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Twenty minutes before Grady was due, Bryce made his way to the head of the drive where he could see the road leading to the guest house. He held a canvas pouch of carrot and apple pieces. No reason Ginger couldn’t get something positive out of this mess.
In the distance, Grady shuffled along the road, his orange sneakers kicking up dust. He’d changed into jeans and a denim jacket over a red shirt, and he swung a large plastic bag back and forth. He was still too far away for Bryce to make out a lot of detail, but he’d bet everything was new. Part of Cecily’s program, no doubt. Grady even wore what Bryce assumed was a genuine Stetson, knowing Cecily’s penchant for the brand. The boy had it pulled low on his head, partly obscuring his face. Was he hiding from someone?
Bryce watched the boy approach for a minute or two, then backed away. He went to the barn for a curry comb, then came back and hoisted himself over the fence into the paddock. He maneuvered Ginger around so he’d be able to see when Grady entered the yard, and began working some clumps out of the mare’s coat.
“You been rolling in the mud again, haven’t you girl? You want to look nice for the new guy, don’t you? Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He continued talking as he worked, casting surreptitious glances toward the drive. He sure as hell didn’t want to appear eager to start working with the kid. Which he wasn’t. Ginger stomped a foot.
“Sorry, girl. Did I tickle you?” Or had she picked up on his thoughts? He scratched her poll. No point in having his irritation bleed through to her. Last thing he needed was for her to be upset with Grady.
Bryce waited until he sensed Grady was about ten feet away, then glanced up. Nodded. The boy nodded back. Ginger raised and lowered her head. So much for greetings. Grady raised the bag he carried. “I brought my boots.” He looked around, as if seeking a place to swap footgear.
“What size?” Bryce asked.
“Ten-and-a-half.”
“You’re not going to be riding today, so mud boots will be better.”
Grady’s slouch lessened, as though a sack of grain had been removed from his shoulders. “I—we—didn’t get those. They weren’t on the list.” He gazed at his unmistakably new shoes, already decorated with typical ranch detritus.
“Should be a pair in the tack room that’ll fit.” Bryce gave Ginger a quick pat and headed for the barn. After a second or two, Grady followed. Once they’d swapped out the orange sneakers for a pair of tall rubber boots, Bryce handed Grady the pouch of treats. “You spent much time around horses?” he asked as a formality. Grady’s reaction in the kitchen had made the question moot.
Grady shook his head. At least he wasn’t a chatterer.
“Come.” Bryce chinned toward the barn door and walked away.
At the paddock, Grady held back. Bryce called Ginger over, placed a halter over her head, and snapped on a lead. He led her out of the paddock, over to a hitching post at the far end of the barn, and secured her. Grady kept his distance.
“This is Ginger. She’s an old lady now, but she and Cecily put in their share of years working the ranch. Figure you two could start to get used to each other. She likes apples and carrots. Hold it in the flat of your palm, like this.” Bryce demonstrated, and Ginger daintily lipped up an apple slice.
Grady’s eyes widened. He took a step back. A statue in the park was more flexible.
“Relax. She can sense if you’re afraid, but she’s willing to forgive you.” Bryce demonstrated again, then handed a chunk of carrot to Grady. “Your turn.”
Grady placed the carrot dead center in his palm. Turned his head away and reached in Ginger’s general direction.
“Get closer,” Bryce said. “She’ll think you’re teasing her. Don’t jerk away when she takes it.”
With an exhale that could have been heard at the ranch house, Grady complied. When Ginger took the morsel, Grady’s lips twitched. His brows lifted in surprise.
“Soft, like velvet. It tickles, doesn’t it?” Bryce blew out a breath of his own. Step one accomplished. “Try it again.”
Four treats later, Grady had loosened up. Ginger eyed him expectantly.
“Last one,” Bryce said.
Grady offered the last apple slice. With a smile. More like a tiny curve at the corner of his mouth, but small steps were still progress.
“Time to go to the paddock,” Bryce said. He untied the lead and handed it to Grady.
