on top of her new fence had stretched the wire and popped the staples; another large branch lay across her driveway, too big for her to do anything about. It had taken her almost fifteen minutes to work the first leafy monster free of the drooping fence wire. Even then she could have made it to work on time by driving around the branch that was blocking her drive, if her mother hadn’t called just as she was walking out the door. Claire she could put off, but not her mother.
“You do know it’s district policy to phone when you’re going to be late?”
Regan nodded and refrained from telling him she had called, but Mrs. Serrano had been away from her desk. No sense having Pete jump all over the secretary, too.
He gave Regan a stern look, then abruptly turned and stalked off on his standard morning hunt for marauding pranksters. Regan secretly wished the pranksters success as she unlocked her classroom.
It might have been the aftermath of the squid inquisition, or it might have been that the students were hoping for the appearance of new slimy specimens to use for various nefarious purposes, but, whatever the reason, they paid close attention to Regan’s lesson on classification. And she’d wisely opted to use an utterly benign material for this lab: leaves.
At first the kids seemed disappointed, but as the lab progressed the general mood became lighter—to the point where Regan began to wonder if Pete was going to find his car full of foliage when he left work that day. Once the thought had occurred to her, she issued a stern warning about the misuse of lab materials. The kids looked as if they were listening and a few even nodded after she spoke, but she’d taught for long enough to know that kids could look as if they were listening attentively and still not hear a word she said. All she could do at this point was hope for the best.
“Regan, what are you doing?” Tanya asked as she walked into the teachers’ lounge several hours later.
“Watching Pete’s car.”
“Do I want to know why?”
Regan turned back to the copy machine, which was happily churning out ninth-grade history work sheets.
“I’m trying to avoid trouble not of my own making.”
“I knew I didn’t want to know.” Tanya, a one-woman cleaning machine, went to the sink and started rinsing and drying coffee cups. “So why were you late this morning?”
“The wind blew a branch down on my fence and I had to get it off.”
“It couldn’t wait?”
“I needed to call the fence man, if it was damaged. He’s kind of a slow worker and I want to get Toffee home this weekend.”
“Was there that much damage?”
“Yes. I can’t tighten the stretched wire myself, so I called him. He’s going to try to get out there before the weekend.” She tightened one corner of her mouth. “Emphasis on try.”
Tanya gave her a sympathetic look just as Karlene, the girls’ PE teacher, came in and flopped down in a chair, blowing a few of her short brown curls off her forehead. “Ever have the feeling that you wanted to kill your boss?”
“Shh.” Tanya said. Pauline Johnson walked into the room just then, her high heels clicking on the tiles with metronomelike precision, the hem of her skirt hitting exactly midknee and her pale hair carefully lacquered into a French twist. She gave her colleagues a professional smile and went to check her mail. After sorting it, she marched over to the copy machine.
“Do you have many more?” she asked, indicating the masters Regan held in her hand.
“Two more sets.”
“We really need to have a schedule for this machine.”
“We pretty much have one,” Tanya pointed out. “We’re supposed to use it during our prep periods.”
“I’m talking about before and after school.” She gave a sniff as Regan positioned another master copy in the machine. “I’ll talk to Pete about this. I think it’s important.”
Regan stubbornly went on with her copying, in spite of Pauline’s impatient gaze boring into her back. Every school seemed to have a Pauline on its staff and Regan had plenty of practice dealing with them—her last school had had no fewer than three. One Pauline was no problem at all.
WILL DIDN’T GET ANY SLEEP that afternoon, though he’d promised himself he would. The day was simply too jam-packed. He put in an hour on each of the horses he was starting and he got the biggest branches piled up and ready to burn, the smaller ones left for Kylie to stack after school. Then Will got his inspection book out and headed to the Taylor ranch.
The Taylors had sold yet another overpriced horse, this time to a first-time horse buyer from Elko. The buyer seemed pleased as punch to pay double what the animal probably was worth. Will silently documented his inspection, noting the horse’s brand, sex, age, color and markings. He handed the book to Todd Taylor to sign, then peeled off the copies.
