Page 28 of Mack

Mack carried him to Slate’s stall first. The blue roan stretched his nose forward and T.J. reached out one small hand and touched it, then pulled back, then touched it again.

“He’s soft,” he whispered.

“He is. His name’s Slate.”

“Hi, Slate,” T.J. said solemnly.

Mallory stood beside them running her hand along the nose of the bay mare in the next stall, and Mack watched her for a moment. She was completely at ease, the way people are around horses when they’ve grown up with them. The mare leaned into her hand.

“She likes you,” he said.

“I like her.” Mallory smiled at the horse. “What’s her name?”

“Rosie.”

“Of course it is.” She scratched behind the mare’s ear. “She’s beautiful, Mack.”

He showed them the rest, all six, T.J. growing bolder with each one until he was patting noses without hesitation and offering running commentary to anyone who would listen.

“That one is really big, Mack.”

“That’s Duke. He’s the biggest of the bunch.”

T.J.’s eyes went wide. “He’s so big.”

“He is. But he’s gentle as they come.”

“Like a big puppy.” T.J. decided.

Mack looked at Mallory. She was biting her lip against a smile.

They weren’t going to ride. It was cold and the ground was still damp from the weekend’s snow and Mallory had said as much when they’d walked over. But then T.J. had looked up at Slate with an expression that needed no translation, and Mack had looked at Mallory, and Mallory had looked at the sky, and that had been the end of the discussion.

“Short ride,” she said. “And he stays warm.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He saddled Slate, lifted T.J. up, then swung up behind him. The boy sat straight and proud in the saddle like he’d been born to it, both hands on the horn the way Mack showed him. Then Mack wrapped his coat around them both, one arm holding T.J. steady against his chest, and clicked Slate forward.

Mallory rode Rosie alongside them, easy in the saddle, her cheeks pink from the cold. They followed the fence line at a walk, the snow lying white and quiet across the pasture, the mountains sharp against the pale sky above them.

T.J. was silent for once, just taking it in.

After a while he tilted his head back against Mack’s chest and looked up at him.

“This is the best day,” he said.

Mack looked over at Mallory and found her already looking at him, something soft and unguarded in her face that she didn’t have time to put away.

He held her gaze for a moment, then looked back out at the mountains.

“Yeah,” he said. “It is,” Mack said, but something about Mallory’s demeaner had shifted. She seemed to be in another world, and he could tell she hadn’t slept well. He just hoped he didn’t cause that lack of sleep. She’d tell him when she was ready, he supposed.

They kept the ride short, just as Mallory had said, and by the time they turned back toward the barn T.J. was starting to lean heavier against Mack’s chest, the cold and the excitement of the morning catching up with him.

Back in the barn Mack lifted him down and T.J. stood in the aisle looking up at Slate with an expression of complete devotion.

“Can I come back and see him?”