Emma sat across from him.
Rain battered the roof.
For several minutes they ate quietly.
Then Jack asked:
“Can you really break horses?”
Emma looked up.
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“I stopped counting.”
“That means either many or none.”
She put down her spoon.
“I started at fourteen.”
Jack lifted an eyebrow.
“My father raised working horses.”
“He let you?”
“He preferred me helping to paying hired men.”
Jack almost smiled.
“Tomorrow we find out.”
Emma leaned back.
“You don't believe me.”
“I believe horses more than people.”
“That makes two of us.”
The next morning dawned bright and bitterly cold.
Emma woke before sunrise.
She dressed quickly.
By the time she reached the barn, Jack was repairing a saddle near the tack room.
He looked up.
“You sleep?”
“Enough.”
Jack handed her coffee.
No speeches.
No sympathy.
Just coffee.
Emma accepted it.
“Thank you.”
A violent crash came from the far corral.
A young gray stallion struck the rails.
Jack sighed.
“That one.”
“What about him?”
“Three weeks.”
“Won’t take a halter.”
“Nearly broke my shoulder.”
Emma walked toward the fence.
The stallion paced.
Sweat darkened its neck despite the cold.
Its nostrils flared.
“He isn't angry.”
Jack leaned beside her.
“No?”
“He’s frightened.”
“Of what?”
“Everything.”
Emma entered the corral before Jack could argue.
He straightened.
“Emma.”
She lifted one hand.
“Stay there.”
The stallion wheeled.
Emma stopped ten yards away.
She did nothing.
No rope.
No command.
No reaching.
Minutes passed.
Jack watched.
The stallion’s ears shifted.
Emma stepped backward.
The horse watched.
Another step.
The stallion moved forward.
Emma backed away again.
The horse followed.
Jack’s expression changed.
Fifteen minutes later, the stallion stood beside Emma.
She slowly lifted one hand.
Touched its neck.
The animal released a long breath.
Emma whispered:
“There you are.”
Jack removed his hat.
“I've spent three weeks trying to earn that.”
Emma looked toward him.
“He wanted someone patient enough to stop chasing him.”
Jack stared.
Then smiled.
“Maybe that applies to more than horses.”
Emma immediately understood.
Her expression cooled.
Jack lifted both hands.
“That wasn't about Briggs.”
“Good.”
He paused.
“Mostly.”
Emma almost threw a handful of dirt at him.
Instead she smiled.
That was the first morning.
By noon, Jack had stopped wondering whether Emma exaggerated her abilities.
She repaired tack.