The Nymph's Curse: The Collection (27 page)

Her sister was probably off playing wild horse again and had forgotten to charge her phone before she left. Yet, the gnawing in Aura’s gut made her think otherwise. Her sister was forgetful, easily distracted, and a bit of a free spirit, but she’d always made it a point to check in when she was out of town.

When she found her, Natalie would be getting a piece of her mind. What had it been, a week now? Seven days from the last time they’d spoken.

When Natalie had left Yuma, it hadn’t been on the best of terms. Aura had been busy working with a wild horse, trying to train it for a prima donna who wouldn’t let her leave until the horse would do everything from gaiting to a perfect rein. The horse had been a challenge — it had hated the woman as much as she did — but it had eventually responded to Aura’s soft touch and gentle intentions.

Natalie had wanted her to come to Montana with her to follow a line on a new job — one that had promised a few thousand dollars that they desperately needed. When things had finally cooled down, Nat had agreed that finishing the job was the best decision and she’d promised to call when she’d gotten to Montana. Yet, she’d only heard from her one time … Seven days ago.

Aura counted her fingers. They’d never gone this long without talking. A sense of dread crept up her spine, but Aura tried to ignore it. Natalie was just being reckless, just taking it for granted that Aura wouldn’t worry, thinking she wouldn’t fret about her younger sister.

When she did find her, Natalie would undoubtedly make a thousand excuses for why she had gone missing and why she hadn’t called.

That was, if she was found.

Aura needed to get through that ranch — whatever it took, she would do it. She unbuttoned the top of her shirt, just low enough that the air from the truck’s heater warmed the bare skin on the top of her breasts.

A large arch made of gnarled, skip-peeled logs stood guard over the entrance of the ranch’s driveway. The Diamond Bar’s brand hung down from the crooked log. The cut steel moved back and forth as an icy wind kicked up, promising of storms that lingered just over the horizon.

Aura tapped nervously on the steering wheel. She pulled around a corner and in the distance she could make out a thickset man standing in the middle of a corral. On the right of the corral was a long building. Its siding was a brilliant red and the windows and door frames were a pristine white, as if the place had recently been painted. Next to the stables sat the big red barn, hay littering the ground in front of the doors.

The man didn’t look back as she parked between the barn and the stables and got out. The peal of a horse’s scream made chills run through her. What was the man doing?

She rushed around the side of the building as the Quarter Horse’s back hooves connected with the metal gate with a clang. The shrill noise made the horse’s ears pin back further against its skull. The man bellowed, “Goddamn you! You’ll do what I want, you little bastard.” There was a slash of a whip through the air and a sharp snap as it connected with the gelding’s shoulder, drawing an immediate welt to his sweat-slicked black coat.

The gelding backed up and pressed its rear-end against the metal bars of the corral. The saddle that had been resting on the top of the fence slid off and fell to the ground with a thud. The noise startled the young horse, and he bucked and kicked wildly while the cowboy stood at the center of the ring. The man drew back his whip and slashed it against the gelding’s front shoulder.

Anger filled Aura. No horse deserved to be talked to or treated the way the man was treating this horse. All a horse needed to learn was a positive environment and a caring hand. If she didn’t do something to help him, this horse would only become more frightened and angry, and that pain and fear would stay in his memory forever — just waiting for a time to be expressed. The horse would only become a time bomb for an incautious rider.

She rushed to the corral. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t lose her head. Not now. Not when she needed to find Natalie. She had to make this man an ally, not an enemy. Yet, she had to stop him. The cold fence chilled her fingers as she leaned against the bars.

The crooked-nosed cowboy drew the whip back and smacked it hard against the sensitive tissue on top of the horse’s nose, making him scream with pain.

“Stop!” Aura yelled. “Don’t hit him again.”

The man turned with a start and the horse snorted nervously.

“What the hell are you doing here?” The man spit on the ground.

“I’m looking for the foreman.” She couldn’t stand looking at the horse — fear and pain filled his eyes. “You shouldn’t be hitting that horse. You’ll ruin him.”

