Pat Warren - Her Kind Of Cowboy

Over and over, Jesse crowded him, closer and closer, and each time, the stallion would back away. Abby drew in a nervous breath as Remus reared back, pawing the air, but Jesse moved quickly out of harm’s way. She couldn’t help wondering if he’d ever gotten hurt working with wounded horses.

After a few more encounters, Jesse stopped, speaking softly to the horse, then left the pen and joined her by the fence.

“You have a way with horses,” she told him, knowing there were plenty of men who’d never get in a pen with a horse like Remus.

Jesse hung the coiled rope on a post. “And you have a way with children.” He motioned toward the little schoolhouse. “That’s a lot of kids to keep in line.”

“I’ve always liked children.” She glanced at Remus standing at the far end, watching them warily. “I’m curious. Why a round pen?”

Jesse shrugged. “It’s going to sound obvious and silly, but often when you work a horse and he wants to escape, he heads for one of the corners and you have to tug and coax him away. In a round pen, there’s nowhere to hide. And I don’t have to butt heads with him over it.”

“That makes sense.”

There was precious little moonlight, which was why he’d hit the lights. Turning, Jesse leaned his back against the rail and looked her over. She was wearing a soft-blue shirt over tan slacks and her hair was hanging loose around her shoulders. Her eyes were that incredible cornflower blue that he remembered so well. Like he remembered how they’d darken when he’d touched her, loved her.

He jerked his attention back to the horse. “Casey tells me Remus had been mistreated when you found him. How’d you get him over that?”

“It wasn’t easy. That was why I was so upset when he got burned. He’s already been through so much.” She scooched up and sat on the top railing, her feet on the second rung. “Mostly I was just gentle with him, helping his wounds to heal, letting him get to know me and realize I was no threat to him. His previous owner, a big, burly man, made a contest out of it, demanding dominance to satisfy his own ego, so his neighbors told me. Then he abandoned him and moved on.”

“Some people should never own horses. Common sense isn’t as common as you might think.” He smiled at her. “You may have a career as a horse whisperer.”

“Mmm, I doubt that. I saw you work Remus earlier this afternoon. I’ve never seen such patience.”

“That’s what it takes. You’ve got to stand steady. If you move fast or demonstrate too much energy, the horse will bolt. I’ve learned to stop, breathe slowly and deeply, to visibly relax so he can see that. Horses are attuned to instincts as much as voice and actions. He instinctively knows that if I’m relaxed, I’m no danger to him. Even tonight, although I pressed him with the rope, I didn’t capture him with it.”

Abby was listening on two different levels: the first, all about Remus, the second the struggle inside her about the familiarity of this man. His voice had the same timber as the old Jesse. How could that be?

She cleared her throat. “So now he’s used to your scent and knows you’re no threat. What is the next step?”

“To get him to allow my touch, to learn some simple commands and follow them.”

“He’s pretty high-spirited.”

“That’s fine and you want some of that. But he also has to learn to interact with people and other horses.”

A light breeze shifted a lock of Abby’s hair and settled it on her cheek. Jesse’s hand half raised to brush it back when he stopped himself. He hadn’t the right to touch her, not yet. Maybe not ever.

Now that he had her here, he searched his mind about how best to tell her the truth. Before he could speak, Abby interrupted his nervous thoughts.

“How do you go about breaking a horse? For years I’ve watched how they do it here and I’m not real happy with their methods.”

Jesse took a step closer to where she sat, inhaling her soft floral scent. “The original horse whisperer, the man who taught my father, and then later Dad taught me, didn’t believe in breaking horses. He called it starting them or joining up, as the horse joins with man. That sort of communication results in the horse voluntarily cooperating.”

She wondered if his short beard would feel soft or prickly, then chided herself for her roving thoughts. “We have this mare that absolutely won’t take the bit, won’t cooperate at all. Dad got her from a friend in a trade. No one can seem to get through to her. I don’t suppose you’d want to give it a try?” Then she quickly thought better of the request. “Oh, but, I shouldn’t ask since that’s not why you’re here.”

“I’d like to try. I can’t work with Remus all day. You work a little, then let him rest and remember what he’s learned. Then go back and try again.” He smiled up at her. “Keep in mind, though, that I’m not a magician.”

“Absolutely. I just wondered if there was a better way. I hate the idea of dominating any animal, making him give up his will to suit ours. It seems wrong.”

“I think it is. Along the way, the owner gets frustrated, which can cause him to hurt the horse he’s trying to grind down into submission. The male ego is the cause of most horse cruelty.”

She smiled down at him. “And as a man, you don’t have a problem admitting that?”

“No, because I’m not one of those men.”

“I’m glad you explained things to me.” She had no reason to linger and should probably go in.

Jesse held out his hand to help her down.

Feet on the ground, her eyes went to his big hand that all but swallowed hers. Suddenly, her heart picked up a beat as something familiar caught her eye.

There on his thumb was an X, a scar she remembered. Jesse Hunter had told her he’d gotten cut on a barbed wire fence when he was only ten, leaving a clear scar in the shape of an X. How could two men with the same first name have so similar a scar?

Still gripping his hand, Abby’s eyes rose to his, questions swimming in them. “This scar…it can’t be! But it is. You and Jesse Hunter, you’re one and the same!”

Disbelief and shock had her trembling as the truth slammed into her. “Oh, God!”

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