SWAT Ed: Fox & Bull (Nothing Special 8)

Diablo shook his pretty black mane as if he was disagreeing, but he quickly calmed at Fox’s command. “That’s all the fight you gonna give me, huh?” Fox chuckled, then went about hooking the chest collar and securing it to the D-ring on the saddle. “Wow. This getup makes you look fancy, Diablo. Your new owner spared no expense on this baby.” Fox finished by slipping on the bridle and adjusting Diablo’s headband and ears. Once he’d double-checked the throat latch wasn’t too tight, he beamed a proud grin that was only for them.

“Now. Let’s ride.” Fox walked Diablo out of the barn to a goddamn audience. It was almost six o’clock, and the ranch was closed for the day as the hands and maintenance men wrapped up their duties. Thank goodness there were no customers or kids around, but it appeared that all of Bull’s staff wanted to see Diablo get broken in properly. Or maybe they wanted to see him go flying through the air when he was bucked off. “Ignore those nosey people. We got this. Remember my story about the trig question in front of my entire class? Head up, shoulders back… and show ’em you’re not to be fucked with.”

Dale and Garvin were a short distance away, both mounted on their horses with their lasso ropes resting against their thighs. Fox smirked at both of them as he rocked the saddle horn back and forth on Diablo’s back—like a professional—to get him on square footing. He gripped the rein and a handful of Diablo’s thick black mane in one hand and palmed the other on the horn. He tucked the tip of his left boot in the stirrup, and without second-guessing himself, Fox swung his right leg over Diablo’s body and eased his weight down into the saddle.

He held the reins in a loose grip in his right hand but kept his thighs snug, hugging Diablo’s body as he skipped and sidestepped anxiously. “Whoa, whoa, easy now. It’s just me, Diablo,” Fox murmured, being very careful to keep his balance as the horse stomped at the ground. “Nice and easy.”

Dale was a lot closer now, ready to swing his lasso, but Fox wasn’t having it. “Stand back.” Fox smiled down at Bull from his high-up position—since Diablo stood at least a few hands taller than the young quarter horse he’d learned on—and tried to relay with his expression how happy he was.

Bull nodded, then gestured for Shannon to swing the wide paddock gate open. As soon as Fox saw their freedom staring them in the eye, he made a clicking sound with his teeth and nudged Diablo to go. He took off at a modest trot as if he couldn’t get away from the gawking eyes fast enough. The sounds of cheers and applause Fox heard as they burst into the vast open west field wasn’t nearly as gratifying as being on Diablo’s back. Fox rocked in the saddle as Diablo eased into a canter, then a gallop as the crisp evening air whipped at his face.

It was the freest he’d ever felt in his life. And Fox knew in that moment, he was where he belonged.

“Man, you are so fucked,” Dale murmured from beside him.

“Will you stop saying that, already? I heard you the last fifty times,” Bull gritted out, leaning against the kitchen sink. They were both standing at the small window watching Fox put some marinated steaks on the gas grill that Bull usually kept covered and stored away.

“Why in the hell is he doing this when it’s so cold out?” Dale asked, grabbing another beer out of the refrigerator.

Bull smiled behind his cup of soda before he shrugged. Sometimes, Fox’s actions, his words, everything he did, still continued to overwhelm Bull to the point where he didn’t know what to say or how to react.

Amelia was flipping some crispy potatoes in a cast iron skillet when she chimed in, “I have no clue, Dale. That boy got a wild hair up his butt today after he finished his ride on that black Arabian of his and—”

“You gave him that fuckin’ horse?” Dale’s brows rose almost to his hat.

“Basically,” Bull answered. “But you know as well as I do, horses have a unique way of picking who rides them and who really owns them.”

Dale sneered. “Damn, he’s got your nose wide open.”

“Like I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted.” Amelia stared at Dale. “Fox said he wanted to cook for Bull tonight. And when I asked him what he knew how to make, he said steaks… on the grill.”

“He’s an idiot.” Dale shook his head. “It’s too cold to grill.”

“Boy, we’re from Texas,” Walker said from his perch at the breakfast bar. “It’s always a good time to grill.”

Bull laughed as he stood in his kitchen enjoying his family.