The Grump Whisperer (Morningsong Farm #1)

Ten

A week later, Bronwen led Hades from the field into the barn.

She’d been working with Ian on getting the horse to allow her to lead him, and after a few false starts and a couple of close calls with teeth and hooves, Hades had been convinced—bribed, really, with sugar cubes and treats and lots of praise—to walk through the barn aisle and out the other side several times. Before calmly walking into the stall prepared for him as if he was a king and had planned to take up residence there all along.

She’d been wary of releasing him out into the field the next day, but Ian had said firmly that the horse needed to be turned out. And needed to learn to be caught and brought inside more than once. He had a point.

Ian had walked along on the other side of Hades’s head each time she’d led him, and eventually the big horse grudgingly allowed him to take the lead rope, as well.

Bronwen felt as if she’d won the lottery, and Ian had offered a rare grin.

They’d talked while working with the horse, about everything but mostly nothing. Nothing too personal or painful.

“You grew up around here?” Ian asked one day while they were practicing leading Hades back to his pasture.

“In Boston,” she replied absently, patting Hades on the neck. As always, he was alert while being handled, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. If she had anything to say about it, it never would. “A little duplex in Brighton, surrounded by apartment buildings and triple-deckers. Hardly bucolic farm territory.”

His gaze was focused, like everything about him was focused. She liked that—the way when he asked a question he listened attentively, as if the answer mattered. As if he really wanted to know about her childhood, instead of just making small talk while they worked with Hades.

“How’d you end up in the horse business?”

She couldn’t help but smile. “I was born horse crazy. I used to stampede up and down the stairs, and jump over all the furniture like I was in the show-jumping ring. Drove my parents absolutely bananas. I begged for years to have riding lessons, and finally my mom caved, I think more to shut me up than anything else.”

Ian grunted, but his continued focus encouraged her to keep going.

“My mom drove me out an hour away to a lesson barn for years .” She shook her head, still amazed that her mother had put up with that. “She had to stand there and watch in the heat and cold, even though I know she found the whole thing terrifying.”

“Did you fall off a lot?” Ian asked with a grin.

“Doesn’t everybody?” Bronwen laughed. “But yeah, I was so fearless back then...” She trailed off, real grief for the loss of that fearlessness eclipsing her nostalgia for one moment before she pushed it away. “I always rode the problem horses, the ones no one else wanted to ride.”

“Makes you a better rider,” Ian commented.

She nodded. “Once I got my driver’s license, I borrowed my mom’s car until I mucked enough stalls to buy the worst car in the world so I could go for lessons a few times a week.”

Those days were a million years ago and also just yesterday. She could remember the shiny bay pony who could jump anything but once bit another girl’s finger nearly off. Or the big brown ex-racehorse who’d developed the habit of sticking her tongue over the bit so Bronwen had zero control. The skinny paint who’d been a stopper, teaching Bronwen to never lean forward before a jump or she’d surely end up on the ground.

She remembered her mom forcing herself to watch the shows Bronwen entered on borrowed horses, even though she’d been scared to death that Bronwen would fall. Her dad slipping her money they didn’t have to spare so she could buy a decent helmet and boots.

She owed them all so much: her parents and the horses alike, for what they’d given her. She’d tried to repay them by studying equine science in college and making horses her career. And she’d managed to make a little money on the side, training and schooling and braiding other people’s horses at the shows she’d attended with Charlie, which she’d slipped back to her parents when they weren’t looking.

Now she was barely breaking even, with no real potential for things to improve, as far as she could see. But what she could control was the way she managed the horses in her care, the small things she could do to help their owners, the time she spent with her parents now that she wasn’t scrambling for the next show, the next ride. She was doing her best, even if it wasn’t the best she’d hoped for.

“What about you?” She took Hades’s halter off as Ian opened the pasture gate, and spared a moment to scratch the horse’s ears. He’d already come so far, such a long way from just a few weeks ago, when he would have taken off across the field at just the sight of them.

When Ian didn’t respond, she turned her attention to him. He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed.

“Not such a heartwarming story, I’m afraid,” he finally said, what sounded like years of fatigue and sadness coloring his voice to gray.

Bronwen almost told him to stop, never mind the past. She knew well enough that reliving hard times was rarely worth it. But she was curious, and she’d shared something of herself. Not everything, not the truly dark parts, but something. If Ian was willing to talk, she’d listen. So, she waited.

