Zing.
Something happened when she looked into those deep, brown eyes. She took his hand and felt an even stronger buzz vibrate through her body. She could feel the calluses on his fingers that had come from hard work. She was curious about him and his life and she was afraid it showed.
They were both sitting on the top rung when Sparky froze midtrot and eyed them warily. He was a paint pony with dark brown swaths on his cream-colored coat.
“Now what?” she asked.
“We wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“You’ll see.”
The horse did nothing for at least five minutes. He just stared at them. When Jazzy glanced at Brooks, she saw he wasn’t the least bit impatient. Wasn’t that a novelty. She shivered suddenly. The morning air was cool and she rubbed her arms.
“Are you cold?”
“The sun’s warm.”
“Not what I asked you.” Brooks was wearing a denim jacket that fit his broad shoulders way too well. It was loose at his waist. She concentrated on the brass buttons on his jacket instead of contemplating other things about him.
He started to shrug out of the jacket and she clasped his arm, saying in a low voice, “No, really. I’m fine.”
He chuckled. “You don’t have to whisper around Sparky. He’s not afraid of our voices, just of us getting too close when he doesn’t want us to.”
She felt herself blush, but she still held his arm because her hand seemed fascinated by the muscles underneath. Ignoring the fact that she said she was fine, he removed his jacket and hung it around her shoulders.
“You can give it back once the day warms up.”
So he was protective, and...thought he knew best. What man didn’t?
Although she protested, his jacket held his warmth and his scent. It felt good around her. She snuggled into it and watched Sparky eyeing them.
It happened slowly, Sparky’s acceptance of them into his world. The horse tossed his head and blew out breaths. He lifted his tail and ran in the other direction, made a circle and then another that was a little closer to them. After about ten circles, he was only about five feet from them.
Brooks took a treat from his back pocket and held it out to the horse, palm up.
“Sam said he wouldn’t take treats from him anymore.”
“That’s Sam. Sparky and I have an understanding. I don’t try to do anything he doesn’t want me to do when he takes the treat.”
“Rescue horses are often skittish like this,” she said. “I mean, horses rescued from abuse, not floods.”
“Trauma in whatever form has to be treated with kindness most of all, as well as a gentle hand and a firm determination to overcome whatever happened.”
She’d seen that, working with the horses at Darlene’s place.
It took Sparky a while but he finally came within a foot of Brooks’s hand.
Jazzy didn’t move or even take a breath.
Sparky snatched the piece of biscuit and danced away then looked back at Brooks to see if he had more.
With a smile, Brooks took another piece from his back pocket. “These get crushed by the end of the day, so you might as well eat them,” he said in a conversational tone to the horse.
Sparky must have understood because he made another circle, but didn’t dawdle this time. He snatched the biscuit and didn’t dance away.
“How many times have you done this before?” Jazzy asked, completely aware of Brooks’s tall, fit body beside her.
“Too many to count,” he said, shifting on the fence but not moving away. “He and I go through this routine every time I come over. I’m hoping someday he’ll see me and just trot right on up. I thought about buying him from Sam, but I don’t think it’s advisable to move him to another place right now.
“Can I look at you a little bit?” Brooks asked the horse.
Sparky blew out a few breaths but didn’t move.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Brooks slowly slid down off the fence, taking care not to jump too heavily onto the ground. The sleeves of his snap-button shirt blew in the wind, the chambray looking soft.
Jazzy was fascinated by man and horse.
Brooks found another crumb of the treat in his pocket and offered it to Sparky. The horse snuffled it up and Brooks patted his neck, running his hand under the horse’s mane. He slowly separated the hair there and Jazzy could see a series of scratches and a five-inch long swatch that looked as if it had been stitched.
Although he pawed the ground, Sparky stayed in Brooks’s vicinity.
“Come on down,” Brooks said to Jazzy. “Slowly.”
She eased herself off the fence.
“Stay there,” Brooks warned her. “Let him catch more of your scent. Let him get used to you.”
Rescued horses mostly needed to be cared for gently, then regularly watered and brushed when they’d let you do it. She’d never become involved with one quite this way before.
Brooks kept talking to Sparky and then gave her the okay to come closer. She did, feeling she was getting closer to Brooks, too.
Brooks gave her the last little bit of treat and she held it in her fingers. When she extended her palm, Sparky took it from her.
By then, Brooks was studying the horse’s flanks. “He’s looking good. Soon we can put him in the corral with Mirabelle and see how it goes.”
“I think he’d like some company. Wouldn’t you?” she crooned softly to the horse.
When she glanced at Brooks, he was watching her, listening to her, and her pulse raced.
At the end of the day, would he still believe he should hire her?
* * *
As Brooks drove to other ranches, Jazzy could see they were all recovering from the flood. In some fields, alfalfa had survived. Many ranchers had been soil-testing to find out what nutrients the flood had depleted. Some reseeded with fast-growing grasses, while others planted soybeans. All were trying their best to recover. Most were making headway.
She watched Brooks work with calves, with goats, with cattle. She helped however she could and realized she liked assisting him. They grabbed a quick lunch at the diner, talked about Rust Creek Falls and Thunder Canyon. Whenever their fingers brushed or their eyes met, Jazzy felt energized in a way she never had before.
At the end of the day when they were driving back to Strickland’s, Brooks said, “I know I’m doing the right thing opening this practice. Dad’s going to be angry about it, but in the end I think he’ll thank me.”
“You’re doing something for his best interests, even if he doesn’t see it that way. I guess roles reverse as parents age.”
“And as children grow wiser.”
She thought about that and all the advice her parents had given her. But she particularly remembered one thing her brother Brody had told her. He’d said, “You have to find the life you want to live, rather than settling for the life you’ve fallen into.”
What life did she want to live?
Brooks drew up in front of the boarding house, braked and switched off the ignition. Leaning toward her, he explained, “If you’re my assistant, you wouldn’t spend all your time in the field with me. Mostly what I need in the beginning is somebody to set up the office, make appointments, get the word