but he was a handful and it took Will a while. Then he faced his gathering, pulled the hat off his head and wiped a sleeve across his brow. “I told Miss Norton, there’s more to this horse. I’ve seen plenty of unbroke animals, but he acts downright dangerous. Young fella doesn’t trust anyone or anything, and he’s got a lousy temper besides.”
When Nathaniel had seen the horse a couple of days earlier in Ginny’s small backyard stable, he had asked her to let Will bring him over alone, give them a few days with the animal before any assessment was made. So Ginny was not here as they first observed him in his new surroundings. Inside the round pen, Streak ran in circles as if he had months’ worth of pent-up energy to burn off.
While Nate and Annie spoke with Will, Clay leaned his forearms on the fence and watched the two-year-old work off some steam. People had many and varied reasons for selling a horse. Could be they took stock of their stable and decided to thin it out to make room for better investments; they could have decided putting more into this particular animal was throwing good money after bad and chose to cut their losses. Only time would tell with Streak, but he was too young to write off. As Clay watched him run, throw his head, snort, rear and dig at the ground, he found himself hoping it was something a little experience and intuition could resolve because the horse was so damn beautiful.
He was chestnut in color, had four white stockings and a white blaze that ran down the bridge of his nose. He was big for a young Arabian—sixteen and a half hands at least, maybe thirteen hundred pounds. Willful, energetic, maybe a little crazy. For about the millionth time Clay was asking himself why some of God’s most amazing creatures were so difficult to harness. So much trouble to befriend. He just shook his head and laughed. The horse shook his head and snorted at Clay, then ran another lap.
That horse needed to be let loose in the round pen for a few hours. He had a bad case of stable fever.
Clay heard Will’s pickup depart and then Nathaniel and Annie were flanking him. With all eyes on Streak, Nathaniel said, “Some days are better than others with this horse, Will says, but even brushing him is dangerous. When Will can get a harness on him, he’s fitful. When Ginny attempts to touch him, he shies. She’s afraid that even if they eventually saddle him, she’ll be thrown.”
“She should be afraid,” Clay said. “Look at him. He has some serious trust issues.” Clay turned to Nate. “I’ll try to catch him, put him in the stallion stall and feed him.”
“Want help?”
“Nah,” Clay said, smiling. “But I’m going to let him get good and tired before I try to catch him.”
Nate gave him a slap on the back and went back to his office.
By the time Clay got around to the horse, he was still skittish, but Clay had seen far worse. Streak had worked up a lather, but Clay wasn’t going to attempt any grooming; getting him acclimated was enough for today. Besides, just catching him was a huge accomplishment. They communed in silence, but all Clay was picking up was a nervous colt. He decided to work with him in the morning.
Once Streak was fed, settled in his stall and alone for the night, Clay’s mind moved on to other things. He hadn’t yet had a chance to get acquainted with Nate’s computerized records and if he was going to contribute to animal care and stable management, he’d have to be up to speed on that. Annie had offered him dinner again but Clay declined. He didn’t want to set a precedent of spending all his time off with them. Although he considered Nathaniel a friend, he was also a boss. So Clay made himself a couple of sandwiches in his room and worked on a list of things he’d like to accomplish his first week.
He eventually pulled a book out of his duffel. Clay liked to read about earth sciences—geography, geology, meteorology, ecology. He also liked astronomy and still packed in that horse trailer, due to the lack of room afforded by his current living quarters, was a state-of-the-art telescope. But when the book dropped into his lap and he lay reclined on his bed, his sleepy thoughts drifted toward the long-legged blonde he had been married to and he wondered if she was all right, if her loneliness and anxiety plagued her now that he was no longer there for her.
And then, inexplicably, he began to think about that little Hopi girl who was certainly in love with a horse …
He hadn’t been asleep long when his pleasant man-dreams shifted to oppressive darkness. He didn’t know whether he moved in his sleep, but in the dream he was thrashing around. He was looking up at a black, starless sky from a deep hole and his entire being was suffused with panic, his heart racing with fear. There was no way out; he used his hands to claw at the sides of the hole, but without success. He tried to yell for help, but no sound came out. And it seemed to go on for an intolerably long time.
When Clay’s eyes finally burst open, he was panting and drenched in sweat. His reading lamp was still on, of course. The darkness was all contained in the dream, not his surroundings. He had to work to slow his pulse and control his breathing. His immediate thought was, What the hell was that? He hadn’t had a nightmare in so long, he couldn’t remember the last time. He thought it might’ve been more than a dozen years ago, in his early twenties, when his life had been very unstable and his future impossible to envision.
Clay meditated briefly. It took only moments for him to calm his body and mind. He took a deep, cleansing breath. And then he heard a thump from the stable.
He rose from his bed, pulled on his boots and went to check things out. He walked down the aisle between the stalls and all seemed under control. Then he heard another thump, this time accompanied by a soft whinny.
Streak. Anxious in his new surroundings? He went to the stall and looked in. Streak was facing a corner, whinnying in his sleep and pawing the wall of the stall with one foreleg. The second Clay was near the colt, he felt his fear. He sensed the deep, dark, muddy hole; entrapment. It was dark and cold in the horse’s dream.
Not a good time to enter the stall, so he reached a hand in. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said very softly. “Easy now.” The horse’s head came up, turned and his large brown eyes took in Clay. He snorted and shook his head. In a few moments the horse calmed enough to wander over to the half door, close enough for Clay to stroke him. Alone and frightened, Streak was willing to take a chance and trust Clay. This was a huge bonding moment. Clay stroked him gently. “There now, young man,” he said. “Those weren’t sweet dreams, were they, boy?”
Clay only enjoyed the bonding for a short time, then closed the horse in and quietly walked away, leaving Streak feeling the trust and wanting more. Clay realized he’d been caught in the colt’s dream. He’d been trapped in a hole, afraid, left too long, traumatized. There had been many times he felt he’d picked up an animal’s thoughts, but he’d never had this kind of channeling experience before.
“That’s a first,” he said to himself.
He leaned against the wall out of Streak’s sight and waited for any more uproars in the stable. But it remained quiet for a long time, so Clay went to bed, this time turning off the lights. He rested comfortably through what remained of the night.
Clay tended all six horses in the early morning, turning out Nathaniel and Annie’s four horses into the big pasture and Blue into her own paddock. He kept Streak in the round pen for now; he wasn’t going to integrate the horses until he had time to observe and manage them. He wouldn’t be surprised if Streak caused trouble.
It wasn’t yet seven when he went to Nate and Annie’s back kitchen door. It was almost time for the practice to open for business; Nathaniel might have house calls to make first thing for all he knew. Clay needed to talk to him before he got too busy.
“Good
