*Chapter 16: Spirit*
611 Words
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The next morning the whole base was in chaos.
They’d corralled a wild mustang. No brand. No name. Just raw muscle and lightning in his eyes. Brown male, mane tangled, snorting steam into the cold air. The soldiers called him “that devil horse.” Amara called him Spirit the second she saw him.
A few men tried first. Ropes. Reins. Force.
One ugly sergeant - the one with the scar who’d beaten Elias - tried three times. Three times Spirit bucked, kicked, and sent him face-first into the dirt. The whole yard laughed. Even Lucien’s mouth twitched.
Amara watched from the porch of the big log quarters, arms crossed, lips fighting a smile. Every time a man hit dirt she laughed. Loud. Real. The first real laugh since Bellewood.
Lucien noticed. Crossed his arms. “You find this funny, Mrs. Devereaux?”
“Very,” she said, not hiding it. “You all look ridiculous.”
Lucien’s jaw set. He stepped forward, rolled up his sleeves. “Step back. I’m an expert at taming wild things.”
The base went quiet. Expert. Wild things. He wasn’t just talking about the horse.
Lucien swung onto Spirit’s back. Saddle, no saddle, didn’t matter to him. For a long minute it looked like he’d win. Spirit bucked and spun, but Lucien’s thighs locked, hands firm on the mane. He didn’t fall. Didn’t flinch.
Amara stopped laughing. Her chest tightened. He was taming it. Just like he was trying to tame her. Break the wildness out until it obeyed.
Spirit fought harder. Kicked higher. For a second Amara thought Lucien would break the horse. Thought he’d win again.
Then Spirit twisted, slammed sideways into the fence, and threw him.
Lucien hit the dirt hard. Dust flew. Groans went up from the men. Lucien sat up slow, spitting dirt, pride bruised worse than his body.
Everyone stepped back. Gave the horse space. Too wild. Too dangerous.
Except Amara.
She walked forward. Slow. No rope. No reins. Just her.
The yard held its breath. “Ma’am, don’t,” Elias said, but she didn’t stop.
She stopped in front of Spirit. Big. Trembling. Still furious. Still wild. She didn’t reach for him. Didn’t demand. She just smiled. Soft. Tender. Like he wasn’t a problem to solve.
“Hey,” she whispered. Voice low, steady. “I see you.”
Spirit’s ears flicked. He snorted. Stamped once.
Amara lifted her hand. Slow. Let him smell her. Then she touched his neck. Warm. Alive. She stroked him. Once. Twice. Like he was already hers.
The horse didn’t throw her. Didn’t kick. Just watched her with those wild eyes.
Then she climbed. No saddle. No help. First try - Spirit bucked and she hit the dirt. Pain shot up her side. Soldiers gasped.
She stood. Brushed dirt off. Walked back.
Second try. She whispered again. “I’m not here to break you. I just want to ride.”
This time, Spirit stilled. Trembled. Then let her up.
Amara sat on his bare back. Straight. Bare feet dangling. One hand in his mane. And Spirit walked. Three steps. Calm. Like he’d chosen her.
The whole base stared. The horse no man could ride was walking for a girl in a dusty blue gown.
Lucien, still on the ground, watched her. Jaw tight. Eyes unreadable.
She hadn’t just tamed the horse. She’d done what he couldn’t. Without force. Without breaking.
Spirit tossed his head, and Amara laughed again. But this time it wasn’t at the men falling. It was with the horse.
And Lucien understood, cold in his gut: some wild things don’t get tamed. They choose who rides them.
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- Writer
