A Christmas Wedding. Tracy Wolff
eyes. Maybe it was his Native American heritage, maybe it was just a natural affinity for horses, but it sure looked as though he was reading those horses’ minds and they were reading his.
Leaving the smaller stables, which housed some of the retired horses and their very young offspring, they headed for the first of the five huge racing stables. They had almost reached the door when a commotion broke out in a paddock behind them.
She turned to look and felt the color drain from her face as she started to run. Crown’s Majesty, the best two-year-old stallion the Triple H had and the current hope for next year’s Triple Crown, was spooked. He’d gotten away from his handler and was out of control. He knocked George down and reared up on his hind legs, preparing to come down hard on the unfortunate exercise boy.
As she ran toward the horse, Desi was conscious of her father and Jesse running next to her. “Get out of the way,” her dad shouted, as George rolled away from the razor sharp hooves.
She ran faster, heart pounding. Fear was a living, breathing thing inside of her. The situation was critical and she knew it. Stallions were notoriously high-strung, and Majesty was the highest strung of them all. She feared for George but she also feared for the horse. In a rage like this, Majesty could injure himself and never feel it until later. And by then his chances of ever racing again could be over.
Jesse poured on the speed, running past Desiree and her father as if they weren’t even there. He was staring intently at the horse, and she knew he too realized how potentially dangerous the situation was. He stopped running about fifteen feet from Majesty and began talking to the frightened horse.
Her breath caught in her throat. She knew Jesse was the best at what he did—her dad had been talking about him nonstop for months—but he didn’t know Majesty and the horse certainly didn’t know him. Big John, thinking along the same lines as her, moved to intercede, but stopped at Jesse’s abrupt hand motion.
The sounds Jesse crooned made no sense. Not words, just a musical collection of sounds running together. Desiree held her breath as Majesty snorted angrily, turning toward Jesse as if to eliminate this new threat.
She swallowed a scream as the horse charged. She expected Jesse to jump out of the way, but he didn’t. He held his ground, facing down the charging horse. Just when she was sure that he’d be trampled to death, he took one step to the side. As the rampaging horse ran past him, he grabbed Majesty’s mane and swung lightly into the saddle, still crooning soothingly.
Desiree and Big John stared, openmouthed, as Majesty twisted and turned, trying to dislodge Jesse. But even they could tell that it was a halfhearted rebellion. Within sixty seconds he’d given up the attempt to knock Jesse off his back, and instead allowed Jesse to guide him into a gentle walk.
As breath slowly returned to her tortured lungs, Desi became aware again of her surroundings. Everyone within visual distance of the altercation had stopped. Grooms and trainers alike stared at Jesse with respect. She, too, stood in absolute awe at what he had done with a horse he’d never met before. And Majesty wasn’t just any horse; he was the nastiest, most hot-tempered horse the Triple H had ever bred. Yet he’d responded to Jesse like a sweet-tempered colt out for an afternoon jog. It was truly inspiring to see.
Overriding the awe and respect Jesse had earned was an overwhelming curiosity, a need to know exactly how he’d done what he’d done and a desire to learn from him. So she stood quietly, as her father and other men rushed forward to congratulate Jesse. He was calm amidst all the commotion, ignoring the compliments and questions. He simply dismounted and began walking Majesty toward his stable. Desi tagged along behind, not willing to lose sight of him for an instant.
Once inside, Alan, the ranch’s business manager, called to Big John. He excused himself for a minute, leaving Jesse and her alone with the horses.
She almost stayed silent, worried about embarrassing herself in front of the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. But curiosity got the best of her, as it so often did, and she asked, “What are you doing?”
He looked at her, his black eyes carefully blank. “What do you mean?”
“You’re talking to that horse and he’s talking to you.” She watched his eyes go wide in surprise. “And not with your voice. I saw you do it with Majesty earlier.”
He smiled wryly. “No one’s ever noticed before.”
She flushed. Probably because no one had ever studied him as intently as she was. “You look different when you do it. Your eyes go kind of hazy and it’s like you’re not here anymore.”
He nodded. “I can walk with animals. That’s what my grandfather called it. My mother, too.”
She was fascinated. “So, you’re Native American?”
He stiffened and his eyes grew a little wary. “I’m half Cherokee.”
“That’s awesome.” She cleared her throat, nervous under his intense scrutiny. “How does it work?”
He paused for a minute, then smiled as if he understood her curiosity to know everything about him. “I don’t know exactly. One person in each generation of my family has the gift. By the time I was six, everyone knew it was me. I don’t know why I was chosen.”
“Because you won’t abuse it. You’re strong and you hold your power well. But there’s no cruelty in you.” Her hands flew to her mouth almost before she was done speaking. Mama always told her to think before she spoke and she had gotten better at it. Except, it seemed, with Jesse. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“That’s all right.” He eyed her speculatively. “How do you know that?”
“I just do.”
“That’s not an answer.” His black eyes pinned her in place, demanded an answer that she didn’t want to give.
“You know things about animals? Things no one else does. Right?”
He nodded. “So what?”
“It’s like that for me, with people. I just know things. Daddy says I’ve got good instincts. Mama says it’s a curse to see so much about others.”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t, really. It’s not something I think about. It’s just there, you know?”
“I do, actually.”
“I figured you might.” She smiled at him shyly.
“How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
He nodded as his eyes swept around the stable and out to the land beyond the open door. “What’s your favorite part of the ranch, Desiree?”
Shivers worked their way up and down her spine. No one ever called her by her full name, largely because she hated it. Something about being named after a long-dead great-grandmother had creeped her out from the time she was a little girl, but the way he said it—in that rough satin voice—made her appreciate her name for the first time. She shrugged again. “I don’t know.”
He cocked his head to the left, the look on his face patently disbelieving. “Yes, you do.”
“The training circles.” Desi blurted the truth without stopping to think.
“Why?” His intense concentration made her nervous. He studied her the way he studied the horses, as if he was examining every thought in her head.
“They’re about becoming. No one’s won, no one’s lost. It’s just pure potential. Just a horse and a dream, before reality intrudes.”
His lips turned up slightly at the corners in the first smile she’d seen that reached his eyes. “So you’re a romantic.”
“Aren’t all teenage girls?”
“I don’t know. You’re the first teenage girl I’ve talked to since I was a teenage