Page 113 of Ransom
Winston glanced between us.
"What's his problem?" Winston said.
"He's having a moment."
Coyote nodded behind his finger. "Ride safe," he said around it, muffled. "Tell the horse I said hello."
Winston clapped me on the shoulder, and we headed for the barn.
Faye came out of her stall, blowing steam. Winston had her saddled before I'd finished with Galahad's halter and lead rope, and he moved around the barn like he'd been in it longer than he had. I coiled the rope and slung it over the horn. He held the mare's head while I mounted up behind the saddle, and when he swung up in front of me, she danced a step sideways under the added weight and settled.
We rode up the wash without talking. I wasn't going to be much good at talking today, and Winston had figured that out somewhere around the time we left the yard.
I'd been practicing the words for a week and a half. Had a speech. Had three speeches. One of them had ended up on the back of a feed receipt at four in the morning, and from thereinto the stove, because reading your own handwriting back at yourself on a day like this was worse than going in blind.
Chance would've laughed at me and told me to get my head out of my ass.Just say the words, brother. Words ain't gonna kill you.
We came up over the last rise, and there he was.
Galahad stood in the middle of the clearing like he owned it, which, as far as he was concerned, he did. His breath fogged in white plumes around his ears, and his tail flicked lazy and pleased with himself.
I was going to strangle that horse.
Winston pulled the mare up about forty feet out and waited. He'd ridden with me enough by now to know that a man didn't come at a smart horse like a freight train. You let the horse see you, then you let him decide to be found.
"Galahad," I said in my best scolding voice.
His ears flicked forward.
"You know what you did."
He blew out a long breath and stamped a hoof.
"Stay up here," I said over my shoulder.
Winston didn't answer. The mare shifted a half-step and settled.
I swung down. My knees caught the cold when I hit. I'd been sleeping wrong for a week, and my left knee had been having opinions about it. I left Winston's horse and started across the clearing on foot, hands loose at my sides, the ring riding heavily in my pocket.
Galahad watched me come. His ears swiveled, one forward, one back. He liked Winston well enough. They'd come to an understanding over the summer that amounted to mutual suspicion with benefits.
I stopped about six feet off.
"You son of a bitch."
Galahad tossed his head.
"Don't give me that. You know what day it is."
He didn't, because he was a horse. But the head toss was better than nothing.
I closed the last of the distance and put my hand on the long muscle of his neck. He didn't shy. He bumped his muzzle against my shoulder once, hard, and pushed his forehead against my chest. I stood there for a minute with my hand flat on him and my breath coming out in clouds to match his.
"All right," I said. "You had your fun."
I took a long breath in. The air carried horse and frost and the sage that grew up between the rocks on the west side of the clearing. That smell had been my favorite thing in the world since I was eighteen years old. Today it was sharper than usual.
I slid my hand down his neck to his shoulder.
