I thought of Miller’s complete and utter lack of enthusiasm this morning. “I’m just not sure that’s going to be enough.”
Chapter Eight
“You’re certainly not what I expected.”
I sat at my new desk in the barn the next morning, loathe to pull myself away from an email inbox that had quadrupled overnight. But the older gentleman standing in the doorway didn’t look like the type to wait while I tended to correspondence.
I stood and tossed my ponytail over my shoulder. “If you mean my stunning supermodel looks didn’t properly convey in our phone call interviews, I know my appearance can overwhelm and intoxicate upon first meeting.” The old man beneath the black cowboy hat cackled, and I stuck out my hand. “Nice to finally meet in person. Mr. Jackson, I presume.”
“Call me Ernie.” A pin in his hat declared he was a Vietnam veteran, but the lines in his face said he’d endured countless other life battles. “I meant I know your grandma and aunt. So I thought I’d come in here and find a crazy woman.”
“Oh, I’ve got some crazy. Mine’s just a little more subtle.”
“You packing heat in those britches?”
“No, sir.”
“You already wired this barn for surveillance and laser-triggered security?”
“Wouldn’t even know how.”
“Is half that desk full of candy instead of office supplies?”
“Well. Of course.”
The man who resembled an older Denzel Washington gave a reluctant grin. “You are, indeed, Sylvie’s granddaughter.”
In my equine-assisted therapy, my method relied on the equine specialist who was critical to the process. While I usually hung back and watched the sessions, only interjecting occasionally until a one-on-one session convened at the end, Ernie would be ever-present. He would handle the horses during the appointments and catalogue observations. Ernie, the horses, and I were to be equals, all with the same goal of working toward a breakthrough for the client.
I’d set up a little coffeepot and poured Ernie a steaming mug of my favorite blend. “Your resume said you had twenty years’ experience as an equine specialist.” I handed him the cup.
He took one sip and gave a nod of approval. “I’ve been around horses most of my adult life. Worked for a therapist over in Fayetteville for a stretch, but then I retired.”
“Miller says you’re one of the best—with horses. How are you with people?”
“Good enough.” Eyes that had seen too much regarded me. “I know I wasn’t your first pick. You gonna be sore about that?”
“Possibly. But not as sore as I was about not being able to select my own horses.”
Due to distance and Miller’s stubbornness, I hadn’t gotten to choose my specialistormy horses. It was as if my boss was trying to sabotage my program before it even got started.
“Nobody in these parts knows horses like me,” Ernie stated. “You’re going to like our team.”
I set my coffee on my desk and grabbed my sunglasses. “Then how about you introduce me to them now.”
* * *
An hour later, with the bright spring sun warming my arms, I stood at the fence and scratched a quarter horse’s ears. There were four horses in the barn, one in the gated arena, and a handful more in the field.
“This is Carol B.” Ernie patted the muscular flank of this final horse on the tour. “She’s peaceful as a lamb and can smell a carrot a hundred yards away.”
I laughed as she went for the pocket on my shirt. “I get you, girl.” I handed her the remaining two carrots from a bag. “Snacks are important.”
“Do you approve of the horses?” Ernie didn’t take his eyes off Carol B, but I had a feeling he could still see my every reaction.
“I approve.”
His shoulders relaxed a bit at that. “I know you wanted to pick them yourself, but I thank you for trusting me with the task.”
