Intent(23)

“Daddy,” River laughs, “I’m your only girl.”

“That’s right. I forgot,” Ace replies.

“Laynie can be your girl. She’s so pretty,” River suggests.

My cheeks immediately heat and an uncomfortable current is palpable in the air around us. Justin tries to contain his smile but his eyes give him away. “You’re prettier, River,” I counter and change the subject as quickly as possible.

“What are you doing here, Squirt?” Justin asks.

“I wanted to see my daddy, Uncle Justin, so Laynie brought me.”

“Your daddy?” he asks, exaggerating his displeasure. “I thought for sure you came to see me.”

“Nah.” She shakes her head nonchalantly before laying her cheek on Ace’s shoulder.

We all laugh at her innocent candor and I watch River and Ace together. He squeezes her tighter into him, protectively and lovingly, and kisses her head. The gesture is just so heart-melting to watch, and he obviously loves his precocious daughter more than life itself. The bond between them is unmistakable and I find myself feeling envious of it. Not because of the way he loves his daughter, but because I’m so desperate for a child to love myself.

“Looked like you were having a little trouble with Frankie,” I remark and nod toward the round pen.

One corner of Ace’s mouth lifts in amusement before he replies. “Yeah, I don’t think he likes me quite as much as he likes you.”

“Why don’t you go try?” Justin asks.

“Man, I don’t know about that,” Ace interjects before I can reply.

“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind trying,” I volunteer. “He does seem to like me.”

An odd glance passes between Ace and Justin, momentarily making me doubt my decision. But then Justin points toward the round pen and smiles warmly as he says, “Let’s see what you got, Layne. Show Ace how it’s done.”

Feigning confidence I don’t really feel, I walk toward the round pen. Just as I get to the gate, Justin reaches around me to open it for me. “Let me help you with that.”

“Thanks, Justin.”

Frankie is watching me carefully as I enter the pen, but he’s standing on the complete opposite side. His rear is partially turned toward me, telling me he’s leery of my presence, and the whites of his eyes are clearly visible, telling me he’s frightened. To try to avoid scaring him even more, I slowly move to the side of the pen and sit on the top rail of the panel. Watching Frankie takes me back to that day just a few weeks ago when he approached me in the pasture. He seemed like a completely different horse then.

I was sitting on a large rock, my heart breaking all over again as the images of Bobby and Cyndi played on a loop in my mind. The words that were spoken, the shattered and tattered mess that was left of me as I walked out of his apartment, and the feeling of complete and utter defeat covers me again as I sit here. It’s like a thick blanket that nearly suffocates me and makes it hard to catch my breath.

With all my might, I swallow the lump in my throat that threatens to erupt into a sob, or maybe even a guttural scream. Blinking back the tears, I stare at the ground and try to get my racing heart and shallow breathing back under control. The soft, velvety kiss to my cheek startles me out of my haze, and I look up and see the most beautiful brown eyes—full of compassion, understanding, and empathy.

Frankie’s soft muzzle brushes my cheek again after I reach up to scratch behind his ear. “Hello, handsome,” I whisper to him. “You need love, too, don’t you?”

Frankie stands still as I slide off the rail and step into him. His head goes over my shoulder, as if he’s hugging me, and I wrap my arms around his neck. While I continue to whisper soothing words to him, my fingers drag back and forth across his slick coat in my way of conveying love and acceptance. He huffs softly and he hangs his head even lower, and I’m convinced he understands the meaning behind what I’m doing.

“Layne, do you want to brush him?” Ace asks softly from behind me.

Without releasing Frankie, I turn my head slightly and look over at Ace. He’s still on the outside of the pen, but his arm is outstretched toward me with a brush in his hand. I take it from him and begin brushing Frankie from my current spot, down his throat and chest as far as my arm will reach. I’m not ready to lose this connection, and I sense Frankie isn’t either. He didn’t move when Ace approached. He didn’t move when I took the brush. He hasn’t moved since I started brushing him. If anything, he seems more relaxed and very content.

After I switch hands, I brush the other side of his neck and chest in the same way. Just from watching his contentment, it helps me to release the anxiety that almost consumed me. Taking one step to the side, I keep my free hand on him so I don’t lose our link and start brushing his side. Long minutes pass as I work my way all the way around him. One stroke at a time, sometimes using calming words and sometimes just using my touch, I brush every inch of him. By the time I finish, I feel tears of joy pricking the back of my eyes.

It’s been far too long since I’ve felt happiness like this.

I miss it.

“Hand me the brush and take this lead. Clip it to his halter, just under his chin,” Ace instructs softly. I do as he says and hold the lead rope in my hand. “Just walk him around the pen and see how he does.”