The Grump Whisperer (Morningsong Farm #1)

Eleven

“A ngle his head slightly to the left,” Bronwen called across the outdoor ring. “No, the other left. No, not that far—just... Oof.”

Charlie refused the jump again, scooting over to the right side at the last minute, and Bronwen sighed.

The sun shone brightly across the sky over the ring and the fields behind the barn, tipping the surrounding trees with gold. A warm breeze came in from somewhere spring had already settled, gently lifting Charlie’s mane from his neck as he trotted through the new arena footing. His feet lifted happily over the soft surface after pulling another one on his inexperienced rider, and Bronwen stifled another sigh. It was perfect weather for riding, the outdoor ring had never looked better and Charlie—despite his jump refusal—was fit and ready to go.

But things once again weren’t going to plan.

“Ugh! Sorry. I can’t get him straight toward the fence.”

Olivia pulled the brown horse to a halt, then walked him over to where Bronwen stood by the arena gate.

“He’s wiggly, I know.” Bronwen looked up at her friend. “He needs a little half halt a few strides away, and then a very slight bend to the left, because he loves to dart out to the right.”

Olivia gave her a wry smile. “I noticed that.”

Bronwen gave her horse a quick pat on the neck. He snorted and pawed the ground, looking all too pleased with himself.

“I’m sorry,” her friend said. “I’m trying to do what you say, but I’m just not that good of a rider.”

Bronwen shook her head. “You’re a great rider.”

“For a beginner, maybe,” Olivia said.

“And Charlie’s not really a beginner’s horse.”

They’d had this conversation a million times. Olivia and Charlie weren’t a great fit—for one thing, before Bronwen stopped riding, she’d been the only one to ride Charlie since she’d bought him and trained him. She knew all his buttons, but somehow couldn’t articulate them to Olivia. She was no teacher, and Olivia wasn’t an advanced rider. And Charlie was set in his ways.

Olivia was kind to stick it out with Charlie, knowing that if no one was riding him he’d just become an out-of-shape lawn ornament. Or Bronwen would need to sell him to give him the work he wanted.

And then I’d be as distraught as Rachel , she thought.

Olivia preferred to ride on trails, which Charlie enjoyed, as well. But he was a hunter, and despite being in semiretirement, Bronwen wanted to keep him in good shape and trained, in case...

In case what? she asked herself for the umpteenth time. Olivia was frustrated with Charlie, Charlie was frustrated with Olivia, and Bronwen was frustrated with herself.

She should just get on her damn horse and show her friend what she meant, since words clearly weren’t cutting it. Should ride her own horse and let Olivia find one that fit her better. Should stop being such a wimp and do what needed to be done.

Should, should, should...

“I think there’s actual smoke coming out of your ears,” Olivia said, amusement threading her voice.

“I just—”

“I know,” her friend said, cutting her off. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t. Bronwen’s irritation with herself had only grown since Olivia started riding Charlie. She knew she could demonstrate what she meant, and it would make sense to her friend when she saw Charlie approach the jump.

And if she did it once, maybe she could do it again. Maybe she could ride her horse, let Olivia off the hook, keep Charlie fit, and everything would be right with the world.

But she couldn’t make herself say the words, and she couldn’t make herself move to take the reins from her friend.

It was never going to happen. And once again she felt like a failure, letting down both horse and friend.

Olivia moved Charlie off toward the right at a walk.

“Is this a lesson?” The deep voice behind her caused her to jump.

She turned to find Ian approaching the gate.

Her stomach did a little flip while her heart fluttered, and she wanted to roll her eyes at her own body for its reaction to this man. No matter how many times she saw him—and that was daily, since they’d continued working together with Hades for the past couple of days after the impromptu pizza party—it was always a bit of a shock to the system.

“I guess,” she said and turned back to watch Olivia press Charlie into a canter. “The teacher’s not much good, though.”

She felt more than a little self-conscious, having a professional show jumper watch her horse, her friend and her questionable teaching skills.

