Her Kind Of Cowboy. Pat Warren
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light breeze shifted a lock of Abby’s hair and settled it on her cheek. Jesse’s hand half raised to brush it back when he stopped himself. He hadn’t the right to touch her, not yet. Maybe not ever.
Now that he had her here, he searched his mind about how best to tell her the truth. Before he could speak, Abby interrupted his nervous thoughts.
“How do you go about breaking a horse? For years I’ve watched how they do it here and I’m not real happy with their methods.”
Jesse took a step closer to where she sat, inhaling her soft floral scent. “The original horse whisperer, the man who taught my father, and then later Dad taught me, didn’t believe in breaking horses. He called it starting them or joining up, as the horse joins with man. That sort of communication results in the horse voluntarily cooperating.”
She wondered if his short beard would feel soft or prickly, then chided herself for her roving thoughts. “We have this mare that absolutely won’t take the bit, won’t cooperate at all. Dad got her from a friend in a trade. No one can seem to get through to her. I don’t suppose you’d want to give it a try?” Then she quickly thought better of the request. “Oh, but, I shouldn’t ask since that’s not why you’re here.”
“I’d like to try. I can’t work with Remus all day. You work a little, then let him rest and remember what he’s learned. Then go back and try again.” He smiled up at her. “Keep in mind, though, that I’m not a magician.”
“Absolutely. I just wondered if there was a better way. I hate the idea of dominating any animal, making him give up his will to suit ours. It seems wrong.”
“I think it is. Along the way, the owner gets frustrated, which can cause him to hurt the horse he’s trying to grind down into submission. The male ego is the cause of most horse cruelty.”
She smiled down at him. “And as a man, you don’t have a problem admitting that?”
“No, because I’m not one of those men.”
“I’m glad you explained things to me.” She had no reason to linger and should probably go in.
Jesse held out his hand to help her down.
Feet on the ground, her eyes went to his big hand that all but swallowed hers. Suddenly, her heart picked up a beat as something familiar caught her eye.
There on his thumb was an X, a scar she remembered. Jesse Hunter had told her he’d gotten cut on a barbed wire fence when he was only ten, leaving a clear scar in the shape of an X. How could two men with the same first name have so similar a scar?
Still gripping his hand, Abby’s eyes rose to his, questions swimming in them. “This scar…it can’t be! But it is. You and Jesse Hunter, you’re one and the same!”
Disbelief and shock had her trembling as the truth slammed into her. “Oh, God!”
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