I bit my lip to keep from laughing, it was almost impossible. I scooped my lunch up and slipped through the turnstile at the end of the walkway, stepping from the cement pad back onto the deep red dirt. His laugh echoed in my mind, hungering to hear the sound again. He leaned rakishly on the broad pipe that encircled the front of the rock building, his arms across his chest as he argued over how he wanted his ribeye cooked. I didn't realize that I'd been walking slower than normal, hesitating before I even realized that I had.
Before I had the chance to say anything witty or even throw a smile his way, my dad rode up to the fence, clearly in a hurry.
"Go get your mare, she's pulling back-we don't need her crippling herself!"

I didn't hang around anymore, I ran the entire way back to the trailer, stopping only to catch my breath and slow my stride so I didn't upset her anymore. Her fit seemed to be over, but the signs of her previous struggle were evident. The paint gelding had flattened himself against the side of the trailer, obviously trying to save himself from her vigorous thrashing. The grass was blistered away under her feet, hair was rubbed from her front legs and forehead where she'd scraped herself along the body of the trailer. A small gash above her left eye had started to bleed, giving her the look of an unsuccessful boxer on the ropes. Her neck and sides were dark with sweat, and her water bucket had been upended and it's snap busted from the rope it hung from. The leadrope was sucked down against the tie ring, I grimaced as I tried to pull it loose. After a considerable effort that caused new drops of sweat to glisten on my forehead, I was resigned to simply cut the rope and be done with it. We had and extra in the trailer, and I was at the point that I didn't care. This was the third time this week she'd pulled this stunt, part of te reason we'd ended up with her to begin with.
"Here, don't waste your lead rope, I'll get it untied for ya."
Once again, here he was, offering help to me when I wasn't a hundred percent sure that I wanted his help. "If you can get it untied, great, but be careful. She's got a hair trigger and it sure don't take much to set her off," I warned as he stepped toward my little sorrel mare. As her head came up and her eyes widened, she started to take a step back, ready to explode at the smallest excuse. He simply ran a hand down her neck, talking softly to her the whole time his other hand deftly unsnarled the leadrope from the seemingly immovable knot it had been pulled into. I hadn't honestly thought he'd be able to get it untied, but was pleasantly surprised when he put the purple and white lead rope in my hand.
"Thanks. You don't know it, but you saved me a big butt chewing, my dad is less than thrilled at her habit of trashing halters," I said the words over my shoulder as I lead her back into the trailer. At least if she could just stand inside, she wouldn't pull back and ruin another halter or hurt herself, even if it was a little hotter in there, maybe she'd learn to appreciate standing outside rather than in and not pull back next time! He laughed again, a softer version than the previous, more understanding I suppose.
"I had a colt a few years ago that was bad about that, he was a spook, you never knew what would set him off." He stood running a hand down my paint's neck, smoothing his mane as he did. If nothing else, I appreciated the soft hand he had with my horses, they seemed to like him already, and I didn't even know his name yet. "Did you ever get him over it? The pulling back I mean," I asked as I stepped around him to pull another bridle out of the tack room to hang on my saddle horn. "Sorry to dissapoint, but no, I couldn't get him past it. There was just something buried down deep in that head of his that I couldn't straighten out, no matter what I tried," the frusteration at the thought of it was evident on his face even now, he shook his head as his eyes narrowed. "He was blue blooded, cuttin' bred but was a reject because he got to big too fast, that's how I ended up with him," he took a sip from the bottle of water he'd sat on the edge of the truck bed. "You're John's daughter right?" It was more of a statement than a question, and I smiled as I answered. "Yep, the flagman's kid, that's me," my hands moved along the horse's neck, as I spoke. I unfastened his halter, slipping his tie down over his ears. "Well what's your name, I know your last name's Waylon, but I dont guess I've heard your first name."
"Well, I don't let anyone but my granny call me by my first name, so I'll tell you my middle name, how about that?" He grinned as he looked at me from across my mare's back. "Well alright then, I guess that'll have to do for now. Maybe I can be special enough one a these days that I'll get to know what that first name is," his grin hadn't moved as he watched me slip the bridle on my gelding. "You can call me Nikki. One of these days if you're lucky, I'll tell you my first name, but don't hold your breath."