“He’s a great horse,” Ian said. “How old is he?”

“Just turned fifteen,” Bronwen replied, and she couldn’t keep a bit of pride out of her voice. “He looks pretty good, doesn’t he?”

She sneaked a look at Ian’s profile, all hard, chiseled lines and focused concentration as he watched Olivia urge Charlie to a canter.

“I wouldn’t have guessed he was that old. He’d still win at a show, that’s for sure.”

Bronwen understood the unspoken question: If she owned such a wonderful horse, why wasn’t she riding him? Showing him?

She said nothing.

Olivia turned Charlie in a big circle and headed for the jump again.

“How long has Olivia been riding him?” Ian asked.

Bronwen chewed her lip. “About two years. He had a bit of a...retirement before then. But she helps keep him in shape.”

“He’s thinking about refusing the jump,” he said quietly.

Bronwen could see it, too. His side angled over to the left like he was thinking of taking a hard right turn as they approached the low cross rail.

“Head a little to the left,” she called across the ring. “Use your right leg, harder—right leg...”

Charlie darted to the right just before the jump, looking extremely pleased with himself. He gave a little buck, which jolted Olivia out of the saddle, but she hung on and pulled him to a walk.

“I’m guessing she hasn’t been riding very long?” Ian asked as Olivia and Charlie headed toward them.

“Just about three years—though she rode a little when we were in college. She was taking lessons nearby, and then I suggested she ride Charlie.”

“He’s not a beginner’s horse,” Ian said, like Bronwen didn’t know that already.

“Sorry,” Olivia said as she pulled to a halt in front of them.

Bronwen could tell she was discouraged and tired, and honestly, she felt the same. Charlie wasn’t the right horse for Olivia. But her friend was a good rider, if inexperienced, and she just wanted to be able to show her what she had to do to keep him straight to the fence.

She glanced at Ian, wishing selfishly that he could ride again. What a demonstration that would be!

Ian stepped forward and gave Charlie a pat.

“It’s just an issue of timing—getting his body straight and head turned away from the direction he wants to run out. He knows he can get away with refusing, so the more he refuses, the more he’s going to try.”

“That’s what Bronwen said,” Olivia said miserably. “But I don’t get when or how to do that. There’s too many arms and legs involved—mine and his.”

“I’m not very good at explaining it,” Bronwen admitted. She’d never tried to teach anyone before, and it was very clearly not her talent in life. She could feel what Olivia needed to do, but she couldn’t express it in a way that made sense.

Ian took hold of one of the reins and turned to Bronwen. “Why don’t you hop on and show her?”

Olivia’s eyes widened and she shook her head at Bronwen, who was suddenly frozen to the spot.

Olivia understood, but Ian? She didn’t want to tell him how afraid she was, how weak. Stupid pride, yes, but pride was important, dammit. Some days she felt like it was all she had: her competence in her job, with the horses, with the people around her. She’d built her whole life around that competence, all while knowing that in one single area, she was anything but.

And the way Ian was looking at her, like he had every confidence that she could do as she suggested. He saw her as that competent person, and he believed that with one demonstration she could show Olivia what to do. It was humiliating that her stupid nerves said otherwise.

And the thing that killed her was that Ian was right. Charlie could jump that fence in his sleep and look like a million dollars doing it. And she knew that if she could just show Olivia what she meant, her friend could learn how to keep him from refusing.

She was so tired of being afraid, of letting herself and others down. Olivia. Charlie. And now she’d have to tell Ian that she was less than what he believed her to be—not a fearless, fierce manager of barn and boarders after all.

Instead, she was someone afraid to ride her own horse, despite being perfectly capable of doing so. While Ian would give anything to be in her shoes. He’d already be cantering down the line to the fence.

“Yeah,” she croaked. “Okay.”

“Bronwen—” Olivia began, but Bronwen shook her head at her friend. She didn’t want to be this person anymore.