He leaned back against the pasture fence, long legs crossed in front of him, eyes on Hades as the horse ambled away and lowered his head to munch on the fresh spring grass.

“The last however many years were pretty great,” he said, starting at the end of the story. “You never think you’ve made it when you’re in the middle of everything, but...I did, you know? I was good. I’d gone further in the sport than I ever thought I could.”

She knew this, from her internet sleuthing. The years of striving, competing, traveling around the world with top horses. It sounded exciting, exhausting, stressful, glorious. Her own dreams as a kid had been so similar to his.

“But at the start... Well, you had the worst car in the world.” He shot her a grin. “I only had an old, rusty bicycle at first, but luckily we lived in an apartment in the middle of nowhere, close to a bunch of horse farms.”

“Virginia,” she remembered.

He nodded shortly. “Born and raised. Those farms had everything I wanted—beauty, freedom, structure, routine. And horses.”

“Freedom from what?” Curiosity made her push, just a little.

Ian sighed, but he didn’t refuse to answer. “My dad was...not great. It was a relief when he left, honestly, even though he took his salary with him. He was hardest on my sister, mostly because I wouldn’t engage with him. I avoided his rages, but Anne never met a fight she’d back down from.” He shook his head, but Bronwen thought she saw pride on his face. “My mom wasn’t thrilled to be saddled with two kids by herself, though she was probably also glad to see the end of our dad.”

“I’m sorry, Ian. That sounds awful.”

He shrugged. “Anne and I spent as much time as we could at the farms in the area. Kind of amazing to think now that they put up with an angry teen and his little sister, now that I know how much work those places are. But thank God they did.”

“And they let you ride?”

“Some did. Others were happy enough to throw me a few bucks if I mucked stalls and mostly stayed out of their way. There was one trainer who saw something in me—God knows how. He taught me to ride, taught me about horses. I was hooked.”

“And your sister? Was she a rider, too?” Bronwen hadn’t seen any mention of her in the articles she’d read, but after all, his sister was the one who’d bought an entire horse farm.

Ian pushed off from the fence, and together they started the walk back up the hill. Bronwen breathed in the mossy spring air, noticing the lightest of green on the tips of the tree branches, the way the other horses in the fields lounged beneath the sun rather than huddled in or next to the sheds.

“Her favorite was the breeding farm down the road from where we lived. She pestered the people there until she knew every bloodline, every tip and trick they had about breeding sport horses, and handling pregnant mares and foals. But she didn’t work for them—she went to college while I caught rides where I could, scrambling from barn to barn until we ended up in Florida, where the big shows were, and I made a decent enough living to support both of us. We got out of Virginia and never looked back.”

Pride suffused his voice, and Bronwen thought about the support she’d had, and all that Ian had accomplished without anything like that. Again she thought what a waste it was that he was determined to turn his back on his talent, his determination. But really, who was she to talk? And what did Ian really owe to anyone after going through such hardship and finding such success?

Bronwen thought now about what Ian had said, quietly impressed and moved by his story. She knew he didn’t want her sympathy, or even her admiration—but he had both.

There had been no repeat performance of the evening up at the farmhouse. Mostly because Bronwen had been busy: a regular vet visit took up all of one day, another horse had colicked and Bronwen had spent the evening and a good part of the night walking him to get rid of the dangerous bellyache. Her dad’s birthday had taken up one of her days off, and Olivia’s the other. And then two horses had thrown shoes. Luckily, the farrier had been on the schedule already, thanks to Ian.

She was exhausted, quite frankly.

And also...also, something had settled between the two of them, herself and Ian. Something fragile and tender that neither of them seemed willing to poke and risk disturbing. When they worked with Hades—Bronwen leading him or brushing him or otherwise thoroughly handling him, followed by Ian carefully doing the same—Ian would casually touch her. A hand on her waist or her shoulder. Leaning close to her as they watched the horse absorb his lessons and new life. She wasn’t complaining. But neither of them seemed willing to take things further again, even though she, at least, definitely wanted to.

Maybe Ian thought that his insistence that he’d be leaving the horse world behind once his sister returned had scared her off. Sure, she thought he was making a mistake, wasting his incredible talent. And since horses were her world, she could never consider a long-term relationship with anyone who was so set on having nothing to do with that world.