“This ain’t no dude ranch.”

“Never said it was.” She bristled. She had to stay calm.

The man turned toward her and raised his whip as if he intended on striking the strap down upon her fingers.

“Put the whip down, or I will use it on you.” The dam cracked inside of her, letting some of the anger stream through.

He lowered the whip as he glared at her from under the brim of his hat. “Goddamn women, think horses need to be baby-handled … ”

She tried to bite her tongue. What was wrong with the men in Montana? Did they think just because they lived under the big sky that they didn’t have to have manners? That they were above the clouds of civility?

Her boots thumped on the fence as she climbed over and jumped down into the corral. “Let me have that whip.”

The man dug his heel into the dirt and his hand clenched around the leather whip. He leaned toward her dangerously, almost as if he considered striking her as he had struck the disobedient horse. “Look, lady, I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing here, but you ain’t welcome. You can go back over there, climb up into your fancy little truck, and hit the road. I don’t need no woman telling me how to handle a horse.”

The black Quarter Horse stomped and tapped at the ground nervously with his hoof. The whites of his eyes showed as he bared his teeth. His mouth frothed and sweat rolled down his flanks. He hated the man that stood in the center of the little corral, and it was easy to see why.

She turned to the gelding and stared into his eyes. Men were uncontrollable, but horses, horses she could handle.

For millennia horses had run wild. First the enormous megalithic horses reared across the mountains and plains, commanding respect. As they evolved into the modern horse, humans took them and forced domestication, herding the once regal animals. Some of their wild nature dissipated, bred out and muted by human will.

Men murdered them for meat. Men caged them. They beat them with whips, tied their legs together with rope, and branded them with searing hot irons — anything to beat down their spirits, but whether the horse was Mustang, like her, or like the Quarter Horse standing before her in the corral, they all remained wild at heart. No matter how hard men attempted to enslave and change them, the passion for freedom ran strong in their veins. Throughout time many broke free of their masters and bound across the plains and deserts with only the wind and their will as their guides. They could be beaten, but never was a horse completely broken — instinct would always reign.

The cowboy moved toward the horse, his shoulder straight and rigid, like a sniper going in for the kill. He stepped toward the horse, whip raised.

The Quarter Horse raised its head and eyed the man, the horse’s body tensed and his front legs splayed. Controlling fear with more fear was like trying to control the wind by blowing in it. The cowboy was a fool. The horse lunged at the man and the cowboy jumped back to the fence.

“Whoa,” Aura whispered to the gelding, putting up her hands and moving between him and the cowboy. The horse drew in a long breath, taking in her scent, and then let out a sharp snort of alarm. His eyes were focused on her. He blinked then nickered with recognition.

“Good boy … ”

“His name’s Dancer.” The man behind her broke the air between her and the horse as he lifted the saddle back onto the fence with a grunt.

The man’s movement spooked the horse. Dancer reared back with a furious scream, his front legs in the air.

What had this man done to Dancer before she had arrived? He acted as if he feared for his life. Anger knotted in her gut. That foreman had no business working with horses — there was no reason to hit and cause pain.

“That horse is shit. He’s just a hard-headed, resentful bastard. I should’ve never bought convinced Zeb to buy him at the sale. He shoulda been dog meat.”

She looked back over her shoulder toward the man. “The only bastard I see here is you.”

“You little — ”

“Shut up and let me work.”

She turned back to the beautiful black gelding. The muscles on his shoulders twitched. His body was thick and muscular, perfect for strength work, and hungry for action and natural training.

You can trust me, honey
. She sent out the thought toward the gelding. Her hands lowered to her sides, her palms up, letting him know that she was open to him.
I won’t hurt you.
She stared straight into his eyes.

His head lowered slightly as he stared at her.

“Good boy.”

The man chuckled behind her. “You’ll never get anywhere by staring.”

His voice drove needles over her skin, but she forced her body to relax. This wasn’t about the man, this was about the horse.