Slowly, Olivia swung her leg over and slid to the ground. She whispered to Bronwen, “You really don’t have to—”

“I know,” Bronwen said, cutting her off. “I do , though.” She took a deep breath in. “At some point, I have to try.”

Olivia silently took off her helmet and handed it to Bronwen. God, she’d nearly forgotten. She shoved it on her head, grateful that it fit well enough. If she’d had to go back to the barn for another, she’d never come back.

Olivia backed away with a frown on her face, clearly unhappy but trusting that Bronwen knew her limits. Bronwen wasn’t so sure. As she gathered the reins at Charlie’s neck, she walked herself through the steps she’d taken a million times before.

Left hand at the withers. Right hand on the saddle. Left foot in the stirrup. Now just get up and on the horse!

Her hands were shaking so hard she was surprised Ian didn’t comment on it. But he just backed away until he stood next to Olivia by the gate, unaware of the storm inside her.

Charlie knew, though. He turned an ear back toward her, as if to ask if she really wanted to do this.

“It’s okay, Mr. Charles,” she said through rattling teeth. Her stomach wasn’t just in knots—it was an entire rope factory twisted into an unsortable mess. Her hands were frozen on the reins, but she let her muscle memory take control and she pushed Charlie forward with her legs.

After so long out of the saddle, she felt as if she was in a race car with no seat belt. Her brain kept trying to push scenes of the last time she’d ridden to the forefront of her consciousness, and she forcefully pushed those scenes back down.

Muscle memory. Don’t think, just ride.

Charlie cantered like a rocking horse, as carefully as if he balanced a dozen eggs on his back. He knew something was wrong, and she forced her body to relax, even as her mind spun and her stomach roiled.

She turned him to the jump. She could just hear the sound of Ian’s voice as he described what she was doing to Olivia.

“She’s bent him to the inside,” he was saying, “so he has no way out. Just at the last minute, she sets him completely straight, and then up —and over.”

And she was. They were—over the jump and cantering away. Charlie dropped to a trot and then a walk almost immediately, turning his neck all the way around to bump the tip of Bronwen’s boot with his nose.

“Good boy,” she managed.

And then the whole world spun like she was on an amusement park ride, and she gripped Charlie’s mane, sure she was going to be sick. She retched once, but luckily nothing came up. Pressed one hand to her stomach, willing it to hold on.

“Bronwen!” Olivia’s voice barely penetrated the sudden roar between her ears.

She could feel herself shaking, felt strong hands on her left thigh, her other leg instinctively swinging over Charlie’s back, and then she was on her feet on the ground, still shaking. Her knees gave out and Ian’s arms held her to his solid chest.

“Bronwen—are you all right? What happened?”

Another hand lay on her shoulder. Olivia.

Her breath came in short gasps and she couldn’t look at either of them. This was what she’d been afraid of—that her nerves would get the best of her and she’d lose control. She’d humiliate herself in front of everyone around her.

And it was happening.

“Bronwen?”

Ian’s voice was soft and reassuring in her ear, and she wanted to snuggle into him, to let him take her weight and her fear and all of it from her. But the idea horrified her—her weakness was so tiny and laughable compared to what he’d been through. He’d had his whole life taken away from him. He couldn’t ride. And she could—as she’d just demonstrated—but her nonsensical fear betrayed her and made her into a fool.

“Bronwen—you did it!” Olivia’s voice was sparked with hope, excitement that Bronwen had finally sat on a horse again.

But Bronwen didn’t feel excitement. Or triumph at losing control of herself after one tiny jump. Her stomach was sour with embarrassment as her knees still wobbled beneath her.

She pulled away from Ian, unable to make herself meet his eyes. He must think she was silly, weak, ridiculous. She certainly felt all of those things.

She’d wanted to avoid this moment at all costs, even before she’d met him. And having him here witnessing her failure made it so, so much worse. Her face burned and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She tugged the helmet off her head and thrust it at Olivia.