But she didn’t want a relationship at all—she’d been burned too badly last time, when personal betrayal had also meant the complete uprooting of her professional life. That betrayal had turned her world on its head, and four years later she was still on shaky ground. It would take time for her to be able to trust again. And time was something she and Ian didn’t have.

But that didn’t mean they couldn’t continue what they’d started up at the house. For a while.

She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she nearly walked Hades right past the farrier. Luckily, or possibly unluckily, the stallion took issue with the enormous strange man standing in the barn aisle and kicked out at a passing stall door.

She started at the loud thunk of hoof on wood and came back to the present. She smiled apologetically at Xavier, the farrier.

“Sorry. This one’s going to be a little iffy.”

Xavier nodded stoically.

It took more than an aggressive stallion to get a reaction out of Xavier. Nearly as tall as Ian, he was burly enough that rare was the horse who could push him around. And his silent, methodical way of working soothed most nervous animals.

She just hoped Hades could hold it together. His hooves badly needed trimming.

“Ian, this is Xavier. He’s been the farrier for Morning Song longer than I’ve been working here, anyway.”

Xavier nodded in silent greeting at Ian, who returned the movement, and then raised his eyebrows at Bronwen, who shrugged and smiled. She’d tried many times to entice Xavier into conversation, but he wasn’t a talker.

Now he approached the stallion cautiously but confidently while Bronwen and Ian stood at his head.

“I’m beginning to think it’s just me he doesn’t like,” Ian muttered.

“He likes you now,” Bronwen said.

“Only because I’ve given him a gallon of treats since he got here.”

“Whatever works,” Xavier offered, surprising Bronwen with actual words. “He’s a nice one. Worth the effort.”

He held a hand to Hades’s neck, slowly stroking him down to the shoulder and down his leg to his front hoof. One ear was pinned sharply back and the horse’s body shook almost imperceptibly, but he held still.

“His name is Hades,” Bronwen said. His name was as good a warning as she could give, honestly. But Xavier just grunted and leaned into the horse, shifting his weight to encourage him to lift his hoof. Hades complied immediately.

“Someone’s trained him well,” Bronwen commented.

“Maybe the breeder,” Ian said. “Probably not whoever made him aggressive. I tried to ask Clover Farm for more details on his history, but apparently they bought him at auction. Couldn’t believe a horse this nice was there—and then they found out why.”

Xavier got to work, hunched over Hades’s feet in a way that made Bronwen’s back ache just watching him. Hades was stiff as a board, skin twitching wherever Xavier dared to touch him, but as long as Bronwen and Ian stood by his head and told him all of the ways he was a wonderful horse, he held on.

At long last, the farrier finished up with Hades’s feet, which looked much more comfortable to stand on. He was trimmed and shod, all set for the next few weeks. He’d been barefoot when he’d arrived at the farm, but Ian insisted he be shod for work. Bronwen had kept silent about it, hoping he wasn’t still expecting her to be the one to ride him.

“Good boy,” Ian said, scratching the velvety black nose. Hades snorted at him and nipped at the sleeve of his shirt.

“I think that’s a ‘give me treats for being good’ nip, not a ‘leave me alone’ nip,” Bronwen laughed.

She unclipped the cross ties from Hades’s halter and led him into his stall. He’d started spending nights in there recently, but it would be good for him to spend time in the barn while there was activity going on. He stuck his head over the door when she closed it, looking at Charlie as Abigail led him out of his stall for his turn.

Bronwen walked back to where Ian was standing with Xavier, examining Charlie’s feet.

“This one’s yours, isn’t he?” Ian asked. “Great conformation. Jumper?”

“Hunter,” Bronwen said. “We were all style and just a little substance back in the day,” she joked.

She’d enjoyed the jumper classes, where jumping ability and speed were all that mattered. But Charlie had always been too laid-back for that, uninterested in speed-jumping around a tough course. And he was pretty enough to win in hunters, where looks were everything. She’d bought him for basically nothing after college from a family who hadn’t known what to do with the young, gangly horse. Bronwen had trained him, and he’d turned out to be better than she’d ever hoped.

“And now?” Ian asked with one eyebrow raised.

