Page 60 of Stables Spurs Suits
“Okay, keep your back to us, and start walking back slowly, then stop at the first stall with Queenie to give her a carrot, but don’t even glance this way.”
“Got it,” he whispers, and I laugh.
“Deaf horse, remember? You don’t have to whisper.”
“Oh, right,” he chuckles, and then I see him move out of the corner of my eye. Loki sees him too. One ear turns in that direction, but he’s too happy getting pets off me to really care.
“You’re a good boy,” I say, stroking his soft hair along the length of his nose.
“Do I keep going?” Skye asks.
“Yes, and remember, no looking. You don’t care that Loki is here, and he hopefully won’t care that you’re there.”
Loki’s attention keeps moving from me to Skye, and I bet the basket of carrots he’s carrying and handing out to the other horses on his way. When he’s one stall away, I tell him, “After this one, get out the carrot and have it ready for him, step back slowly, and then turn really slowly toward him. Hopefully, he’ll stay standing. I mean, he’s doing great so far.”
“This is the closest I’ve gotten.”
Skye picks up a carrot and holds it up, hand shaking as he steps back into Loki’s space and slowly turns. Loki’s head moves toward the carrot, nostrils flaring at the familiar scent.
“Okay, now, when he takes it, keep your hand up. I want to try something,” I say.
“Okay,” Skye whispers again, like Loki might be startled by his voice. I don’t say anything this time because I talk to Loki all the time. He can’t hear me, but I swear he can feel what I’m trying to say.
Loki’s mouth moves over the carrot and plucks it from Skye’s hand.
“Good boy,” I say, running my hand over the side of his head with one hand, and then I reach over and take Skye’s hand, and guide it toward Loki. Loki’s attention is completely on what I’m doing, but he doesn’t move away. He trusts me, and I need him to know he can trust Skye too.
“Good boy,” I coo again, and then I lay Skye’s hand against the bridge of Loki’s nose.
“Oh my god, he’s letting me touch him,” Skye says, and together we pet Loki, slow and steady, and when Loki’s attention shifts to the basket slung over Skye’s arm, I take my hand away and step back.
“Give him another carrot,” I say, and Skye reaches in with his free hand and offers it to Loki. There’s no hesitation now, no fear. He takes it freely, and then he leans forward and nudges Skye’s hand as if to tell him to keep petting him.
“Oh, you like that, do you?” Skye is running his hand over and down the side of Loki’s neck. I take another step back, then another, until I’m only just in sight, and Skye is talking and petting Loki just like any other horse.
“Wow, you did it,” Atlas says, startling me.
“I didn’t do anything. Loki was ready to trust. Skye just showed him that he could.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. I worked with Loki every day and hardly made any headway. You really have a way with him.”
“Thanks,” I say, and I turn and lean against the stable wall. “So… I have to go see Connor, but I was hoping we could maybe… talk later.” He glances back at Skye and Loki. “Inprivate, maybe after dinner. I mean, I’m assuming Sally-May will insist I stay once she sees me.”
“She will, and sure, we can talk. My trailer after dinner it is.”
My stomach flips in the same way it did the first time he invited me to his place. Granted that was to strip naked with him, but the fact that he still makes me feel this way has to mean something, right?
Chapter twenty-five
ATLAS
STORYTELLING AND STARGAZING
I stood at the side watching quietly as Matthew guided Skye to pet Loki. Loki’s ears twitched my way for a moment, and I thought he might give away my position, but then Skye pulled out another carrot, and all Loki’s attention went back to him. Now Matthew wants to talk to me in private, and my stomach is in knots. I’ve been turning the same heap of hay over with the fork for five minutes now, just going through all the things he might want to talk to me about.
He could just want to say a proper goodbye. Fuck, what if they do like a final dinner send-off thing for him? I can’t sit through that pretending I’m happy that he’s leaving. If it’s what will make him happy, then fine, go, be happy, but I don’t have to like it, and I really can’t sit there and put on a fake smile wishing him well.
I push on with the work, adding a helping of hay to each stall for the horses, and then closing them up for the night. The lightsare all on up at the house, and I can hear the faint sounds of laughter coming from inside.