At least the animal was well trained, so the new owner wasn’t buying trouble. Todd paid the inspection fee, grumbling about the recent increase, which amounted to about one fifth of a percent of the purchase price. Will felt bad for him. Especially when he watched Mrs. Taylor drive up in her gleaming new SUV, waving as she eased the big machine into a three-car garage.
“So, how does Kylie like her teachers?” Todd asked after the garage door had closed.
“So far, so good.”
“Great.” Todd smiled. He continued to smile until Will gritted his teeth and asked the question he knew Todd wanted him to ask. “How’s Zach doing in football?”
Todd launched into a ten-minute spiel. Will nodded. A lot. And then finally managed to sidestep his way to his truck and reach for the door handle.
“Oh, you probably have to be going. Well, anyway, be sure to go to the game next Friday. Zach will be starting and I think you’ll see what I’ve been talking about.”
Will gave a noncommittal nod and got into his truck.
On the way home he took the loop, even though it added a couple miles to the trip, passing by Regan Flynn’s house to see what havoc the windstorm had wrought, wondering if she had a hole in her roof or other major damage that had caused her to be late that morning.
He didn’t see much wind damage—just a few scattered branches—and then he wondered just what the hell he was doing driving by her house in the first place.
Looking at the wind damage. Right.
He was curious about Regan Flynn.
Shit. As if he didn’t have enough trouble without adding to it in a way he’d promised himself he wouldn’t—at least not while Kylie was still living at home.
REGAN LIKED WORKING in Madison’s arena, even if it was a little pricey. It was well kept and in addition to the large covered arena there were several paneled work areas outside. Today she chose to work inside, since the wind was starting to blow again. She’d managed to drag the big branch off the drive before she left and was hoping there wouldn’t be another branch in its place by the time she got home.
“That’s quite an improvement,” Madison called almost an hour later, after Regan finished her last training pass of the day.
Regan eased Toffee to a halt and dismounted as Madison walked toward her, carrying a sheaf of papers in one hand and a cell phone in the other.
“He’s coming along,” Regan agreed, rubbing the gelding’s forehead. She’d spent a good forty-five minutes working him over both ground poles and a series of foot-high jumps, talking to him with her hands and her body and teaching him to yield to her cues.
“He likes the work,” Madison commented. “You used to show jump, didn’t you?”
“How’d you know?”
“After watching you ride a few times, I figured you had to have been in competition somewhere, so I Googled you.”
“I see.” Regan wasn’t sure that she liked being Googled.
“Do you have any plans to compete again?”
Regan smiled as she slipped the reins over Toffee’s head. He pushed her with his nose, nearly knocking her off balance. It was getting to be a habit. She put her hand on his nose and firmly pushed his head away before turning her attention back to Madison.
“Those days are long gone. I just want to ride for my own pleasure.” She started leading the horse toward the gate as she spoke, fighting to keep him from crowding her space. “Kind of a sanity saver, you know?” she said through gritted teeth, wishing Madison wasn’t there to witness the power struggle. When she was on Toffee’s back, there was no question as to who was in control. On the ground, he had both the height and the weight advantage, and he used them. He was very disrespectful.
“You might consider teaching a jumping class,” Madison said, eyeing the horse as she opened the gate for Regan, but saying nothing about the obvious. “People would be interested and I like to offer a variety of classes here at the arena.”
Regan gave a brief nod. She wouldn’t mind teaching a class, once she was settled into her real job. It would be a good way to meet people who didn’t have kids in school.
“All you have to do is book the times with me, charge the fees set on the arena rate chart and give the arena thirty percent of the proceeds.”
“Is that all?” Regan replied, thinking it sounded like highway robbery, since she’d seen the rate schedule.
“You’d have access to the jumps and all the other equipment, and I’d put you on the calendar of events, which goes out in the newspaper and over the radio.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You know,” Madison said as they reached the stall, “I’m putting on a training clinic next weekend. You’ve seen the advertisements, haven’t you? Del Gilbert and Will Bishop?”
It was impossible not to see them. They had appeared that morning and were plas-tered all over town—the grocery store, the post office, even the school.
“You, uh, might consider going.” Madison shoved the cell phone into her pocket and handed Regan yet another paper advertising the event. “I give a ten percent discount to people who board with me. All you have to do is bring this paper with you. There’s a discount code stamped on the bottom.”