She was hardly going to tell a former professional show jumper why she wasn’t still competing. If his body could magically go back to the way it was, he’d be over those enormous fences again in a heartbeat. Horses were in his blood, just as they were in hers—Ian said he wanted nothing to do with them, but she couldn’t swallow that line no matter how many times he offered it. Horse people didn’t walk away so easily. Just like how she was still here in the barn, even though she might never ride again.

She just shrugged. “Too busy—and Olivia likes riding him.” Both of which were partly true, so maybe together they made a whole truth.

Luckily, she was interrupted by Brian and Scott entering through the big barn doors, Brian carrying a stack of pizza boxes and Scott with what looked like cans of soda. Rachel was right behind them.

“Mom dropped me off,” she said by way of greeting. “And look— pizza !”

“I should be getting back to the house,” Ian murmured.

I’m not getting any more involved with the barn or the boarders—or their horses—than I have to , Bronwen remembered him saying that night after dinner.

But Brian was having none of it. “Come grab some pizza,” he said to Ian, more or less shoving him toward the tack room. “I’m Brian, by the way. I heard all about you from Martha. We got way too much food, and someone’s got to save it from the bottomless stomach over here.” He nodded at Bronwen.

“Hey, I shovel shit for a living,” she said. “I have a right to be hungry.”

Ian raised his eyebrows at her. “That’s why you need more than soup.”

“And it wouldn’t kill you to have pizza,” she shot back, pushing him as Brian had done, if a little less forcefully. Reluctantly, he followed the group of them into the tack room.

Rachel grabbed a piece of pizza as soon as Brian set the boxes on the counter, and she flopped down dramatically on a couch.

“Mom wants to take me horse shopping,” she said, in the same tone that someone might say, Mom wants to take me out back and shoot me.

Olivia walked into the tack room in time to hear her, and she and Bronwen exchanged a look.

Scott took a piece of pizza and sat down gently beside Rachel.

“And are you...are you going to go?”

Bronwen winced. This particular topic was a minefield. She was grateful to Scott for responding, because she no longer knew what to say.

“No!” Rachel took a fierce bite of pizza and spoke with her mouth full. “I don’t want a new horse—I have Applejack.”

Ian stopped in the middle of pouring himself some coffee and turned to throw a questioning glance Bronwen’s way. But she couldn’t explain with Rachel right there. She knew the kid sounded like a spoiled brat. But there was no love like a person’s love for their first pony. Rachel and Applejack were friends , and the fact that Rachel had grown far too big for the little guy didn’t mean anything in the face of that friendship.

Still, at some point she wouldn’t be able to ride him at all, and that wasn’t fair to either her or the pony, who was still young and had so much to teach a small rider. And Bronwen knew there was no way Rachel’s family could afford to board two horses—even one was a big hit to their budget—so Applejack would have to be sold.

It was heartbreaking to watch the inevitable disaster unfold, and Bronwen felt helpless to make it any better for Rachel. Or her parents.

To her surprise, Ian took his coffee and sat on the chair facing the couch, directly across from Rachel.

“Which one is yours?” he asked casually.

Rachel stared at him.

“That’s Ian,” Bronwen said. “His sister is the farm’s new owner.”

Rachel nodded, luckily not asking why the new owner’s brother was having pizza with them while no one had yet seen any sign of the actual owner.

“Nice to meet you,” Rachel said politely, and Bronwen stifled a smile. She was a good kid, and she wished there was a way to make all of this a little easier. “Applejack. The paint pony.”

“Ah,” Ian said. “I’ve seen him out in the field—he’s a really nice animal.”

Rachel smiled despite herself. “He’s the best pony. I just... I’m...” She broke off.

Ian waited patiently for her to continue while everyone in the room held their breath. The thing was, Rachel had never actually admitted out loud that she’d outgrown her pony, as if by not saying it aloud it might make it untrue. And everyone else had tiptoed around the issue for over a year.

She wondered now if they’d really been doing Rachel a favor.

“I don’t want him to think I don’t love him,” Rachel finally whispered. Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she swallowed visibly and fought them back. A good kid, and also tough as nails in her own way. Bronwen could imagine herself, if she’d had the good fortune to have her own pony at that age, reacting similarly. Emotions on overdrive but unwilling to show any weakness.

