November 15th

Dear Sydney,

It's been a while since I last wrote to you, so I thought an update was in order. Everything's fine with the family, and I'm doing all right too—if you could be here you'd probably ask about us all, and really want to know too.

My main concern is one of my patients. Melissa is proving to be more inaccessible than I'd guessed. A more inaptly-named girl couldn't be found—she's not honey-sweet in the least, quite the opposite in fact. She's more bee-sting than honeycomb, to tell the truth, and locked down tight over a fairly deep clinical depression. It's been several months since we started therapy, and by the standards of today's practices I should have put her on anti-depressants some time ago. Still, Sydney . . . something in my gut tells me that in this case, the use of medications would simply be papering over the crack in the wall that's a warning of serious problems with the foundation. So I'm going to give another method a try before turning to drugs. I've found that quite often, the natural world around us is a better healer than anything our too-big brains can think up.

"Why are we here?"

Sarah smiled a little as she opened the barn door. "I thought you might like to meet some friends of mine," she said. Melissa rolled her eyes.

"You and a cow are BFFs." Somehow that doesn't surprise me was the unspoken corollary. Sarah chuckled.

"Not exactly." She led the way to Blackie's stall. Normally he'd be outside at this time of day, but she'd made sure he was accessible. Not that he minded; he had food and water within easy reach and he was protected from the elements, so all was right with his world.

As she opened the door Melissa hung back, clearly apprehensive. "That's a horse," she said. Her gaze traveled over Blackie. "A big black horse."

"Right on all counts," Sarah said. "You can stand outside to meet him if that's more comfortable for you." She smiled as Blackie whickered and nosed her barn-coat pocket.

"What's he doing?" Melissa sounded nervous now.

"Looking for treats. He's a terrible pig for carrots and peppermints." Sarah laughed as Blackie nibbled at the flap. "Yeah, all right, you scam artist." She took out a peppermint and unwrapped it, put it on the palm of her hand and let Blackie take it. He crunched and dribbled bits of candy as Sarah patted his withers.

"So what's the point of us being here?" Melissa had recovered some of her attitude. "I'm supposed to bond with that monster or something?"

"I just wanted you to meet a friend of mine," Sarah said in a neutral tone. "He's more worried about you though."

"Doesn't look that way to me." Melissa sounded scornful, but under it was a little twitch of interest. Sarah took a chance.

"Horses are prey animals," she said, and took a curry comb out of her pocket. "The way to get to know them is to show them you're not a predator."

Melissa fidgeted for a few moments. "So how do you do that?" she asked with clear reluctance, but the interest had expanded a bit.

"By understanding what constitutes non-threatening behavior to a prey animal," Sarah said. She ran the comb gently over Blackie's neck, more for show than anything else, and smiled when he snorted and leaned into her touch. "Humans tend to greet each other face to face with bared teeth and direct eye contact. Most animals see that as an aggressive act."

"So . . . what would they do?" Melissa asked. She did her best not to sound like she wanted to know the answer, but Sarah sensed she listened carefully all the same.

"They usually approach each other at right or oblique angles, with no direct looks," Sarah said. "It's a bit like coming up to someone you don't know in a social situation and offering your hand to shake, or saying something polite."

Melissa hunched her shoulders under her coat. "Nobody does that anymore."

"Okay—well, then it's like sending someone a tweet or a post for the first time. You don't give all your information at once."

Melissa stared at the ground. "Yeah, okay. I get it," she said, her tone sullen. "This is stupid." Sarah didn't take the bait.

"One mistake a lot of people make is reaching out to touch or stroke a horse's nose. It's really hard to resist, but they don't like it. Touching the head is something only the dominant animal in the group does, so again, it's seen as aggressive."

Melissa tilted her head and gave Sarah a scornful look. "Where do you touch them then?"

Sarah held up a loose fist. "You offer your hand first with your fingers and thumb tucked under. Let them smell you. Smell is often a much stronger sense for animals. We're sight-oriented, so we take it for granted that everyone else is. When you offer your hand, the animal will tell you if they're ready to be touched."

"I don't want my arm ripped off," Melissa muttered. She looked scared again.

"That won't happen," Sarah said. "Try with Blackie. He's pretty good-natured." Melissa didn't look convinced. "Come up to him facing to your left and offer your right hand in a loose fist. Once he's smelled you, I'll give you a treat and we'll go from there."

To her credit, Melissa did as Sarah asked. She offered Blackie her fist, her gesture tentative. The big horse sniffed her fingers, then nudged them gently. Sarah noted Melissa didn't pull away, though she did flinch.

"Why did he do that?" Melissa asked. The resentment had lifted and genuine curiosity shone through for a moment.

"He's hoping you have a treat," Sarah said with a smile. "Here, try a peppermint." She unwrapped one and gave it to Melissa. "Put it in your palm and hold it out with your fingers flat."

