Racing the Devil by Jaden Terrell Page B

have an eight-year-old son, so whatever I end up with has to be gentle.”
    “Your son would be riding the horse?”
    “Not necessarily. I just don’t want anything that might strike at him. No biting, no kicking.” I imagined Paulie’s head struck by a hard, sharp hoof, his pudgy body falling, the startled look on his moon-shaped face, the fair hair splashed with blood. I imagined myself in slow motion, unable to stop it. Every father’s nightmare.
    One of many. I have one for every occasion.
    “Truth to tell,” she said, “I only have one horse for sale right now. Two-year-old. But he’s not broke yet, and he’s only got one eye. He’s still intact, but you could geld him. I could sell him to you cheap.”
    “Could I see him? When you’re finished here, I mean.” I gestured toward the gelding she was riding.
    “I’ll only be a few more minutes.” She made a face. “I hate this part of it, but I’m between trainers. Why don’t you take a look at the colt? He’s in the last stall on that row.” She pointed to the corridor that included the wash bay. “Right side. Name’s Dakota.”
    She went back to her training, and I pushed away from the fence and went to look at the colt.
    He was about fifteen hands, a rich bay so dark it was almost black, with reddish highlights that rippled across his muscles when he moved. He had one white foot and a small white star between his eyes with three little sworls of hair surrounding it. His conformation was just about perfect.
    When I spoke, he startled briefly and swung his good eye toward me. The other was clouded. A jagged scar slashed from the center of his forehead to the middle of his cheek.
    His muscles tightened, but he didn’t turn his hindquarters to me. His head was cocked, his ears held out to the sides.
    Wary.
    I slid back the bolt and tugged open the stall door. His ears twitched as the door rumbled on its runners, but since he neither panicked nor charged, I stepped inside and pulled the stall door closed behind me.
    After a few minutes, his ears pricked forward and he edged closer.
    I gave him my hand to smell, and his nostrils flared, blowing a warm breath onto the back of my wrist. Gently, I blew back.
    It took awhile, but he let me run my hands over him, rub his ears, and pick up all four feet. None of his legs seemed sore or swollen, and his hooves were smooth and well shod. When I bent over to look at his front hooves, he nudged my hat off and nibbled at my hair.
    It was a gentle gesture, but I knew I needed to put a stop to it before it evolved into something dangerous. Horses are big, and they’re powerful, and even the sweetest ones can kill you if you aren’t careful.
    I straightened up too suddenly, and he shied away from me and pressed himself into the corner of his stall, tail clamped tight to his hindquarters.
    Behind me, a voice said, “He needs a lot of work.”
    The horse’s skin twitched, and his good eye rolled back so I could see the white.
    I said, “What happened to him?”
    “I had a trainer, Asa Majors. Went after Dakota with his belt. Nearly took his eye out with the buckle.” She slid the door open and stepped in beside me. She smelled of horse sweat and vanilla perfume. “Drinking, I guess. So now, like I said, I’m between trainers.”
    A violent man in an alcoholic rage. I made a mental note to call on Asa as soon as I could manage it.
    I looked at the colt, stretched my hand out, and stroked his flank. Again, his muscles tensed, but he made no move to bite or strike. Nice. But like the lady said, he’d take a lot of work.
    “I like him,” I said. “But I need to think it over. And I’ll want my vet to check him out.”
    She shrugged. “He’s had his vaccinations and his Coggins. I have the paperwork in the office. But if you want your guy to check him out, sure. He colicked a little over a week ago and I spent most of the night monitoring him, but he’s fine now.” Her lower lip quivered. “That was the