Bronwen’s heart squeezed. Ian simply nodded as if this was a completely casual conversation, even though she knew he must feel the tension in the room. He sipped his coffee.

“I know I’m too big for him, and I want him to feel useful and happy, but if we sell him, he’s going to think I don’t love him.” The words came out in a rush, and Bronwen busied herself getting some pizza so she didn’t just stand there staring.

She’d always assumed—they all had—that Rachel simply didn’t want to let her pony go. But this sounded like something else. More than that. And also...something solvable. Why hadn’t they just asked her about it? She mentally shook her head at herself.

She found a seat and covertly watched Ian, who was giving Rachel all of his attention.

“If he found a good home, and you could visit, would you feel differently about looking for a new horse?”

Rachel nodded. “Of course. I just want him to be happy forever.”

Scott appeared to unfreeze from where he’d been sitting absolutely still next to Rachel. “Or you could lease him,” he offered. “If your parents agreed. Another kid could enjoy him—and pay the bills—but he’d still be yours.”

Rachel brightened considerably. “Do you think so?”

Brian chimed in from where he stood by the coffeepot. “You could at least ask them about it.”

“Or you could sell him locally, so you could visit,” Olivia added. “That way he’d know you still love him.”

“I’m going to talk to my parents,” Rachel said a little cautiously, as if it had never occurred to her that selling Applejack might not mean losing him entirely, or result in the pony feeling somehow rejected.

Bronwen’s gaze met Ian’s, and he smiled slightly. She bit her lip, and he raised his eyebrows.

I want to do this every time you bite that lip...

She nearly choked on her pizza, remembering his lust-roughened voice saying those words.

He grinned at her and turned back to Rachel.

“When I was a little older than you, I didn’t own any of the horses I rode,” he said. “I’d ride them for their owners at shows, and then sometimes they’d move away, or decide to have someone else ride them. Sometimes I never saw them again.”

Rachel looked horrified. “Didn’t you miss them?”

Ian shrugged. “Of course. But they weren’t mine—and I’m sure I wasn’t as close to them as you are with Applejack. But still.” He looked up and met Bronwen’s eyes, before turning back to Rachel. “It was very hard.”

He took a breath, and Bronwen glanced around the room to find everyone listening attentively to his story.

“But one day I was at a show,” Ian continued. “And I ran into an owner I’d ridden for before, and the two horses. I don’t think I’d seen them in a couple years.” A smile crept around the edges of his mouth, like the memory still made him happy. “They remembered me—the horses. Nudged at me for treats like they used to do, ears pricked like they were about to ask me how I’d been all this time.”

Rachel giggled. “Horses have good memories.”

“They do,” Ian agreed. “So, I don’t think you have to worry too much about your pony feeling unloved. Those two horses remembered me, and remembered how much I’d...loved them. I’m sure of it.”

He turned his head to gaze out the window, and Bronwen suspected that the happy memory was still tinged with pain. He’d loved the horses, but so much had been taken from him over and over again. There had been no stability, no certainty. And then, when he’d finally reached a place of security and success, it had all been yanked away in an instant.

Her heart ached for him, and she wished she could tell him he had a place here. That he should stay. But it was the last thing he wanted, and what could she offer him, really? Could she trust someone with her heart again? Ian needed—deserved—trust, and love, and stability. And she deserved someone who would stay, who would support her in the world she belonged to.

It could never work between them.

“They remember we love them,” Rachel was saying.

Bronwen swallowed a lump in her throat. How would she feel if she’d had to let go of Charlie, the only horse who’d ever been hers? She was lucky to have a job that provided a place to live for them both, and a friend who was willing to ride him when she wasn’t.

“And no one loves their pony more than you do,” Olivia said with a smile. “So there’s no way he’s going to have anything but a great future.”

The tension dissipated, and Bronwen sighed with relief. They all cared about Rachel—and Applejack—and none of them had known how to address the elephant in the room. But somehow Ian had.

She glanced at him, wanting to telegraph her gratitude, but he was already talking to Brian. Olivia had gone to sit with Rachel and discuss nontraumatic things, and Martha had just blustered into the room and grabbed Scott to talk his ear off. Bronwen watched them all, her barn family plus one, and wondered if, when Ian left, there would be a hole in their group.

And how she’d ever be able to fill it.