“I...I have to go...”

“Bronwen.” Ian reached out and clasped her wrist with his hand, but she pulled free and shook her head.

“Please.” Her voice was as shaky as her legs, and she just needed to escape.

She stumbled away, gaining strength as she ran from the scene of her most embarrassing moment, out the gate and down the path toward the barn.

Ian and Olivia called her name, but she didn’t stop. She didn’t even turn around. She ran, hoping she could put enough distance between herself and her failure that maybe it wouldn’t feel so all-consuming as it did at that moment.

She slowed to a walk when she reached the barn, forcing herself to walk calmly past the horses to the stairs to her apartment. Upstairs, her knees gave out and she collapsed on her bed, and let herself give in to tears.

Ian stood at the bottom of the stairs at the far end of the barn, looking up toward the landing above and wondering what the hell just happened.

He hadn’t thought anything of his suggestion that Bronwen jump on Charlie and demonstrate what Olivia needed to do—clearly the verbal instructions hadn’t been working. But now, in the aftermath of everything that had just occurred, he cursed himself.

He’d wondered why he never saw Bronwen on a horse. He’d wondered why she wouldn’t still compete Charlie—who was obviously still fit and happy to work. And he’d wondered why Olivia, clearly not experienced enough for a horse like Charlie, rode him regularly while Bronwen stayed on the ground.

He should have known—or at least suspected the possibility—that something kept Bronwen from riding. If he hadn’t been so wrapped up in his own problems, he would have been more perceptive. He should have at least asked her before putting her on the spot.

When she’d pulled Charlie to a halt and clutched at her stomach, something cold and panicked had shivered inside him. He hadn’t known if she was ill, or injured, or if something else was wrong. He’d only known that he needed her in his arms. Safe. Where he could help.

But she’d pulled away and run for the barn. Olivia took one look at him and demanded that he go after her.

He hadn’t needed to be told twice.

But he hesitated now, as he listened to the silence from above. He’d never been upstairs in Bronwen’s apartment, and he had no idea if she even wanted his help or his comfort. She hadn’t wanted either out in the ring. But his need to know that she was all right overrode his hesitation, and he climbed the steps.

The apartment was dim, with small windows along one side the only source of light. He had the impression of one large room, a basic kitchen in the corner, a few scattered pieces of furniture. Homey, but a little ramshackle and thrown together. The sweet, earthy scent of hay and horse permeated the space. In another corner was a large bed, and as his eyes adjusted he could see Bronwen sitting on the edge, her back to him.

He shoved his hands in his pockets.

“You should have told me,” he said, his voice rough. And that wasn’t even what he wanted to say. Bronwen didn’t owe him anything. There was no should here. “You could have said no,” he amended in a gentler tone.

Her head turned so he could see her profile. He thought her cheeks might be streaked with tears, although it could have been the light. But his chest twisted just the same.

He took a few steps forward. “You shouldn’t ever feel that you have to get on a horse just because some asshole tells you to.” He tried a little humor, and he could have sworn the corner of her mouth turned up, just a little.

She shrugged. “You were right to tell me to show Olivia. Telling her wasn’t doing any good.”

At least she’d responded to him—and importantly, didn’t tell him to get the hell out. “Teaching is hard. Especially when we’re trying to explain things our bodies know but our brains haven’t formed into words.”

She nodded slowly. “I never tried to teach anyone before I came here. I thought since I know both Charlie and Olivia so well, it would be easy. And I’m not much better with the other boarders—it’s all in my body, not my head.”

A few more steps, and he stood just on the far side of the bed from her.

“Well. Teaching might not be your calling, but you can definitely ride.”

Charlie had been a different horse with her on his back. Willing, forward, ears pricked toward the jump and only the slightest hint of resistance as they approached. Resistance that Bronwen nipped right in the bud—in the show ring, a judge might not have even seen it.

