Fractured Sky (Tattered & Torn #5)(9)

Sky moved into my space as if to say: “Hurry up, already.”

My mouth curved, and I slid the bridle on. She accepted the bit without complaint. I didn’t bother with a saddle. Didn’t want to take the time. Instead, I stood on the edge of the trunk outside her stall and hoisted myself onto Sky’s back.

We fit each other perfectly. As if we’d always been destined for partnership. I patted her neck and started towards the barn doors. I caught sight of my dad in one of the pastures. His gaze cut straight to me, and that familiar concern lined his face.

I shoved down the annoyance and guilt and steered Sky towards the forest. The path was one we knew by heart. I didn’t even have to guide her now. It wasn’t a short route. It took us thirty minutes, at least, to get where we were going, but the ride was a beautiful one. The mountains peeked out from between endless forests, and one spot had the perfect view of the lake just outside of town. Each moment of peace and beauty helped ease the worst of my edginess.

Sky’s ears twitched at sounds I couldn’t yet hear. Sky picked up her pace when Ramsey’s back pasture came into view. She loved seeing his horses.

I did, too. They were magnificent. And I’d seen him bring many of them back from a state I’d thought there would be no recovery from. Every single horse had a story. They, themselves, were a blanket of stars—pinpricks of hope on the darkest nights.

The horses greeted us with whinnies. A few trotted along the fence line, following us. But most simply kept grazing. They’d become accustomed to my presence since I’d first shown up here, hoping for a glimpse of the man I’d heard could heal even the most broken horses.

I guided Sky around paddocks and pastures until we reached our ridge. Ramsey was already in the round pen as if he’d known I would need this today.

I slid off Sky’s back, taking him in as I did. He had his long, dark hair tied back in a knot with some sort of leather cord. My fingers itched to pull it free and know what it felt like. It was a ridiculous thought for someone who couldn’t bear to feel another person’s skin against hers.

Even at ten years my senior, the only signs of his age were slight lines in the tan skin around his eyes. Those eyes locked with mine now—a brown so dark they were almost black. The kind of eyes you could get lost in and never emerge from. Onyx eyes. I swallowed hard as I sat on the lush grass.

Ramsey turned his focus back to the horse. The gelding eyed him warily, even after the progress they’d made yesterday. Ramsey never took it personally, though. He went through the same steps over and over until the horse was ready to move on to its next phase.

I watched him move in slow, easy motions, reintroducing the horse to his hands and the training flag. As he covered more of the gelding, moving to his back and hindquarters, I couldn’t help the urge to move closer.

Maybe it was the knowledge that I was finally free that stoked my bravery. But for the first time, I walked towards the round pen.





4





RAMSEY





My skin prickled, an awareness and phantom energy washing over me as I stroked the gelding’s back. My gaze pulled to the ridge. But Shiloh wasn’t there. It was the flash of her long braid in the breeze that cued me into her new location.

My breath caught in my throat at seeing those light blue eyes close-up. They could steal every last semblance of sanity from a man’s brain. I froze, standing stock-still.

Shiloh didn’t say a word, just watched from her seat on the ground right outside the pen. Her gaze locked on my hand on the horse’s back. He twitched in place, and I let a few silent curses fly.

I wasn’t easily distracted. I prided myself on my focus and ability to tune out the rest of the world when I worked with the horses. My jaw clenched as I zeroed in on the task at hand. But I was aware of my dog making his way over to her—the traitor.

Sliding my palm across the gelding’s back, I gave him a good scratch. He pushed against my hand, wanting more of the contact. That hunger for connection was a good sign. I backed away, reaching for the blanket on the fence rail. The horse shied away from me a few steps.

I stood where I was, rubbing my hand against the fabric. I wanted him to see that he had nothing to fear. I waited for the shift—the one I could feel from across the pen. The one that meant an easing in his energy. As soon as I felt it, I stepped forward.

The gelding’s gaze locked on the colorful, woven blanket. It was one of my favorites. Made by a local woman, it reminded me of a sunset—the colors of a brightly painted sky. Slowly, I lifted the blanket and let the horse sniff it. It was freshly laundered, so it didn’t have the scent of any other animals.

He inhaled and then huffed out a breath.

“See, nothing to worry about.” I lifted the blanket to his neck and rubbed gently.

The horse braced himself at first, muscles locked and seemingly ready to bolt. But as no pain came, he eased a bit. The gelding’s acceptance of the something new happened in slow shifts. I lost track of time in the dance. There was only him and me.

Finally, he stood in a relaxed posture, the blanket on his back as I scratched behind his ears. “Not so bad, right?”

The gelding’s ears twitched.

“All right, enough for today.” I pulled the blanket from his back and moved to the fence. My steps hitched a bit as I caught sight of Shiloh again. She didn’t move from her seat as I slid between the rails and placed the blanket back on the top.