Dead Heat (Alpha and Omega) - Patricia Briggs Page 0,103

but a lot less than she’d be worth if he could fix her. Before he could start working with her, his health started going downhill again.”

Hosteen turned away and ran a hand down the mare’s shiny neck. The smile he gave Anna when he turned back was unhappy, but not, she was sure, because of the horse. “Anyway, since then she’s been one of our trail horse band. We keep them in shape and ready to go for buyers or clients who want to take a ride out in the desert. So she’s been ridden steadily since she came, but not in the arena.”

“Portabella,” Anna said, having thought about the name and come up with an alternate theory for it, instead of the one attached to the mare’s pedigree. “Because someone fed her BS until she turned into a mushroom.”

Hosteen laughed. “Kage tried working with her last spring and he wanted to call her Soyuz.”

Anna frowned.

“After the Russian single-stage-to-orbit rocket,” said Kage dryly as he emerged from the barn. “I’ve never been dumped so fast with such authority in my life. It was a lesson in humility, especially since my eighty-year-old father had ridden her in the arena a couple of times before…” His voice trailed off as he caught sight of the wolf standing next to Hosteen.

Chelsea regarded him warily and, well versed in dealing with skittish animals, he stopped where he was and crouched down. “Oh, honey,” he crooned. “I’d have known you if you had six legs and scales. But I had no idea what a beautiful wolf you’d be.”

She leapt toward him—and misjudged, knocking him right off his feet. Portabella jumped back and Hosteen yanked at the rope that attached the horse to the tie post. A single jerk and she was loose from the post, her lead held in Hosteen’s hand instead. She took a couple of steps away and then settled, regarding the pile of wolf and man with pricked-ear disdain.

Chelsea backed off and looked distressed. Kage laughed and leaned forward until he could rub her neck. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll get the hang of it.”

Anna thought he hesitated a little as he got to his feet, but if he was hurt he wasn’t showing any other sign. Smart man. If Chelsea thought she’d hurt him, it would unsettle her, and unsettled was a bad thing for a werewolf in her first time out.

“If you get Anna taken care of,” Kage looked at Hosteen, “I’ll introduce Charles to his horse.”

A little snorty after the excitement, Portabella still let Hosteen bridle her with little trouble. She mouthed the bit and then stood, ears up and muscles quivering, while Anna mounted. She didn’t move, but Anna got the feeling it was an effort for her to remain still while the others got on their horses.

Charles’s horse was a rawboned gelding with a long, flexible neck and a Roman nose.

“I didn’t think Arabs ran to convex noses,” Anna said.

“Not a purebred Arab, anyway,” said Kage, seeing where she was looking. “Though I could show you a few pictures … But Figaro is a national show horse that’s half-Arab and half-saddlebred. He turned out all saddlebred in looks and Arab in gait. That’s pretty much the opposite of what we’re trying for when breeding national show horses. He’s a terrific jumper, though, and loves the trail.” He looked at Charles. “He’s for sale, too. He’s big enough to carry you.”

Charles patted the gelding. “We’re shopping for Anna.”

Charles’s gelding was a little smaller than Portabella, Anna found when she started out riding next to her husband.

The big mare had big gaits, too. She quickly outpaced the rest of the horses. Anna was forced to circle her to stay with the others. Like Heylight, the gray gelding from her first day, the mare was very sensitive to cues. Anna finally quit using the bridle for anything except speed control and just shifted her weight from one hip to the other to turn.

“Comfortable?” asked Hosteen, coming up on her left side. He rode a short chestnut gelding with a wide blaze and a friendly demeanor who trotted to keep up with Portabella’s quick walk.

“Very,” she said, straightening her back a little and making sure her heels were down. Portabella slowed.

“Ah,” Hosteen said, effortlessly keeping his horse next to hers, “don’t worry about me, just relax. Charles would never teach anyone the wrong way to ride. You ride better than a lot of the people you’ll see at the show tomorrow. Ready