“Oh, I don’t know,” she responds with a smirk full of innuendo. “I might be able to make it worth his while. I’ve got my ways.”
Dramatically slapping my hands over my ears, I shake my head. “TMI.”
Alex opens her eyes wide with feigned innocence. “What? I haven’t even said anything.”
I glare back in silent warning and change the subject.
“No need for you to stay. I’ll be fine.”
I walk over to the coffee machine to find the pot cold and pour out the dregs. I probably drink too much coffee, but that doesn’t stop me from craving another cup.
“Got time for coffee?” I ask Alex.
“Always,” she says, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table and sitting down.
I go about putting on another pot as I ask her what brought her here in the first place. She doesn’t often drop in unannounced. She does most of her work at High Meadow now. It’s more convenient to treat the horses there. She generally shoots me a message to let me know she’s heading this way. Besides, it’s not like we don’t talk almost daily.
“Checking in with you. Seeing how things are going.”
The way she stares out the sliding doors and avoids making eye contact tells me there’s more to the story than that.
“Things are fine…but you already knew that because I talked to you yesterday.”
“I’m your friend, am I not allowed to worry about you?” she asks, going the passive-aggressive route as she finally turns her eyes to me.
It only confirms she has an agenda and I fold my arms over my chest as I stare her down. Eventually she relents, throwing her hands up.
“Fine,” she snaps. “Bo’s been weird.”
What the hell?
“Okay…”
“I know he came to visit earlier this week when he heard you’d been shot.”
“Barged in here is more like it,” I correct her.
“I bet.” She stifles a grin. “Anyway, you never mentioned it and he’s been weird ever since.”
“Weird, how?”
“Different. He smiles a lot.”
“He always does. He’s a smooth operator, the smile is a tool of the trade,” I point out.
But Alex shakes her head. “Not like that. These past few days he smiles when he doesn’t know anyone’s looking. He smiles when he gets out of his truck in the morning, when he pours himself a coffee in the ranch kitchen, or when I catch him walking to the barn. He seems perpetually happy, it’s like someone threw a switch.”
She looks at me with an eyebrow raised and I clue in what she’s suggesting.
“You think I had anything to do with that?” I bark out a laugh. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I highly doubt me kicking his ass out after he insulted me would have done the trick.”
“You kicked him out?” she asks incredulously.
“He insulted me,” I explain a tad defensively as I turn to pour us coffee.
The truth is, I’ve replayed that scene over and over in my head since I told him to get out and have come to the conclusion I may have overreacted. Not that I’d ever admit that to him. He’s the reason my mind gets scrambled and I feel off balance in the first place.
“Insulted you, how?” she asks behind me.
“He told me I basically looked like a teenager,” I grumble, paraphrasing a little as I struggle to hold on to my snit.
I may have already decided being accused of looking younger than your age is not necessarily a bad thing, but the fact he seemed angry at the realization still irks me.
“Ahhh, now it makes sense,” Alex declares.
Unfortunately, I’m still clueless. I set our cups down on the table and take a seat across from her.
“Pray enlighten me.”
She lifts her head and beams a bright smile my way.
“I’ve wondered why he hasn’t made a move when he’s clearly been smitten with you this whole time. Guess he thought he was too old for you.”
First of all, only Alex would use the term smitten, and secondly…what?
Bo
“Hey, watch it, asshole.”
I have to duck to avoid the branch Fletch just let go up ahead. He’s leading the way up the trail along the river where we’re supposed to round up a couple of the older colts, who managed to find their way out of one of the back meadows.
It’s been a while since I’ve had Blue out on a casual ride. Most of the time I’m so focused on work, I don’t really take the time to enjoy simply being outdoors. It’s a nice day; just a few clouds in the sky and the air is crisp and cool.
My Blue is a nine-year-old, blue roan quarter draft. Calm demeanor, steady on his feet, powerful, and with a stamina perfect for the kind of demands our work puts on the team’s mounts. For the breed’s large size, these horses are surprisingly agile and can cling to a mountainside as easily as they can trudge through miles of dense forest.
A ride like this, on a clear day, over a well-used trail, and at a casual pace is a nice break for him as well. He’s alert, his ears occasionally scanning, but his body lacks the tension it usually carries when on the job.
It’s not the first time these young escape artists have gotten out. They rarely go far and tend to wander back on their own, but Jonas is eager for some of the yearlings to be brought back to the stable. It shouldn’t take us too long to round them up.
Apparently, a renowned horse trainer is flying in from Kentucky later this week to have a look. His stable is researching the idea of developing an experimental, multidisciplinary training program that would be suitable for younger horses, between one and two years old. Darrin Ludwig wants to handpick a selection of yearlings of varying breeds and crossbreeds to work with. If Ludwig’s program gains interest, it could mean some recognition for High Meadow’s breeding program as well. Jonas is always looking at ways to diversify and increase business for the ranch.
Personally, I don’t really have a head for business. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy my job here and I love working with animals, but I feel most alive when the High Mountain Trackers team is out in the wilderness on somebody’s trail. Tracking is my jam, and if I’m able to put my medical training to use, even better.
“There they are,” Fletch calls over his shoulder as he points ahead.
I ease up beside Fletch’s horse, King, who snorts and tries to bump Blue out of the way. A grumpy bastard like his owner, King likes to be on point. Blue doesn’t give a rat’s ass where he is in line, but he’s also not a pushover and nips at the other horse’s shoulder in warning.
Up ahead I see one of the missing colts munching on a tall patch of grass on the riverbank. His head comes up when he notices our approach. For a moment, it looks like he might take off again, but then he whinnies softly and starts making his way up the trail. Behind him the other yearling comes into view and the two start trotting towards us.
“Beavis and Butthead,” I mumble.
The colts are named High Meadow and Karma, but if you ask me my choices fit them better.
Fletch bursts out laughing, a sound I don’t hear too often.
“Don’t let Alex hear you. She’s the one who named Missy’s colt and is a little attached.”