Page 33 of Stables Spurs Suits
He walks back over to Frigg and opens her stall before unclipping her lead rope from the side. Unlike Loki, she was attached at the bridle to ensure she didn’t try to leave while he was grooming her. We thought about moving her over to the new stables, but she seems to like it better in here.
“You really should have him connected when he’s out of his stall.”
“He won’t run away.”
“He could, and if he did and got out onto the main road or got caught up in one of the fences, he could be badly injured.”
“I didn’t think of that,” he replies, and he walks up to Loki’s stall. “Good thing you didn’t run then, huh?” he says, petting him again. “So, should we go?”
“You have to be more careful. They don’t know about all the things that can hurt them out there.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll make sure to connect him next time, or I’ll close the main stable doors so he’ll be safe and can still be free out here with me while we dance and groom the other horses.”
“So, you do that part often too?”
“What? The dancing?”
I nod.
“I guess,” he says with a shrug, and he passes me to head out. I follow close behind.
“You’re not what I thought you were,” I say before I can stop myself.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Good. It was meant as one.”
Chapter fourteen
MATTHEW
LITERALLY FALLING FOR THE HORSEMAN
It takes me three tries to get up on the horse, and as soon as I’m up here, my natural instincts are screaming at me to get off, but I shove the thoughts deep down and do exactly as Atlas says. Thankfully, the horse I’m riding, Whiskey, is calm and happy to follow behind Atlas and his horse, Thor. He really does love the Marvel names, but I guess I can see why he named that one Thor, with his silvery fur that seems to grow darker down his legs like armor. And he’s well-muscled too. I’m pretty much just sitting here looking pretty while we follow the freshly leveled trail. Atlas stops every now and again to mark on the tablet where he wants Perry to come back and trim some branches to free up the air space.
By the time we get to a spot that’s about in line with where his trailer sits, I’m bouncing like a pro and actually controlling the direction. I don’t know what I was so worried about. This horse-riding thing is pretty simple when you get the hang of it.
“I’ve got to grab something from the trailer. Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute,” Atlas says, climbing off Thor and tying his reins to a nearby tree. “Do you want me to tie you off until I get back?”
“No. I’m good. I’ll just do some circles here while we wait for you,” I say as I give a little pull on the right side of the reins, and Whiskey starts to move in that direction.
“Okay, but maybe go slow, you don’t want to get dizzy.” He chuckles, and then he disappears through the tree line. I squint, trying to see through to where his trailer must be, but it’s too thick.
“Hopefully he doesn’t get lost on his way back. I don’t think I could get both of you home on my own. But you’re pretty easy to manage, Whiskey. We understand each other, don’t we?” I ask, leaning forward and petting the side of his neck.
Something rustles beside me, and Whiskey rears up a little, neighing as I grip onto the reins and clench my thighs as tight as I can.
“Whoa, boy. It’s okay,” I say, but something moves in the tall grass, and he doesn’t like it one bit. He stomps, jerking me back and forth, then, before I can even think what to do, he takes off up the trail.
“Whoa,” I yell, pulling back on the reins like Atlas told me to. But nothing is slowing him down. Freshly leveled dirt kicks up behind us as he follows the trail along. I have to figure out how to stop him. The trail isn’t fully cleared up ahead yet. If he hasn’t got a clear path, he could run right into a downed tree or into a ditch and break a leg, and then he’d have to be put down. Fuck. “Whoa. Whoa, stop, you silly horse,” I scream louder.
“Atlas!” I yell, hoping he’s already heard my attempts to slow the runaway and is on his way to rescue me. Why did I think I could do this?
“Atlas. Help. Whoa, boy. Whoa.”
The trail bends up ahead, and I know that just around that corner is the end of the line. I have to stop this horse, and I have to stop him now.
I pull hard on the reins, the horse’s head jerking to the right as I do, and my heart skips a beat when it does. For a moment, I think he’s finally paying attention to me. But instead of slowing to a stop, he turns to the right, and now I’m barreling down the embankment into Beaker Valley and its field of flowers right toward a long wire fence.
