Total pages in book: 216
Estimated words: 206530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 826(@250wpm)___ 688(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 206530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 826(@250wpm)___ 688(@300wpm)
Then I swear he spends the rest of the week just doing that.
Just touching the horse.
Oh, and whispering to him. Can’t forget that. The secret Xavier-horse language he’s developed.
He is a horse whisperer. Like, a real one. He whispers to the animals and they respond with their horse noises. So much so that after three weeks, the jacked up, crazy-eyed Samson I met the first day doesn’t look much like himself. I come out after cleaning Lulu’s stall and put my arms on the fence to watch Xavier with him.
For the past two days, Xavier’s been tossing a small blanket over Samson’s back, then pulling it off again. Then tossing it on. Pulling it off.
I thought at this point Xavier could get away with anything, but at first, Samson seemed quite spooked at having something on his back.
Now as I watch, I see where Xavier is going with the whole exercise. Not only is the blanket on Samson’s back, but now Xavier’s hefting a whole saddle on as well.
Samson paws the ground nervously but Xavier gets it on. Then he pauses and goes to the front of the horse, whispering to him and cuddling him, forehead to nose. I can only shake my head in wonder.
Oh yeah, Samson’s already under Xavier’s spell big time. He might be putting up some last token resistance, but he’s already a goner.
When Xavier pulls back, Samson stands perfectly still while Xavier buckles the saddle in place underneath his stomach. He’s had a rope harness around Samson’s head for about a week now, and he holds the reins loosely.
Then, straight away, Xavier lifts his foot into the stirrup and stands up, holding onto the sides of the saddle for balance. Samson shuffles forward, turning his head sharply to see what’s going on. Xavier’s forced to drop back to the ground.
I jolt forward, hands going to the fence as the horse turns around in a circle, neighing. Xavier starts talking to him, patting his long neck. Then he grabs the saddle, hikes his foot up into the stirrup and tries again.
My heart leaps into my throat as again Samson heads forward, dislodging Xavier. Xavier jumps back to the ground.
What the hell is he doing? Obviously the horse isn’t ready for this step.
But Xavier just walks the short distance, grabs the saddle and yet again, hikes himself up.
With predictable results.
Damn him, why does he always have to push? It’s a wild animal, for God’s sake. Does Xavier just have some screwed up need to conquer everything in his path?
It’s obvious the freaking horse doesn’t want to be ridden. Of course he doesn’t. He spent his entire life roaming free, allowed to make his own decisions about what he was going to do each day, where he was going to go next, what he was going to eat and how he was going to eat it, where he was going to sleep—
His body was his own.
Before.
But then along comes this man.
Every day putting his hands all over you, demanding you call him Master, treating you like he owns you, body and soul… Making you question everything you thought you knew. About the world. About yourself.
It’s not fair.
I stare out at the mustang, willing him to hold true to his wild spirit. “Don’t let him conquer you,” I whisper under my breath.
Xavier hikes himself up into the stirrup again. Samson hesitates for just a moment before starting to shuffle forward.
It’s enough for Xavier to take advantage of. He swings his leg over the saddle and when Samson finally takes off, Xavier has the reins. He encourages Samson to keep going, but when he tugs on the left rope, Samson goes left until they’re riding in a brisk circle around the large paddock.
Xavier calls out loud praise to Samson as they go.
It’s both beautiful and horrible. Their bodies seam together in what looks like an unbroken line. Horse and rider—master and steed—connected in a single purpose.
I quickly turn on my heel and start walking away as quickly as possible, a clenched fist held over my heart against brewing hurt and rage.
“I got my period,” I say, staring down listlessly at the turkey sandwiches I prepared for lunch when Xavier comes in half an hour later. “I need tampons.”
That was a lovely discovery I made right after watching Xavier with Samson and went to the bathroom. Hello, Cousin Flo.
Goodbye hopes of this whole nightmare being over in nine months. And then I was flooded with relief, because, a baby? Like always, the thought of a screaming, squalling, shitting infant gets the same knee jerk reaction from me. Holy shit, just no.
Which was then followed by terror because what if Xavier was mad I wasn’t pregnant? Which was then swiftly followed by fury, because if he wanted me to get pregnant, then he should damn well start doing something about it!