Good.
He raised his voice slightly.
“This woman has a history of manipulating animals using methods responsible trainers consider dangerous.”
Amelia looked around.
There it was.
Public trial.
Just like her mother.
But this was not Boston.
And Ethan stood beside her.
Sheriff Bell near the rail.
Reverend Coyle among crowd.
Ranchers whose horses she had helped.
One stepped forward.
Ben Turner.
Fifty-six.
Hands like leather.
“My mare hadn’t let a man near her in six months.”
“Mrs. Callahan had her saddled in four days.”
Another:
“My gelding quit striking after two sessions.”
Charles smiled.
“Stories.”
“Superstition.”
He pointed toward a covered horse trailer.
“I brought evidence.”
Amelia’s stomach tightened.
Two handlers opened trailer.
A gray stallion emerged.
Scarred.
Sweating.
Terrified.
Even at distance Amelia could see panic in him.
His eyes showed white.
Foam at mouth.
Hind legs trembling.
Charles announced:
“This horse came from a Whitaker stable.”
“Mrs. Callahan trained him two years ago.”
Amelia stared.
She knew him.
“Atlas.”
The stallion jerked at sound.
Charles smiled.
“So you remember.”
Amelia took one step forward.
“What did you do to him?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
The crowd reacted.
Charles shrugged.
“He became unmanageable after you left.”
“That proves danger of your methods.”
Amelia saw marks near his mouth.
Heavy bit.
Skin rubbed raw beneath jaw.
Anger replaced fear.
She turned to Sheriff Bell.
“Can I enter?”
Sheriff frowned.
“That animal looks ready to kill somebody.”
“I didn’t ask that.”
The sheriff looked at Ethan.
Ethan’s face was white with worry.
But he did not say no.
He looked at Amelia.
“Your choice.”
That was why she loved him.
Amelia turned.
“Yes.”
Sheriff ordered handlers outside the round pen.
Charles protested.
“Absolutely not.”
Sheriff replied:
“You brought horse for demonstration.”
“Let her demonstrate.”
Atlas reared.
Crowd backed away.
Amelia entered.
No whistle.
No rope.
No crop.
Nothing.
Gate closed behind her.
Ethan’s hands clenched at his sides.
Every instinct demanded he drag her out.
Instead he trusted.
Amelia stood sideways.
Not facing Atlas directly.
She lowered her gaze.
Breathing slowly.
The stallion struck ground.
She waited.
He moved toward her.
Stopped.
Moved again.
Amelia whispered:
“I remember you.”
His ears flicked.
“Not what they did.”
“You.”
The crowd could not hear every word.
Ethan could see only her mouth moving.
Atlas screamed.
Charged three strides.
Ethan almost vaulted fence.
Then the stallion stopped.
Amelia did not move.
Dust drifted around her skirt.
Atlas’s breathing hammered.