Blackie took the treat eagerly. As his rubbery lips moved over her palm, Melissa made a noise that could have been a giggle. "It tickles!"

"For some animals, their lips and mouths are like our hands," Sarah said as she watched Blackie munch. "They'll come up and smell you, then touch you to say hello."

"Where can I touch him?" Melissa asked. Her curiosity was stronger now, less tentative.

"Put your hand on his neck, down by his shoulder area," Sarah said, and smiled when Blackie snorted and dipped his head a bit as Melissa placed a timid hand on his thick coat.

"He's warm," she said, and stroked him gently. "Why isn't he all glossy like the horses on tv?"

"He's putting on a winter coat," Sarah said. "It's rougher because the hairs trap more warm air that way." She patted Blackie's neck.

"You know a lot about animals." It was more accusation than statement.

"They fascinate me. And I like them," Sarah said simply. "They're easier to deal with than humans. Once you understand their culture, they're open and honest and they feel emotions like we do, though not in the same way."

"What do you mean, 'understand their culture'?" Melissa moved a little closer to Blackie, who flicked his ears and gave her a look of mild interest—probably to see if she had any more treats, Sarah thought on a silent chuckle.

"Animals have their own methods of greeting, being around family and friends, dealing with strangers, and everything else," Sarah said. "Learning how they do things is a little like going to a foreign country. Some things are the same, some aren't."

"You're a psychologist. You work with people but you don't like them?" Melissa didn't look at her.

"I like people just fine," Sarah said mildly. "They're often tough to understand, though. Animals usually aren't. I find them comforting." She offered Melissa the comb. "Here. He loves being curried."

Melissa took it. "How does this work?"

"Just draw it in one direction and don't push down too hard." She wouldn't do much to groom Blackie's coat, but that wasn't the point. Melissa did as Sarah directed, and Blackie flicked his ears again but didn't move otherwise.

"Why's he doing that?"

"He's just checking you out. Moving his ears helps him figure out exactly where you are." A few moments later Sarah heard a familiar chirp and looked down to find Hellboy at her feet. "Hey handsome," she said, and bent down to scratch the top of his head. The big black cat rubbed against her legs as she stroked him.

"How can you touch him? He's an outdoor cat." Melissa watched Hellboy with narrowed eyes.

"The Heebster is very fastidious. He helps keep the barn free of mice and rats, but he does have house privileges here and at our place." Sarah twiddled his ears. "We're good friends, aren't we?"

"So are we gonna meet here from now on?" Melissa wanted to know.

"Well, that's up to you," Sarah said. "When I was your age I did some of my best healing in a barn, surrounded by animals I knew were my friends."

Melissa said nothing for a time. Then she spoke with some reluctance but clear curiosity. "What happened to you?"

"Mostly a lot of betrayal by people who should have been taking care of me." Sarah straightened. "Working with animals, the rules are simple. Mostly it's what the old hands used to call 'cowboy logic'."

That caught the younger woman's interest. "What's that?"

Sarah smiled. "'If it's a fence, mend it/if it's a dollar bill, spend it,'" she quoted. "'If it's a load, truck it/if it's a punch, duck it; if it's a job, do it/put your back into it/'cause a little bit of dirt's gonna wash off in the rain.'" She reached out to gently tug on Blackie's mane and chuckled when he snorted and shook his head. "'If it's a horse, ride it.'" She glanced at Melissa. "Let's say you see three guys in a pickup dressed alike. Which one's the real cowboy?"

Melissa thought about it, then shrugged. "The one wearing a cowboy hat."

"Dressed alike," Sarah reminded her.

"So who is it?" The impatience didn't hide her eagerness to know.

"The one in the middle," Sarah said, and deliberately broadened her accent. "He ain't drivin', and he don't have to mess with the gate."

Melissa bit her lip, but couldn't stop the small giggle. "That's so dumb," she said.

"Pretty smart if you think about it. That's cowboy logic," Sarah said. "Good rules to live by." She didn't say any more, just busied herself with some mundane chore that didn't really need to be done.

Melissa's mom came by a short time later. She looked around with interest, and her pale features brightened. "I haven't been in a barn for years," she said, and her soft voice held genuine pleasure. "We didn't have a horse, just cows."

"You never told me that," Melissa said. Her mother glanced at her.

"You never asked," she said quietly, but there was a spark of humor in the words.

Sarah watched them drive off, then went into the barn. She put the curry comb away and offered Blackie a final treat. "Not bad for a first day as a therapy horse," she said while he crunched happily. A few moments later she heard Barbarella roar up the driveway, the slam of the door. Sarah closed her eyes for a moment and savored the lack of a limp in Greg's loping stride. After a moment the subject of her thoughts stuck his head around the door. He gave Blackie a wary look.

"You're in here bonding with your soulmate."

"You talking to me or the horse?"

