She leaned farther over the rail. Until that moment, she had thought he was simply stubborn. Now she understood. He was listening, not with his ears. With patience, the stallion made another pass, then another.
Each circle tightened by a few feet. Emmett never reached for him, never tried to steal the distance the horse had chosen to give. Blaine's expression hardened. He had stopped laughing. The crowd had stopped talking, too.
Even Copper Creek seemed quieter. The stallion finally slowed to a walk, then stopped. He stood across the corral from Emmett, chest heaving, dust clinging to sweat along his gray coat. Emmett stayed exactly where he was. The horse stared at him.
Emmett stared back without challenge. For the first time all morning, the stallion was not trying to escape. He was thinking. Nollie felt something shift inside her. She had watched men try to master that animal with rope, spurs, and strength.
Emmett Knox was offering him none of those things, only a choice. And somehow that looked more dangerous than force, more difficult, too. Emmett slowly raised one empty hand. The stallion did not run. Emmett held his hand out and waited.
The gray stallion stood across the corral, sides heaving, dust clinging to the sweat along his ribs. His ears shifted toward Emmett, then away again. The animal was still ready to bolt, but the blind panic had begun to leave his eyes. No one along the fence said a word. Even Blaine Harrow had gone quiet.
Emmett lowered his hand. Too soon. He knew better than to ask twice before the horse had answered once. Near the fence sat a wooden bucket half full of water. Emmett moved toward it slowly, never turning his back on the stallion, then crouched and pushed the bucket several feet into the open dirt.
After that, he stepped away. The stallion stared at the water, then at Emmett, then back at the water. Nollie watched with both hands resting on the rail. Minutes dragged by. The horse took one step, stopped another.
His nostrils flared as he tested the air. Emmett did not move. At last, thirst won. The stallion lowered his head and drank. A murmur ran through the people gathered outside the corral.
Emmett smiled barely. Not because he had won anything, because the horse had chosen. When the stallion raised his head again, Emmett reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a piece of dried apple he had packed for scout. He laid it across his open palm." Come on, " he said quietly."
Your choice." The stallion stared. Nollie could almost feel the tension from where she stood. One wrong reach and the horse would be gone. But Emmett made no reach at all.
The gray stepped forward, then another step, his neck stretched toward the apple. He sniffed Emmett's hand once sharply, then took the piece of fruit from his palm. Gus Marorrow let out a low whistle. Well, I'll be damned. Blaine folded his arms tighter.
He ate an apple. That ain't the same as carrying a man. Emmett ignored him. Slowly, he lifted his hand again. This time, the stallion did not retreat.