“Thanks,” Regan said. “I had planned on going.” She’d never seen anyone start a horse from the ground up and she’d heard enough about Will’s abilities to be curious.
“It’s worth the fee,” Madison replied. Regan had a feeling she could have said she’d like to watch the tractor till the arena and Madison would have told her it was worth the fee.
“There’s something else. I was wondering how much longer you plan to board Toffee here. I’m getting calls from people who want a stall and I’m full up.”
“The fence was finished yesterday—just in time for the windstorm to bring a big branch down on top of it. I need to have the wire tightened again before I can bring him home.”
“Well, it shouldn’t take long to do that.” Madison spoke confidently, making Regan believe she’d never worked with contractors. “I’ll call Trev or Will about doing a brand inspection and make arrangements for one of them to haul Toffee to your house whenever they’re available.” Madison waved at a person who’d just walked in the stable door and then turned her attention back to Regan. “You don’t have a trailer, yet. Right?”
“Not yet. Do you think they’d mind hauling for me?”
Madison shook her head no.
“Great. I’ll pay them, of course. But I won’t be available on a weekday until after school hours.”
“When is that? Three o’clock?”
“Better make it four.” She knew Pete wouldn’t bend the rules for her and let her leave a little early.
“I’ll give you a call.”
“Thanks.”
Madison smiled a nice-to-do-business-with-you smile before walking down the aisle between the stalls, slipping clinic discount flyers under each of the nameplates.
Regan pulled her stall door open and Toffee all but walked over her in his hurry to get to his hay. She firmly smacked his chest with the flat of her hand. “No,” she told him. He stopped and let her take off the halter. As he walked away, Regan leaned against the edge of the door frame, admiring his lines and gleaming coat and wondering how on earth she was going to get him to respect her. She’d never handled a horse with no manners before and she knew she needed to do something about it.
With luck, the clinic would give her a place to start.
BY THE NEXT DAY it was obvious that, although Pete hadn’t fully given up on his squid-related prankster hunt, he was winding down. He stalked around the school scowling, almost a defeated man. But then, just after lunch, he received an ego boost of such massive proportions that it had to be shared with the staff in an emergency after-school meeting.
“This feels bad,” Tanya murmured behind Regan, as they entered the meeting room.
Pete did look remarkably smug, rocking on his heels at the podium and waiting for the staff to straggle in, most of them showing signs of irritation at having been pulled away from their after-school prep time. And most of them seemed to have an idea of what was coming.
Mr. Zeiger, the school superintendent, stepped to the front of the room. “I wanted to tell you, in person, that although Mr. Bernardi is doing better, he has decided to retire. The board met last night and rather than commence an employment search now, we’re going to continue with the current situation. Mr. Domingo will continue as acting principal until the end of the school year.”
Karlene raised her hand. “When will you advertise this job?”
“We’ll fly it in February and interview in March. The position officially begins in July. That’ll give the successful candidate a chance to tie up loose ends.” Zeiger gave Pete a small nod. “Unless, of course, he’s local.”
Pete’s chest swelled so much that Regan began to wonder how his buttons held. “Thank you, Mr. Zeiger.”
The superintendent smiled and then turned his attention back to the group. “On a more serious note, the Renshaw family is still dealing with some huge medical bills and they’re trying to avoid bankruptcy. Our schools are in good shape, financially, so the board has agreed that a percentage of the proceeds from our independent fall fund-raisers can be donated to this cause. Also, the high school’s FFA club is organizing an auction to be held in October, and there’ll be various bake sales and car washes, too. I know you’ll support these events as best you can.”
There was a general murmur of approval. Even Pete looked supportive.
“Who are the Renshaws?” Regan asked Tanya.
“They work for the district. Mr. Renshaw in the bus garage, and Mrs. Renshaw in the district office. Their daughter had to have a kidney transplant, and the insurance hasn’t covered everything.”
“I’ll want the individual faculties to vote and decide what percent of their fund-raisers, if any, to donate. And now I’ll turn things over to your principal.”
Pete took his place behind the podium as the superintendent stepped away. “That’ll be all for this afternoon,” he said, “but we’ll be having another short meeting tomorrow at
8:00 sharp, to discuss our own fund-raiser.” “Scary.” Regan said to Tanya, as they walked back to their classrooms. “He looked orgasmic.”