The boy jerked his hand away from the rope. “Me? I don’t think I’m ready yet.”
“You can walk, can’t you?”
“Yes, but—what if the horse—?”
“Her name is Ginger,” Bryce said. He put the lead in Grady’s hand. “You cluck—like this.” He demonstrated the tongue-click. “And start walking. She’ll come along. In fact, it might be good for you to walk her around the barn. Take the long way to the paddock. Her old joints need the lubrication.”
Bryce gave Grady a silent count of three to comply. Credit to the kid, he gave another one of his whooshing exhales, swallowed, and managed a barely audible tsk.
Bryce tried not to smile. “A little louder. Her hearing ain’t what it used to be.”
Grady’s next attempt produced a serviceable cluck. He took a few tentative steps toward the paddock. Ginger’s ears pricked forward, and she ambled along behind him. Not the long way, but at least Grady was walking with a horse following him. As a precaution, Bryce stayed within reach, but as expected, Ginger was a perfect lady.
At the paddock, Bryce let Ginger into the enclosure and unhooked her lead. He gave her rump a light swat. “Atta girl. Go show the youngsters who’s boss.” He opened the gate, waiting for Ginger to pass through.
“Next lesson,” Bryce said. “Gates. Never leave them open. Never. Ever. Check them, then check them again.”
He stepped aside and gestured to Grady, who closed the gate and gave it a tug to make sure it was latched. He cast lidded eyes in Bryce’s direction. Half defiant, half seeking approval.
If the lad thought he’d be lavished with praise for those simple tasks, he’d be a long time waiting. Bryce tilted his Stetson back on his head. “Okay. Ready to work?”
Grady shrugged. Bryce took that as a yes and led him to the barn. He pointed to three empty stalls needing to be cleaned. “Manure fork. Manure bucket. There’s a spreader behind the barn. Out the door, to your left. You’ll find it.” He demonstrated, separating the manure from the shavings and handed the fork to Grady. “The less bedding you pick up, the less you’ll have to lay down later. Make sure you get all the wet bedding, too. Let me know when you’re done.”
Grady scowled, but forked manure into the black rubber tub. Bryce returned to the tack room and picked up the bridle that needed mending. As he worked, he heard Grady muttering to himself, his monologue interspersed with swear words, some of which Bryce hadn’t heard until he’d joined the army. He shook his head and let the kid get it out of his system. He’d done better than Bryce had expected with Ginger, but it would be several days before he put Grady on her back. Ginger wasn’t a working horse, which meant Grady would have to transfer what he learned from riding Ginger to an active cattle horse.
Taking advantage of the time to catch up on tack repairs, Bryce went through bridles, halters, and saddles, lining them up on the workbench for either cleaning or fixing. Surrounded by familiar equipment, inhaling the smells of leather and saddle soap, he worked his way down the line, attending to each in turn, lost in the peace of the job.
When he put the last halter away, he realized he hadn’t heard anything from Grady for several minutes. He stepped into the dim light of the barn, letting his eyes adjust as he made his way to the stalls he’d assigned to Grady. All three had been mucked out, but the boy was nowhere in the barn.
“I told you to tell me when you finished,” Bryce muttered as he strode out of the barn. “How hard was that? You knew where I was.”
He found Grady, hands shoved into his pockets, Stetson tilted back on his head, standing about five feet from the paddock. Ginger’s head hung over the fence, eyes closed, her tail whisking her flanks.
Bryce stopped. Listened. Grady, whether he understood it was smart not to raise his voice around horses, or because he didn’t want to be overheard, was talking to himself. Or Ginger. Or both. Bryce didn’t approve of eavesdropping, but he couldn’t help but overhear Grady’s muted, one-sided conversation.
“Guess we’re stuck with each other. Tell you what. I won’t hurt you, you don’t hurt me, okay? It won’t be for too long, and by the time my sentence is up, I should be safe. Nobody’s going to find me here in Back of Bumfuck.”
With the last utterance, Grady turned around, as if to make sure nobody had found him. He caught Bryce’s eye and tugged his Stetson low on his forehead again.