Must Love Horses. Vicki Tharp

laugh and tilted his head to look at her. “My CO was always losing his shit.

      “And then…” Bryan’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down and his jaw muscles contracted as he struggled to maintain his composure. “And then…nothing.”

      Bryan gripped his knee above the prosthetic. Sidney reached over, lacing their fingers together. His hand curved and held her fingers tight. He felt so strong, so alive.

      She knew how the story ended, knew he’d survived, knew he’d lost his leg. Still, her chest tightened and her gut knotted. She didn’t know if she really wanted to hear this, the reality of it, the pain of it, but she wouldn’t stop him.

      “Rahim stripped my CO’s weapon from his holster and blew his brains out.” He scrubbed at his face with his free hand. “Brains, blood, bone splattered my clothes, my face, in my mouth. I raised my weapon, but he was already firing on me, on the others in the tent. I took one in the leg, one through the armhole of my body armor.

      “I was still moving so he aimed the gun at my head. Mac came in.” Bryan leveled his hat, his sight landing thousands of miles away in the desert of a hostile country. “She was shot, but still managed to take him out. I owe her my life.”

      Sidney didn’t know what to say. She barely knew him, yet he’d trusted her with his story, with the worst moment of his life. It humbled her. In comparison, her troubles with her parents seemed so insignificant.

      At the thought of telling him about her panic attacks, about something so personal, her pulse pounded. She took a shallow breath. “My dad—”

      “Shhh.” His grip on her hand had eased, but he didn’t let go.

      “You don’t want to hear—”

      “Yeah, but not like this,” he said. “This isn’t some kind of I’ll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours.”

      Because the lump of relief in her throat was too huge to talk around, Sidney managed a half smile in thanks. The lasso constricting her chest eased and her blood pressure dipped out of the yellow zone. She swallowed the last of the water then crushed the bottle in her hand.

      A truck pulled up near the big house, the two front doors opening and thunking closed. Bryan stood, pulled her up, finally releasing her hand.

      She wanted his hand back. Crazy. She didn’t even know him, but even while her head warned her about his drinking, her heart stuffed cotton in its ears and refused to listen.

      “That’s Hank with Mac,” he said as a man and Mac walked their way.

      “Was Mac upset about the burro?”

      “I haven’t told her yet.”

      CHAPTER FOUR

      Boomer stood shoulder to shoulder with Sidney by the round pen, in quiet solidarity as Hank and Mac approached. He shifted from foot to artificial foot and rubbed the muscles at the base of his neck. If Mac or Hank didn’t want the burro, he’d find a home that could take it and the buckskin, because he wasn’t about to let them be split up.

      Boomer wasn’t sure he liked what that said about him. Next thing you knew he’d be eating berries and nuts and swearing off steak. He straightened, not giving a flying fuck what anyone else thought. This decision he would own and defend.

      Bryan shook Hank’s outstretched hand.

      Hank turned his attention to Sidney. “You must be—”

      “Holy cowboy! You’re Hank Nash!” She shook his hand as if she’d met Bon Jovi and Captain America all rolled into one, as if she wanted to ask him for a selfie and to sign her breasts with a Sharpie. For hell’s sake.

      “In the flesh,” Hank said.

      “I saw you win the finals in Vegas, that bull was brutal, I—”

      “What happened to your head?” Mac pointed at Sidney’s right temple, drawing the attention away from her husband.

      Maybe Boomer needed a silver belt buckle too. They seemed to be some kind of metallic aphrodisiac.

      Sidney raised a hand and came away with a smattering of sand and blood. “I…uh…” She glanced back at the round pen, then her shoulders sagged, and Boomer knew she’d decided not to lie. To tell her new bosses that she’d lost her shit.

      “My fault,” Boomer said. “I tripped her up while she was working the horses.” The truth, essentially. More of a mental trip, but he claimed fault.

      “It’s a scrape.” She sneaked a thank-you glance at him then turned her attention back to Mac and Hank. “Come on, I’ll show you the horses.”

      As they walked toward the mustangs, Boomer fell in behind them. Sidney carried the conversation. The horses were her deal. Phantom pains shot up his leg—hot and scorching and excruciating, as if a razor-toothed demon were using his leg as a chew stick. He froze mid-step. Sweat slicked his scalp and sluiced down his spine as goose bumps erupted on his skin. His heart rate spiked, his stomach roiled, and he swallowed a bubble of bile.

      “Hey, Bryan, you coming?” Sidney asked.

      He tugged his hat down low before looking up, trying to hide the pain. Sidney hung from the corral, two rungs up so she could see over the top.

      “Be right there.” His words came out low and harsh, as if the demon had taken hold of his soul and growled them out.

      Sidney turned back to the horses.

      Mac stepped over to him. “You okay?” she said under her breath.

      “Yeah, sure.” He tried to smile, but the demon chomped down again and stole it away.

      “Bullshit. Sit down and take a load off.”

      The beast answered. “You know what I need? I need you to leave me the fuck alone.”

      Mac cracked her knuckles, prepping for a fight, and smiled—slow, salient, dangerous. “Sit your ass down, or I’ll take you down. Your choice.”

      Fat chance. “I’m not gonna sit in the dirt and cry over my boo-boo. I’m not a kid with a skinned knee.” Then another scorching wave of pain hit, sucking the oxygen from his lungs. He heaved in warm, dry air. “Corral,” he managed. “I’ll lean on it.”

      He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pain pill mixed in among the lint and horse treats and galvanized screws and popped the pill into his mouth, crunching it between his molars like a Tic Tac.

      Mac wrapped her arm around his waist and bore his weight as they trudged to the fence.

      At the rail, a few yards from where Hank and Sidney compared the horses’ conformation, the demon unhinged his jaws and released his leg. Boomer removed his hat and swiped the sweat from him brow. Sometimes he didn’t know what he’d do without Mac. When he spoke, he pushed the words past the emotion in his throat. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

      She gave his waist a squeeze before letting go. “Am I the pot, or the kettle?”

      He latched onto the top rail, transferring his weight from Mac to his good leg. The burro spotted him, pushed through the herd, and trotted halfway over, his long, fuzzy ears quivering as he brayed.

      “A donkey?” Hank’s voice jumped from bass to soprano.

      “I—”

      “He’s bonded to the buckskin.” Sidney cut Boomer a look that screamed shut the hell up. He did, though the burro was his deal. Why was she protecting him?

      Sidney continued, “I couldn’t pass up the buckskin, and I figured that if your plan was to train and sell horses to the dude ranches, then a string that comes with a pack animal could add a lot of value.”

      Boomer tuned out as Hank asked her another question. Mac nudged his shoulder in a spill-the-beans kind of gesture. He leaned in and whispered, “No matter what she