A drip of froth fell from the horse’s mouth and landed on the ground.
It’s okay. He won’t touch you.
She tried to reassure him. He blinked at her and then lowered his head further. His ear moved forward a tiny bit, still pinned but he was responding to her thoughts.

She kept talking to him, and before long the beautiful black gelding was standing beside her. His head rested on her shoulder.

There was the crunch of gravel and a swirl of dust as a truck drove around the stables and came to a stop next to the corral. Dancer leaned back and his legs shook. She ran her hand down his cheek as she let her relaxed energy flow into him.

A man in shiny camel-colored boots, that were far too clean to have actually seen the everyday work of the ranch, stepped out of the driver side of the pickup. “Who’re you?”

She patted Dancer’s cheek and urged him to move in a circle around the corral. She turned back to the man as he stopped next to the cowboy with the crooked nose. “I’m Aura.”

“Well, Aura, what do you think you are doing with my horse? You have no business touching my livestock.”

“I’m saving him.”

The man stuffed his thumb in the corner of his jeans pocket and leaned his other arm on the top of the fence. “From what exactly?”

“Your man here,” she said, pointing at the crooked-nosed cowboy, “was beating Dancer.”

The foreman pushed off from the fence and stared at her like a mad bull. “That’s horse shit. I was training that little black devil with the whip, just like I done with every other horse. I ain’t beating him. You need to get lost, you little tree hugger.”

The rancher put out his hand toward the cowboy, commanding him with a simple motion of his powerful presence. “Stop, Pat. Let the woman talk. I want to hear this.” He motioned to her like he could command her as he had done with his employee. “What are you doing here, besides picking a fight with my best hand?”

Everything had gone so wrong. She hadn’t intended on picking a fight with Pat, but there were a few things in this world she couldn’t stand, and cruelty was one of them. Something like this always brought up the pain from her past and the resentment that had settled within her from hundreds of years of watching idiots with animals.

She didn’t stand a chance of getting on the good side of the rancher by going against his crew. The gelding came to a stop beside her and nosed her arm, begging for her to touch him. He nickered softly.

“Look, I wasn’t looking for a fight. If your
hand
wouldn’t have acted like he didn’t have a brain in his head there wouldn’t have been a problem.” She patted the gelding’s soft cheek.

The rancher roared with laughter. “Well, Pat … I guess I can see how this woman pushed you out of your own corral. She’s short on words, isn’t she?”

Pat’s face pulled into a sour pucker and he pushed off from the metal gate. “She didn’t push me out.”

“I can see that.” The rancher dabbed at the corner of his eye with his knuckle.

“I should have pushed his ass in the muck.” She pointed down at a steaming pile of manure. “He doesn’t deserve to be around a horse.”

The rancher’s smile faded. “Is that right, miss? You, a stranger who just pulled off the highway, knows more than ol’ Pat here? Pat’s worked for me for fifteen years. Made some damn fine rodeo horses out of some questionable stock.”

She stuffed the toe of her boot into the ground. “Out of fear.”

He huffed. “And you think you got a better way, do you, woman?”

The way he said
woman
made the hair on the back of her neck bristle. “I know I got a better way to handle horses.” She looked over at Dancer and the horse lifted its head in an agitated sniff, almost as if he was telling her to take the challenge.

Dancer moved his shoulder close to her and nudged her gently. His body was warm as she ran her hands down his length. The muscles on his shoulders quivered with excitement and he motioned his head toward the blanket and saddle.
Not yet, baby. Not yet,
she cooed in her mind.
Let’s show them your softer side.

Aura took a step toward the horse and he moved his flank away, honoring her space.
Good boy.
His ears flicked forward as he listened to her energy. Running her hands down the front of his legs, she tapped his chest.
Lie down, baby.

Dancer’s front end dropped down as he came to his knees, then slowly rolled his body onto his side. His soft underbelly lay exposed, vulnerable.

She knelt down next to the placid horse and ran her hands down his silky black coat. His chest rose and fell in rhythmic motions. “Grab your saddle.”

The ranch hand moved toward the saddle, but the rancher stuck out his hand and stopped him. “What did you say your name was, woman?”