"Hilarious." He leaned against the wall and watched her. "Saw your patient on her way home. How'd the session go?"

"Can't talk about it, as you well know." She zipped her coat and put on her gloves.

"So that means you won't come in and make me coffee." Greg did his best to sound pathetic. Sarah squinted at him.

"You're perfectly capable of making your own cuppa," she said.

"I'm not trying to get you to break confidentiality—"

"—which means that's exactly what you're doing," Sarah said dryly.

"—it's just been a long day and I could use someone to talk to." He gave her big wide innocent eyes.

"Still a bullshitter." She shook her head. "Come on, let's go over to my place. Jason will be home soon."

They walked together in companionable silence. "Got a question for you," Sarah said after a moment. "Three guys all dressed alike, sitting in a pickup. Which one's the real cowboy?"

Greg glanced at her. One corner of his mouth quirked up for a moment. "The one in the middle."

"You've heard the song," Sarah said in accusation.

"What song?" He raised his brows. "You sit in the middle, you just ride."

Sarah laughed. "Want my hat?"

Greg looked away. "I'm no hick," he said, but humor lurked under the harsh words. He hesitated. "What worked for you might not work for her."

"Can't talk about it," Sarah said, and saw him frown, even as his shoulders relaxed just a little.

"Just an observation," he said.

"Just a fishing expedition." She softened her reply with a smile. "I'd expect nothing less."

"You wound me with your baseless accusation," he shot back, then gave her a sidelong look. "You never have told me much about your early days in the barn."

"It was the only safe place I had back then."

"So you're hoping that will be true for your little patient." Greg shook his head. "She's made of sterner stuff."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sarah said, and opened the back door. "Time to change the subject."

The kitchen was quiet in the weak sunshine. Sarah switched on the light over the sink and took down the canister of coffee grounds. "I just baked, help yourself," she said, but Greg already had a handful of oatmeal-raisin cookies. He munched while she set up the coffeemaker, and accepted a mug along with creamer and sugar, while Sarah brewed a cup of tea for herself.

"You never used the barn technique on me," he said as he watched her closely. Sarah allowed herself a slight smile. "Ah . . . yes you did, only it was this dump."

"You needed a safe place." She sipped her tea. "You needed a home. So I offered you ours, and you accepted. Eventually."

"So this was a way to pry me open." Greg sat back. His vivid gaze searched her face.

"You can be clam-like at times, yes," Sarah said, unable to resist a tease. He grimaced.

"It wasn't a genuine offer."

"Of course it was." Sarah took a cookie.

"But if it was just a way—"

"Why does it have to be either-or? You think combining a method of healing with an offer of friendship somehow makes both suspect? If I'd pretended to like you, you'd have known it in two seconds flat. Whether you want to admit it or not, you've inherited your mother's bullshit detector gene." Sarah bit into the cookie. "Mmm, this batch turned out really well."

"You're saying you really wanted to be my friend, even after I got you fired." Greg looked down at the cookie in his hand.

"Didn't we figure this out already? Yes, I did. Friendship isn't about not making mistakes or letting the other person down. I did that to you when I shared your journal without asking your permission," Sarah said quietly. "We've hurt each other, but we're still sitting here sharing a cuppa and feeling completely at ease, because as far as I'm concerned, you're my friend and my foster kid and my colleague, and having you in my life is one of the best things to happen to me."

He wouldn't look at her, but the tops of his ears were red—a sure sign he was both embarrassed and pleased, and unable to say anything about it. "Only one of the best things," he said finally, and Sarah laughed.

"I am married, you doof."

"Yeah, me too." He looked at his watch. "Should be getting back."

"Take some cookies home with you. Let Roz have one." Sarah got up. "I'll get you something to put them in."

"Thank god! I was terrified you'd make me carry them home in my hands," he said, but accepted the container when she handed it to him, and made no effort to move away when she put her hand on his arm.

"Love you, son," she said softly, and leaned in to kiss his cheek. He looked down at her with that little lopsided smile that always tore her heart to shreds. He said nothing, but his eyes held everything he wanted to say. Sarah nodded.

"Thanks," she said, just as if he'd spoken aloud. She rubbed his arm gently. "See you tomorrow at rehearsal."

She watched him stride along the path to home; his long legs took up the distance with no effort at all, and she knew his recovery was the best of her life's work to help someone find healing. When he reached his door she turned away and started dinner as she hummed under her breath.

So we'll see, Sydney. Make haste slowly, I'm sure you knew that principle well, even though our mutual friend Dr. Pierce has told me you had to practice the psychological equivalent of meatball surgery with some of your patients. That must have been difficult for you, but if what Hawkeye says is true, most of the time you made it work for those boys. We'll see if this technique works for Melissa. I hope so. There's nothing like having a safe place, and good friends with a bond of mutual trust. All my love, Sarah

'Cowboy Logic,' Michael Martin Murphy