as a bullet."
"But you ruined that plan for them," MacNeil said, harshness underlying the calm of his tone. "Now they’ll be planning to use bullets—for both you and the horse."
Chapter 7
S ole Pleasure wasn’t happy. He didn’t like being alone, he didn’t like being cramped in a small trailer for so long, and he was both hungry and thirsty. MacNeil had backed the horse trailer deep into a section of woods, so deep she didn’t know how he’d managed it, and Pleasure didn’t like the unfamiliar surroundings, either. He was a horse accustomed to open pastures, roomy stalls, noise and people. As soon as they got out of the truck they heard his angry neighing and the thud of one of his rear hooves repeatedly kicking against the back of the trailer.
"He’ll hurt himself!" Maris hurried to the trailer, moving faster than she should have for the sake of her head, but if Pleasure managed to break his leg, he would have to be put down. "Easy, baby, easy," she crooned as she unlatched the back gate, the special note she used for her horses entering her tone. The kicking stopped immediately, and she could almost see the alert black ears swiveling to catch her voice.
"Hold it." MacNeil’s hand came down on top of hers as she started to open the gate. "I’ll get him out. He’s fractious, and I don’t want him bumping you around. You stand over there and keep talking to him."
She gave him a considering look as she moved to the side. Really, the man was acting as if this were the first time she’d ever been hurt. Anyone who worked with horses could expect to be kicked, bitten, bruised and bucked off—though she hadn’t been thrown since she’d been a kid. Still, she’d collected her share of injuries: Both arms had been broken, as well as her collarbone. She’d had a concussion before, too. What was the best way to handle an overprotective man, especially after you were married?
Exactly the way her mother handled her father, she thought, grinning. By standing her ground, talking rings around him, and distracting him with sex, and by choosing her battles and sometimes actually letting him have his way. This was one of the times to not kick up a fuss. She would ignore him later, when the stakes were greater.
MacNeil skillfully backed the big stallion out of the trailer; Pleasure came eagerly, happy to have company again, relieved to be unconfined. He showed his happiness by dancing around and playing, shoving MacNeil with his head and generally acting like any four-year-old. All things considered, Maris was just as happy not to be on the receiving end of those head butts, or to have to control all that power as he danced around. He would have been quieter for her—the horses found her especially soothing—but any jolt right now wasn’t fun.
MacNeil led Pleasure away from the trailer, the stallion’s hooves almost soundless on the thick pad of pine needles and decomposing leaves that carpeted the forest floor. He tied the reins to a sapling and patted the animal’s glossy neck. "Okay, you can come over now," he called to Maris. "Keep him happy while I reposition the trailer."
She took control of the stallion, calming him with her voice and hands. He was still hungry and thirsty, but he was such a curious, gregarious horse that his interest in the proceedings kept him occupied. Dean Pearsall had stopped the Oldsmobile farther back, positioning the car so its headlights lit the area. MacNeil got in the truck and put it in reverse, leaning out the open door to check his position as he backed the truck up to the trailer. He was good at it; it took some people forever to get the trailer hitch in the right position, but MacNeil did it on the first try. Pretty good for an FBI agent, Maris thought. He was a fed now, but he’d obviously spent a lot of time around horses in the past.
It was snowing a little more heavily now, the headlight beams catching the drifting flakes as they sifted through the bare branches of
"But you ruined that plan for them," MacNeil said, harshness underlying the calm of his tone. "Now they’ll be planning to use bullets—for both you and the horse."
Chapter 7
S ole Pleasure wasn’t happy. He didn’t like being alone, he didn’t like being cramped in a small trailer for so long, and he was both hungry and thirsty. MacNeil had backed the horse trailer deep into a section of woods, so deep she didn’t know how he’d managed it, and Pleasure didn’t like the unfamiliar surroundings, either. He was a horse accustomed to open pastures, roomy stalls, noise and people. As soon as they got out of the truck they heard his angry neighing and the thud of one of his rear hooves repeatedly kicking against the back of the trailer.
"He’ll hurt himself!" Maris hurried to the trailer, moving faster than she should have for the sake of her head, but if Pleasure managed to break his leg, he would have to be put down. "Easy, baby, easy," she crooned as she unlatched the back gate, the special note she used for her horses entering her tone. The kicking stopped immediately, and she could almost see the alert black ears swiveling to catch her voice.
"Hold it." MacNeil’s hand came down on top of hers as she started to open the gate. "I’ll get him out. He’s fractious, and I don’t want him bumping you around. You stand over there and keep talking to him."
She gave him a considering look as she moved to the side. Really, the man was acting as if this were the first time she’d ever been hurt. Anyone who worked with horses could expect to be kicked, bitten, bruised and bucked off—though she hadn’t been thrown since she’d been a kid. Still, she’d collected her share of injuries: Both arms had been broken, as well as her collarbone. She’d had a concussion before, too. What was the best way to handle an overprotective man, especially after you were married?
Exactly the way her mother handled her father, she thought, grinning. By standing her ground, talking rings around him, and distracting him with sex, and by choosing her battles and sometimes actually letting him have his way. This was one of the times to not kick up a fuss. She would ignore him later, when the stakes were greater.
MacNeil skillfully backed the big stallion out of the trailer; Pleasure came eagerly, happy to have company again, relieved to be unconfined. He showed his happiness by dancing around and playing, shoving MacNeil with his head and generally acting like any four-year-old. All things considered, Maris was just as happy not to be on the receiving end of those head butts, or to have to control all that power as he danced around. He would have been quieter for her—the horses found her especially soothing—but any jolt right now wasn’t fun.
MacNeil led Pleasure away from the trailer, the stallion’s hooves almost soundless on the thick pad of pine needles and decomposing leaves that carpeted the forest floor. He tied the reins to a sapling and patted the animal’s glossy neck. "Okay, you can come over now," he called to Maris. "Keep him happy while I reposition the trailer."
She took control of the stallion, calming him with her voice and hands. He was still hungry and thirsty, but he was such a curious, gregarious horse that his interest in the proceedings kept him occupied. Dean Pearsall had stopped the Oldsmobile farther back, positioning the car so its headlights lit the area. MacNeil got in the truck and put it in reverse, leaning out the open door to check his position as he backed the truck up to the trailer. He was good at it; it took some people forever to get the trailer hitch in the right position, but MacNeil did it on the first try. Pretty good for an FBI agent, Maris thought. He was a fed now, but he’d obviously spent a lot of time around horses in the past.
It was snowing a little more heavily now, the headlight beams catching the drifting flakes as they sifted through the bare branches of
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