“He was orgasmic. He’s wanted this for a long time.”
“Maybe he’ll relax once he has the position.” Tanya rolled her blue eyes and Regan sighed. “I guess we’ll just muscle through this year and hope the board is smart enough not to make the appointment permanent.”
“We can hope, but never discount the good-old-boy network. I think Pete has a shot at this. Heck, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d already decided to shoehorn him in.”
“Because of his charismatic personality?”
“Because of the eight state football and basketball championships. School boards and ex-athletes in positions of power like that kind of stuff.”
WHEN REGAN ARRIVED at the arena on Friday afternoon to pick up her new horse, she found Madison preoccupied, anxious about some problem with the upcoming clinic and ready to take it out on the first innocent person who crossed her path. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, Toffee made it clear he had no intention of getting into a small two-horse trailer.
Regan had just spent a long day trying to keep more than 150 adolescents under control and she was in no mood to deal with either of these two. Fortunately, though, the brand inspector, a man named Trev Paul, had a way with both horses and women.
He was a good-looking man, dark and lean, with an easy smile, but it was his patience and the sense that he saw more than he acknowledged that most impressed Regan. Both Madison and Toffee responded well to his combination of easy humor and quiet determination, and in a surprisingly short amount of time, Regan was following his truck and trailer back to her place.
Once they were there, Trev unloaded Toffee and led him around the house to the pasture. It was obvious the gelding had no more respect for Trev than he did for Regan, but Trev was big enough to do something about it. He elbowed the horse out of his space more than once on the walk from the trailer.
“This boy needs some groundwork,” Trev commented, as he released the horse into the knee-high grass.
“Amen to that,” Regan muttered.
“Are you going to Madison’s clinic?” Trev pushed his ball cap back and Regan found herself staring into a pair of stunning hazel eyes.
“Sure am.”
“You might talk to Will or Del. I’d suggest Will, since he lives here and you won’t have to skip a rent payment to pay him.”
Regan laughed. “Speaking of payment, you’re sure you won’t take anything for hauling Toffee?”
“Nope.”
“Are you sure you can get your trailer out of this narrow driveway?”
“Yep.” He grinned. “See you around.”
Trev effortlessly reversed down the drive and made the tricky backward turn onto the county road in one shot. Regan hoped she’d be that competent once she bought a trailer, which would be in two years or so, the way things were going.
She had grading waiting for her, but instead of doing what she was supposed to be doing, she walked to the pasture to take another look at her horse. After all, how many times did a person get her first horse?
Her horse. Not a leased horse or a borrowed horse or a schooling horse.
He stood almost exactly where he’d been released, pulling up big mouthfuls of fresh grass, his dark coat shining in the late afternoon sun. Every now and then he would raise his head to look around, as if he couldn’t believe he had all this space, all this freedom—all this grass!—to himself.
With the exception of the grass, Regan knew exactly how he felt. She loved her mother and sister, but she was glad to be several hundred miles away from them and no longer required to act as a handy referee. And although dating Daniel had not put a crimp in her freedom, the aftermatch of their relationship had given her an an even deeper appreciation of independence.
Too bad it had been such a hard lesson.
Regan settled her forearms on the gate, telling herself to focus on the present, forget about the past, but she hated the fact that she’d been conned so masterfully—personally and professionally. She’d even broken a number of personal rules for him—don’t date a colleague, don’t let anyone get too close.
But after working with the guy for a year, team teaching a math and science pilot program at a middle school, she thought she knew him well enough to break those rules. They’d started dating and it had seemed a perfect relationship. They were close both personally and professionally, yet Daniel understood and respected Regan’s need to have her own space. He was supportive and attentive, generous. Almost perfect. Or so she thought.
Her professional goal at the time, heartily endorsed by her mother, Arlene, since it involved getting out of the classroom and into a power suit, was to secure a position with the Education Development Authority.
Over the course of that school year, she developed a package of innovative interactive lesson plans, which both she and Daniel used in their classes. With Daniel’s input, Reagan had fine-tuned the material. When EDA had announced a job opening, Regan was ready. But so was Daniel.
