The Law of Moses (The Law of Moses, #1)(85)

“Horses reflect the energy of the people in the session. Did you see how down Joseph was? How quiet? Did you see how Sackett stuck his head in there and practically laid it on his shoulder? And did you see how aggressive Lori was? She gave Lucky a little push and he pushed her right back. Not hard. But then he stayed in her space. Did you see that? It’s subjective, I get that. But there’s something to be said for going head to head with a 1200 pound animal, moving it, leading it, riding it. It’s incredibly empowering for people who have relinquished the power in their lives to drugs, alcohol, sex, illness, depression. Or in the case of kids . . . to those who have power over them, to those who control their lives. We work with autistic kids a lot. The horses unlock those kids. Everything that’s bottled up seems to loosen up. Even the movement, the gentle rocking motion, connects with people on an elemental level. It’s the same motion we feel when we walk. It’s like we become one with something so powerful, so big, that for a moment we take on that sense of supremacy.”

“I thought you were going to be a vet. Wasn’t that the plan?” Moses asked quietly, cleaning his brushes as I finished up with the horses.

“I grew up watching my parents work with animals and work with people. And after Kathleen died and you left, I didn’t want to do rodeo anymore. I didn’t even want to be a vet. I wanted to figure out how to unlock you, just like I saw so many others be helped.”

“Unlock me?” Moses looked shocked.

“Yes.” I met his gaze frankly, but I couldn’t hold it. Honesty was hard. And incredibly intimate. “So that’s what I did. I got a degree in psychology. And then I got a master’s degree on top of that.” I shrugged. “Maybe one day you’ll have to call me Dr. Georgia. But to tell you the truth, I’m not interested in doling out prescriptions. I’d rather just train horses and help people. I don’t know how I would have survived the last two years without my work.”

He was quiet for a minute, and I didn’t dare look at him.

“Are horses really that smart?” he asked, and I gladly let him change the subject. I didn’t especially want to talk about myself.

“I think smart is the wrong word, although they are intelligent. They are incredibly aware. They mimic, they react. And we only have to watch them to find clues about ourselves. And because of that, horses can be powerful tools. A horse will run a half mile out of blind fear. Nothing else. They aren’t thinking while they run. They’re just reacting. Dogs, cats, people— we’re all predators. But horses are prey. Not predators. And because they’re prey, they are instinct-based, emotion-based, fear-based. They are very in tune with heightened emotion, wherever it comes from. And they react accordingly.”

Moses nodded, as if he was buying what I said. He walked toward me and the horses didn’t react at all. He was calm. They were calm.

“Come here,” I insisted, beckoning him closer. I suddenly wanted to show him.

“Georgia. You remember what happened last time,” Moses protested, but he kept his voice soft.

“Hold my hand.”

He reached forward and slipped his fingers through mine, palm to palm, and I took a step toward the horses.

“Are you afraid, Moses?” It made me think of that first time, when I’d taunted him to pet Sackett. But I wasn’t taunting him. Not at all. I wanted to know how he was feeling.

“No. But I don’t want them to be afraid.” He looked at me. “I don’t want you to be afraid.”

“I’m not.” I answered immediately. I heard Lucky whinny behind me and Sackett snorted as if he doubted the veracity of my claim.

“You are,” he said.

“I am,” I admitted on a sigh. “This is important to me. So I’m nervous.” And as soon as I owned it, the fear left me. I reached for his other hand so that we stood facing each other, our hands locked.

“We’re just going to stand right here, and you’re going to hold my hands,” I said.

Moses put his chin down on his chest and took a deep breath.

“What?” I asked softly.

“I feel like a child. I don’t want to feel like a child with you.”

“I don’t see you that way.” Truer words were never spoken. His hands engulfed mine and the contact was heady, almost to the point that I wanted to close my eyes so the room wouldn’t spin.

“Okay. Then I don’t want you to see me as someone you need to fix.”

I shook my head, but I felt the swell and pull of grief expanding my chest and stinging my eyes and was grateful for the shadowed arena that we stood in the center of. The sun was almost down and light dappled the perimeter with soft squares of sunset gold, but the center where we stood was dark and I could feel the horses behind me waiting, patiently waiting, always waiting. Their soft huffs and knickers were a solace to me.

“I never wanted to fix you. Not ever. Not the way you mean.”

“How then?”

“Back then, I just wanted you to be able to love me back.”

“Cracks and all?”

“Don’t say that,” I protested, hurting the way I always did when I thought about the way his life began.

“It’s the truth, Georgia. You have to come to terms with who I am. Just like I did.” His voice was so low and soft that I watched his lips so I wouldn’t miss anything.