She huffed a little laugh. “Can, but won’t, you mean.”

His eyebrows rose at that. “You were just on a horse, weren’t you?”

At that, she twisted around and looked at him with disbelief. “And then I fell apart! One jump and I thought I was going to be sick!” She shook her head and turned back around.

Ian walked around the bed and sat beside her, holding out his palm for her hand. If she didn’t want his comfort, she could refuse. But she placed her hand in his, fingers lacing together. Her grip was tight, as if she was seeking stability, something to hold on to. He was happy to give it to her.

He watched as she took a few deep breaths. He wasn’t going to push her for information, and he’d certainly never push her to ride again. But he wanted her to understand that whatever she believed her limitations were, and for whatever reason, she had just jumped beautifully on her own horse.

“We all fall apart sometimes,” he said. “But it doesn’t change what we’ve done. What we’ve been able to do.”

She blinked a few times and squeezed his hand. “I did get him over that jump, didn’t I?”

His long-frozen heart thawed a little more, the way it always seemed to do when he was around her. “Beautifully.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think before I asked you to do it. I knew I’d never seen you on a horse, but—”

“It was a fall,” she said quickly, as if she wanted to get the words out before she changed her mind. “I was riding Charlie at our old barn, a show barn south of the city, getting ready for a show. It was my fault—I heard a truck coming up the drive, and I knew he’s spooky with big vehicles like that, but I was...I was overconfident. He’s my horse—I trained him, right? I didn’t think he’d try anything.”

Ian winced. All riders had made mistakes like that with horses they knew well. Assuming that surely the horse wouldn’t dare act out with them . But the animals were nothing if not creatures of habit, and if a horse was spooky around trucks, then...the horse was going to spook at a truck.

“So, yeah. We were headed toward a big triple, part of a really tricky combination of jumps. I should have waited, just circled around once, but I didn’t. He spooked, obviously. Which would have been fine, but the truck backfired right next to the ring. Any horse would have lost his mind. Charlie shot sideways right into a fence. And I went flying.”

“Were you hurt?”

He couldn’t help but think about his own fall. You just never knew—you could get right up from what looked like a horrible tumble and be completely fine. Or you could land wrong that one time, and everything changed.

“Broke my arm,” Bronwen said. “And Charlie...he had a bad bruise on his left hind leg. He was lame for weeks. I felt horrible . Why hadn’t I just stopped him for a minute? It wasn’t even at a show.”

Ian released her hand and wrapped his arm around her. There wasn’t much he could say. People made mistakes, and sometimes horses got hurt. Or people. Or both.

“I was...I was glad, in a way, that my arm was broken. And even a little glad that Charlie was injured, so I couldn’t ride. Every time I even looked at my saddle I felt sick.”

“You’re not at that barn anymore.”

Bronwen shook her head. “I was cobbling together a living as the assistant barn manager, riding and showing other people’s horses while also training and showing Charlie.”

“Sounds a little familiar,” Ian said with a smile.

Bronwen smiled weakly back. “Hardly on your level. These were local shows, mostly. The big ones in the area, but still nothing like the Florida or international circuit. I thought maybe someday I’d get there, but...”

Ian turned to her, curious. “Is that what you wanted? Would you still want that?”

She laughed a little, bitter and resigned. “I mean... It doesn’t really matter, does it? I don’t think so, not really. I never quite had that ambition, and I don’t actually like all the travel. But...it would have been nice to have the choice, you know?”

He watched her for a moment, wondering if this was the right moment to push, or if she just needed someone to agree with her. But he didn’t agree. Getting over a bad fall took time, and it was the mind that often put up the most resistance. But she had done it—she’d ridden again, and here she was, in one piece.

“You did it, though,” he said. “It took you some time, but you did ride today. And if you wanted to, you could keep trying until it feels easier.”

She nodded slowly. “I just used to be totally fearless, you know?” Her voice caught as she spoke, and he pulled her closer. “It hurts to lose that.”

