Page 53 of Apple of My Eye

“He probably just knows a soft touch when he sees one.” Daisy worked the trailer latches open.

Dusty chortled. “On that note.” He clapped my shoulder once, promised to call ahead before Thursday, and was back in his truck and gone down the road, leaving us to it.

The mare came off first, a bay, dark brown with a black mane that had grown too long and tangled. She’d been pretty once and would be again; the ribs showing through her coat were a temporary problem that good feed and care and time would fix.

The horse peered around at the wide-open pasture, eyeing everything, deciding if this place was worthy of her. Daisy nickered softly and gave her that peppermint. I stood back and admired her work, the way she kept the mare calm. She got her on a lead rope and walked her into the nearest stall with no drama, moving alongside her in that perfect way she had with animals.

The gelding stood about a hand taller than the mare, his reddish-brown coat rough with bare patches. He came out of the trailer easily enough. Practically walked me toward the second stall himself, cheerful and willing.

Right until he could see where I was directing him—into a stallnextto the mare’s.

He stopped and turned his head toward the mare’s stall. Then back at me.

“Come on, buddy. Hay in here. Clean water. Best deal you’ve had in a while,” I urged.

He didn’t budge.

He turned back toward the mare, dropped his nose toward the gap at the bottom of her door, and let out an inquiringnicker. From inside came her immediate retort with a flat pinning of ears.

He nickered again.

She kicked the wall.

He considered this information and decided it changed nothing. He moved toward her door and pawed, knocking at a door he fully intended to be answered. His enormous head came up and nodded toward it, recommending, apparently, that someone open it.

“He seems to believe he belongs right here beside her,” I observed.

“She seems like she has issues.” We met eyes. Neither of us said the obvious thing, which meant we were both thinking it. These two sort of mirrored our own situation, although after last night I figured Daisy was coming around to my way of thinking about us.

We pulled them both into a double stall. The mare stepped as far from the gelding as the space allowed. He positioned himself at her shoulder anyway, content with whatever she would give him, apparently untroubled because it wasn’t much.

I understood more than I wanted to.

Daisy worked them both over the next hour with the check-in routine. Nothing went unnoticed; she was that serious about her job and horse care. Hooves, teeth, weight noted with a scowl that meant she was already deep in thought about their feeding plan. I fetched what she pointed at and stayed out of her way, which was how you helped Daisy Wylde in her element: quietly, without requiring acknowledgment.

Eventually, I leaned on the post and watched her fill in the care log, her pen flying across the page.

Fuck, I loved watching her work. Or maybe I was jealous of the way she poured herself into everything and everyone around her while I remained somewhere near the bottom of that list, barely above taking care of herself.

“We need names for these two for the intake form. What should we call them?” She gazed over at their stall as if the answer resided there.

“How about Rhett and Scarlett?” I offered.

“You’re serious?”

“My mother’s favorite film is Gone with the Wind.”

“Suitable names, given the way they seem to dance around each other.”

“Speaking of… Ivy’s been after us about the upcoming barn dance,” I mentioned, keeping her talking.

Daisy didn’t look up. “What about it?”

“She wants the entire ODRR crew there, and texted all the guys to be on their best behavior, told them what clothes to wear. She expects them to dance with as many women as possible.” I scratched the back of my neck. “There’s only one problem. Only one woman I want to dance with.”

“We got the same lecture. We’re supposed to grab every cowboy and dance as often as we can. She wants the night positive, people happy, a total celebration for the sheriff.” She set the pen down then and looked at me with a very specific expression, the one that was doing a lot of work to stay neutral.

I pushed off the post and drifted closer the way I always did to her because I couldn’t help myself. “You know you don’t need your sister’s event to find a cowboy. Got a man right here.”