He’d been up front about the fact that he was applying for the job, as well. Regan had been a bit surprised, but she knew that was the way things were in the professional world. She convinced herself she didn’t have a problem with it. However she did have a problem with the fact that when it was her day to be interviewed, to present her materials and teach a demonstration lesson, it soon became apparent the interview committee had seen quite similar material before. The day before. During Daniel’s interview.
Maybe, if life was fair, neither of them would have gotten the job. But life wasn’t fair. Daniel had set the stage nicely, talking about his junior teaching colleague, Regan, who’d helped him tweak the lessons he’d spent so much time developing. It was only fair, after all, that she get a tiny portion of the credit.
At least Daniel had been smart enough to know that Regan would no longer be sharing his life after he’d accepted the job, so there had been no nasty breakup. Just a painful case of self-recrimination for trusting him, for almost convincing herself that she loved him.
She wouldn’t be making that mistake again.
WILL WENT THROUGH his equipment, setting aside the few things he planned to bring with him to the clinic. He didn’t need much. The horse would be there. All he needed was a sturdy halter, a rope, a saddle and a clear head. Three out of four wasn’t bad.
“Hey, Dad.” Kylie strolled into the barn, yawning but fully dressed and ready to go. The only time she got up willingly was when the day involved horses.
“Hey.”
She had on her good black cowboy hat, her T-shirt with a barrel racer emblazoned on the back and her new jeans, which were already getting too short. Shopping time again. He’d have to see if Sadie’s mom had a trip to Elko planned in the near future. No, maybe he’d take her himself. He didn’t want her in Elko without him just now.
“You look ready.”
She grinned at him. “So do you. Are you up first today?”
“Nope, second.” Del liked to go first. He was the headliner.
“Can Stubby come?” Both Kylie and the young border collie looked at Will hopefully.
Will shook his head. “Not yet.”
“He’ll behave.”
“He’ll eat the interior of my truck.”
“He didn’t eat much the last time.”
No. Just the gearshift knob, but Will wasn’t taking any chances. “Not this time.”
Kylie bent down to explain to the collie that he had to stay home, then she got into the truck as the pup slunk to the porch steps to watch them leave without him.
Will waited as Kylie fastened her seat belt and the surge of protectiveness he felt as he watched her small hands work the latch was almost overwhelming. He knew logically there was probably nothing to worry about, that Brett had been in the area for more than a month and he’d made no attempt to contact them, but paternal instinct and logic did not always jibe. In fact, in Will’s experience they rarely did.
“Ready?” Kylie’s dark eyes were shining with excitement. She loved any and all horse events—especially those that involved her dad. He smiled.
“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”
Kylie gave him a patient look. “I know you hate having all those people looking at you, but just imagine them in their underwear.”
“That’s a frightening thought, considering some of the people who will be there.” Kylie grinned. “I’d never thought of it that way. Do you think old Grandpa Meyers wears boxers or briefs?”
“Stop now.”
Kylie started giggling and Will put the truck in Reverse. The day was actually off to a decent start.
REGAN WAS THERE.
He’d been scanning the crowd, while Madison introduced Del, looking for his brother, just in case, when he spotted her on the opposite side of the arena. And then, since it kept his mind off his upcoming performance, he continued to watch her. He’d never seen her in jeans before, but they suited her. And he liked the way her chestnut hair was pulled back in a haphazard non-teacherish ponytail.
She had a notepad balanced on one thigh and from the moment Del stepped into the ring with his horse, her attention was focused on his performance. She jotted notes every couple of seconds, it seemed.
Will watched her as she wrote, wondering if she’d take notes on him, too. He told himself he’d check, but he knew that, once he was in the round pen with the mustang, all his attention would be focused there. It was the only way he ever got through public performances—by pretending the audience wasn’t there. Kylie’s classic underwear strategy didn’t work, primarily because of people like old Grandpa Meyers.
Lunch was the usual free-for-all, with the high school’s FFA club flipping burgers and people hustling Will and Del for free advice.
Just before it was Will’s turn to begin his afternoon performance, he eased away from the person he was talking to and approached Kylie and Sadie in the audience.
“Hey, would you guys do me a favor and stay here during the demonstration? In the front row?”
“Why?”
