41. Brandy

41

Brandy

I spent the entire next day with the horses on the Bronson ranch, desensitizing some of the more frightened rescues and working with some of their personal ones, too. Now that my job with them was done, I had one more task to do before the sun disappeared behind the horizon.

Finding the gray rescue horse in his stall, I slid open the door. His head perked up, but instead of his typical defensive stance and moving away from me, he stayed put, watching as I stood in the doorway.

“Today’s the day, big fella,” I said, grabbing the lead rope off the metal bar nailed into the door. “You’re a free man.”

His ear twitched as he swatted a fly with his tail. I stepped into the stall, my boots digging into the shavings as I kept my eyes on him. “Are you going to fight me today?”

I figured talking to him couldn’t hurt, just like Lettie suggested. When that gunshot rang out in my childhood home, I could’ve folded in on myself. Lost myself in the chaos. But instead, Reed’s voice kept me grounded. Calm.

Maybe that’s what this horse needed all along. Someone to listen to when things were scary. When he didn’t know what’d happen next. But he’d had enough of trying to be tamed. He was wild at heart, and I didn’t want to change his spirit. Much like Reed didn’t try to change mine, he accepted me.

Perhaps me and this horse were more alike than I’d once thought.

Mustering all the confidence I had, I stepped toward him and clipped the lead rope on his halter. He’d been wearing it for a while, and it was time he lost it.

For likely the last time, I led him out of the stall, keeping my shoulders straight and my mind clear. He followed like he’d been doing this for years, but he knew what this meant.

It wasn’t another walk to the round pen or the cross ties. He was going home.

The cotton candy clouds cast a pink hue over the ranch as I brought him to the pasture gate. As we came to a stop, his ears perked up, his nostrils flaring as he took in the crisp air.

“You like that?” I asked, keeping the lead rope firm in my grip while I unlatched the gate. “Smells like freedom, huh?”

He stepped closer behind me, turning his head in the direction of the other horses out in the pasture. It was a mixture of personal horses and others we’d set out to retire, and I got the feeling he’d fit right in with them.

“All twenty acres of this pasture are just for you,” I told him, draping the chain over the metal rung and swinging the gate inward. It was a small portion of the Bronsons’ ranch, but plenty of space for the gelding to roam.

Truthfully, I was surprised he was being so calm standing this close to me, but maybe he felt the weight taken off my shoulders with my father now behind bars.

Horses felt a lot, and maybe he felt my trauma like his own.

I led him inside the pasture, swinging the gate shut behind us. Turning to face him, I reached up to the halter to unbuckle it rather than just take the lead rope off. As soon as it slid off the back of his head, he took off like a bullet—galloping with his tail high in the air and his neck extended confidently.

Rather than head back to my Bronco to go home, I lowered myself to the grass, watching as he ran off into the sunset, the other horses turning to join him in his victory gallop.

The metal gate creaked behind me, and seconds later, Lettie plopped herself in the grass beside me, leaning a head on my shoulder as we both watched the pink sky fade behind the mountains in the distance.

“You ever think of a name for him?” she asked, wrapping her arms around my bicep.

I tilted my head to the side, leaning my cheek on the top of her head. I hadn’t thought of a name since that day she brought it up, getting too caught up in life.

But I didn’t hesitate as I watched his form grow smaller and smaller in the distance.

Really, only one name could embody everything that horse was.

Everything that caused my shoulders to feel a little less heavy, and my heart a little less weighted.

“Bullet.”