- FIVE -

Emmett.

The first time Harvey and I crossed paths was after I'd been on the job for about a week. The palms of my hands were dry and cracked like the Earth they tended, and bled through my leather work gloves. Every part of my feet were raw and full of blisters from breaking in the western boots required to ride a horse over 12 hours a day; my legs were so sore and stiff I could hardly walk straight.

It was grueling work - the entire bunkhouse was awake and out the door no later than 3:30 am every morning, including weekends. We all shared one bathroom, so if you weren't up by 2 am you weren't showering or were taking a shit in the arena.

I learned quickly far more about horses and cattle than I ever cared to know: pregnancy checks, brands, halters and four different kinds of saddles - each with their unique set of components and straps and uses - freight trains, monsters, calving, stockyards, stallions versus geldings. The list went on and on.

That particular morning I'd ran out of the bunkhouse at 3:45 am, which was already 30 minutes late in Jasper's book. He was a simple man and easy enough to get along with, so long as you did what you were told and in a timely fashion. Being late was a sure-fire way to piss him off for the rest of the week.

I'd just taken a sip of my cold coffee when he barked at me from where he was standing near the back of a 28' stock trailer. By the tone of his voice, it was a shitty morning to be late.

"McCarty! Get your fuckin' ass in gear and go get that dun mare from the barn!" Even 20 feet away I could feel the spitting impatience spewing from his mouth.

I had a vague idea of what horse he was talking about - we had one already in the barn, a mean son of a bitch that was rodeo fodder from what I understood, and had just got another that kind of looked the same from a ranch in Montana. The new horse was well-tempered, so I figured there was no snowball's chance in hell Jazz meant for me to wrangle the gentle one.

Grabbing a rope halter from the tack room, I strode down the line of stalls to the back where the mustang-like stallion quartered. The moment I entered his purview he began to bang around, lashing out with his back legs to strike the rear of the stall. He snorted and wheezed, sounding like a thundering tornado. But I had a fucking job to do, and whether this fury wanted to or not he was coming with me.

Opening the door I thrust myself in, trying to inject calm confidence into every movement. Horses, I'd learned, were not dumbasses like cattle - they were damn smart animals. If they thought you were unsure or afraid, they'd take advantage of it faster than you could say 'woah'.

Immediately he whinnied and lunged at me, snapping his massive, flat teeth. Instinctively I jerked backward, smacking my back against the metal door and knocking the wind from my lungs. Without pause he reared up on his hindquarters and used his front legs to strike again. They flew at me, massive boa constrictors of pure rage and muscle, and connected squarely in my chest.

My body collapsed from the impact, but was immediately bolstered by a set of firm hands under my armpits. My savior pulled, remanding the storming animal as they went, dragging me from the stall. As the door slammed their voice crashed into my ears, furious and hurried.

"Have you got fucking brain damage, McCarty? I said get the dun mare, not commit fucking suicide." Jasper's firm grip pulled on me, yanking my massive frame up with surprising force. His fingers twined in my hair, forcing me to look the pissed off animal in the face.

"You're gonna get this fucking lesson once. This is a fucking buckskin, and his name is Harvey. You'd have better luck trying to wrestle an ole blue northern or riding a fucking tornado than getting near him. If you have any care to live, leave him the fuck alone. Now go get that fucking dun, she's going to Texas."

When you hear about a horse like that - one more wild than the gusting wind, as stout and unbreakable as a mountain - you don't picture a beautiful blonde creature. It was blacker than a moonless night, and swept through the land leaving nothing but destruction in its path.

I guess Harvey and Rosalie Hale had that in common: they were twisters disguised as sunshine. Maybe that's why they got along so well, like two kindred souls.