“I need some feedback and I want you to watch in order to give it.” He pulled the reason out of thin air, but it sounded good and he could see that Kylie liked it.
“Okay.”
“You won’t get bored and wander off?”
“Nope.”
“Good. I expect something constructive.”
“Be careful what you ask for,” Kylie quoted one of his favorite sayings. Will reached out, tapped the brim of her hat down and she laughed.
“Stay put,” he repeated.
WHEN MADISON ANNOUNCED the start of the final demonstration, Will walked to the center of the arena, his short chaps flapping just below his knees, his gaze down, so that it was impossible to see his face under the brim of the cowboy hat. But when he reached Madison, he tilted his hat back, gave a tight-lipped, well-here-I-am smile and looked as if he’d dearly love to be anywhere but where he was.
Madison talked about Will, his background and training strategies, but Will’s eyes were on the chute through which the mare would enter the round pen. There was some banging on the rails, as the horse was pushed into the paneled runway, then she emerged, her eyes round and wild.
She circled the round pen at a full gallop several times before coming to a stop at the side farthest away from the crowd. The rails were too high to jump, but she bunched up as if she was going to try. She continued to dance at the edge of the pen, desperately looking for a way out.
Will stood quietly until the mare threw him a wild glance over her shoulder and snorted. He took a slow step forward and the mare took off, galloping furiously around the pen, her hind feet kicking up divots and her attention outside the rails. Will moved to the center, pivoting as she circled, keeping his eyes on her, waiting for her to slow. When she did, he stepped forward quietly to get her moving again. This time her canter wasn’t quite as wild and every now and then she looked at the man in the center of the pen, trying to read him.
“What Will’s doing is controlling the mare’s movements—showing her that he is the lead animal, the boss,” Madison explained. Will also had a microphone clipped to his collar, but Regan wondered if he even had it turned on. “Horses want to know their place in the hierarchy of the herd and that’s what Will is establishing now. He’ll keep her moving, then give her an opportunity to stop when he wants her to stop.”
The demonstration continued, the crowd watched attentively as Will eventually approached the mare and then touched her. When she turned away from him, he set her moving again, repeating the pattern until she understood that he wouldn’t hurt her but if she didn’t hold still for him she’d have to run. And running was work.
Will continued approaching and backing off, asking her to allow him to do as much as she could tolerate, then releasing pressure by backing away for a moment. In the end, he was able to rub her all over, halter her and saddle her. Madison kept up a running commentary throughout the entire procedure.
Finally, Will stepped away from the mare and walked to the edge of the round pen. The mare followed. He ran a hand over her neck when she stopped, facing him.
“I’m not going to get on her,” he said, speaking for the first time since the start of the demonstration. “She’s done enough for one day. I hope I’ve been able to show you guys something during this demonstration. If there are any questions…?”
Several hands shot up and Regan leaned back in her seat as Madison began fielding the questions.
After the demonstration, Will was surrounded by people—mostly women, Regan noticed as she gathered her notebook and purse—and although he was polite, she had a feeling that like the mustang mare, all he wanted to do was escape.
WILL WATCHED REGAN LEAVE the arena over the head of a woman who was outlining her horse’s behavior in a rather long-winded manner. He redirected his attention and listened, thinking that this woman’s only problem was that she babied her animal. When he told her that, she wasn’t happy with the answer. She wanted her horse to mind her because he loved her, not because she was the boss. Will opened his mouth to tell her that horses were not wired that way, but instead he just nodded. If she’d sat through both his and Del’s presentations and hadn’t yet picked that up, then she was only going to hear what she wanted to hear. Some people couldn’t understand that affection and boundaries could actually go hand in hand.
When he’d answered his last question, he found Kylie in the front row where he’d left her. Sadie was gone, but another girl had taken her place.
“Honest,” she was saying to Kylie as Will approached. She suddenly noticed that Will was there. “I gotta go. See you tomorrow.”
“What’s that all about?” Will asked after the girl left.
Kylie frowned. “She said that she saw a guy who looked just like you in Elko yesterday.”
Will felt an instant tightening in his midsection, but before he could think of something to say, Kylie screwed up her forehead and said, “Gee, Dad. You don’t suppose it’s Uncle Brett, do you?”
