A Cowboy Got The Bride Nobody Wanted- She Knew More About Horses Than Any Man in the Territory

Chapter 8

Nell found Obsidian three miles down the creek, in a deep, brush-choked gully.

His left foreleg was tangled in a snarl of old barbed wire, the remnant of a forgotten fence line. The wire had cut deep, and the horse was frantic with pain and fear, pulling against it, only making the wound worse. He was lathered in sweat, his eyes rolling wildly, his great chest heaving.

“Easy, boy,” she crooned, sliding off her mare. “Easy now. It’s me.”

She approached slowly, her hands outstretched, her voice the same low, steady current she had used every night at the fence. Obsidian stopped pulling. His ragged breathing was the only sound in the quiet gully as he recognized her voice, her scent.

He stood trembling as she got closer, examining the damage. The wire was wrapped tight, cutting off circulation. She needed to cut him free, but any sudden movement could make him panic and sever an artery. She worked at the barbs with her bare fingers, feeling the sharp points bite into her skin, tasting blood in her mouth where she’d bitten her lip.

She was still working when she heard the sound of another horse approaching.

Her heart leapt into her throat. She looked up.

Moss.

He reined in at the top of the gully, his face etched with worry and something else she couldn’t name. He swung down from the saddle, his eyes taking in the scene — the injured horse, the blood on her hands — and started down the slope toward her.

Obsidian, seeing the man, tensed and pulled back, letting out a pained snort.

“Stay back!” Nell called out. “You’ll spook him.”

Moss stopped.

He saw the way the terrified, powerful animal was grounded by her presence alone. He saw her courage, her absolute competence in a situation that would have sent most men running for a gun. He saw everything he had refused to see the day before.

“Nell,” he said, his voice raw, stripped of all its usual authority. “I’m sorry. I was a fool.”

The apology hung in the air between them, simple and profound.

She gave a small, jerky nod, her attention still on the horse. “I need to cut the wire,” she said. “I can’t get it loose.”

“I have pliers in my saddlebag.”

He retrieved them and came down the slope again, moving slowly, cautiously. “Let me help,” he said. Not as a command. As a plea.

She looked at him, and in his eyes she saw a vulnerability that matched her own. She nodded.

“You’ll have to hold his head,” she instructed. “Talk to him. Keep him steady. If he thrashes when I cut, he could kill himself.”

It was the ultimate act of trust. He was placing the fate of his most valuable animal entirely in her hands.

He moved to Obsidian’s head, taking the cheek strap of the halter, his hands gentle. And he began to speak to the horse — his voice the low rumble she had heard him use only with her.

“I know,” he murmured. “I know you’re scared. It’s all right. She’s here. She’ll make it right.”

And as he calmed his horse, he was speaking to her, too.

Nell took the pliers and went to work. With steady hands she found the main strand, and with a grunt of effort, she snipped it. The tension released. She worked quickly, cutting the other strands, carefully unwrapping the barbed wire from the bloody leg.

Finally, the horse was free.

Obsidian leaned against Moss, shuddering, exhausted — but alive.

Moss looked from the horse to Nell. Her face was smudged with dirt. Her hands were cut and bleeding. Her dress was torn. But he had never seen anyone more beautiful.

He had come to rescue a horse and had found himself rescued from his own pride, his own foolishness. She had come to save an animal, and in doing so, she had shown him what it meant to have faith.

“Jed lied,” he said, the words costing him. “Billy told me he saw him by the corral. I should have trusted you.”

“Yes,” she said softly. “You should have.”

She didn’t say it with malice. She said it with a quiet sadness, the weight of everything she had carried since she stepped off that stage.

He took a step closer. He reached out, and his calloused thumb gently wiped a smudge of dirt from her cheek.

“Come home, Nell,” he said. “Please.”