“Sometimes a little fear is a good thing. Especially around horses.” He’d always had a healthy respect for the big animals—not fear, exactly, but in many ways it was safer to have that little warning voice in your head than to believe you were invincible.

Not that it had done him much good.

“Maybe,” Bronwen said quietly. “I don’t like it, though. I miss being the old me.”

Something kicked around in Ian’s chest. Wasn’t that why he’d been a reclusive bastard these last weeks himself? In some ways Bronwen had done the same thing, closing herself into the little insular world of Morning Song Farm, leaving her dreams behind and giving in to her fear and disappointment that things couldn’t be exactly how she wanted them.

Sure, she could ride, physically. And he couldn’t. The loss was still something he didn’t know if he’d entirely get over. But change was change, and they’d both experienced it and then turned inward instead of dealing with it head-on.

Maybe they both needed to face their lives as they were, and stop focusing only on what they’d lost.

“You were brave today,” he said. “If I’d known how brave you’d have to be, I never would have asked you to do it. But you did. You might not be fearless, but it didn’t stop you.”

She turned her head and smiled almost shyly up at him. “It didn’t, did it? I always let that fear tell me it wasn’t possible, but it is. I could ride again, even if it’s hard.”

“I told you I wanted you to ride Hades,” he half joked. He could see it, though, her muscle memory and intuition and skill on that powerful stallion—they’d make quite a pair.

She laughed and turned to fully face him on the bed. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

She bit her lip, and for once he didn’t stop himself from reaching out and tracing her mouth with his thumb. Her eyes lit with heat, and the banked fire always present when he was near her flared to life.

“Maybe, though. Maybe I could.” She spoke quietly, almost to herself.

“I think you could do anything you wanted,” he said and meant it. She was all resilience and determination under a caring and empathetic exterior, and he believed she could do whatever she set her mind to.

She placed her hand on his thigh, the warmth of her skin like a brand through his jeans.

“It’s been a while since we were together anywhere near a bed.” He heard the question in her voice, and he answered honestly.

“I’m still leaving, Bronwen. When my sister gets here—I didn’t know if you’d still want...you know. When I’m leaving soon.”

He’d said the words so many times, to himself and out loud, but this time they sounded off to him, like an out-of-tune note on a piano. He was leaving, though. Even if he had no idea where he’d go or what he’d do. Even if right now, he felt more at home than he had since the accident. Being around the horses at Morning Song hadn’t been as sharply painful as he’d expected, but it was still hard. An ache in his gut every time he saw one of the boarders carrying a saddle down the barn aisle, or warming up in the outdoor ring he’d fixed but would never use. Eventually, it would wear on him, pretending everything was fine when inside the pieces of who he was were cutting him apart. Eventually, everyone here—even Bronwen—would see that he wasn’t the Ian Kingston he’d been, the one they expected and no doubt wanted. He knew he couldn’t take seeing that disappointment in their eyes. None of this was permanent. Change was coming for him again, and he’d do a better job of facing it this time.

He wouldn’t make promises to Bronwen that he couldn’t keep.

“So you thought you were doing the noble thing, leaving me alone because you’re going away?”

It sounded a little silly when she put it that way. Bronwen had made clear that she was fine with a short-term arrangement. He just thought... He thought she deserved better. She deserved everything, and he wasn’t the person to give it to her.

Still, she’d been more than clear that night at the house, and he’d run right over her wishes.

“I guess I did.” He laughed at himself. “I’m sorry.”

She rolled her eyes. “What a waste of time. God save me from men being noble when I want exactly the opposite.”

That sounded promising. “What exactly do you mean when you say ‘the opposite’?”

She slid her hand up his thigh to his belt buckle. “I think you know. You certainly did that night after dinner. Or have you forgotten already?”

As if he’d ever forget that night. She’d blown his mind.

“Maybe you can remind me.”

She smiled, a slow, sensual smile, and once again he was lost to her.