Buttercup stopped several feet from the fence, his hooves digging into the soft dirt. He regarded Wyatt for a long minute, then dropped his head, snorted.
“I didn’t know,” Wyatt said, talking to the horse. “I didn’t know.” His voice broke and Buttercup walked to the fence, put his nose over the rail, and let out another rumbling snort. Wyatt didn’t reach out, didn’t touch him. Instead he held out the apple.
Buttercup didn’t look at the apple, he just swung his head toward Wyatt and snuffled.
Wyatt reached out a hand and stroked his mane, tears tracking down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” he said, on a choked whisper.
Then Buttercup dropped his head down and Wyatt finally put his arms around the horse’s neck. Chey saw his shoulders shaking as he kept his face buried there.
Chey smiled and wiped away tears, but they kept trickling out. She quietly made her way back to the barn. This was between the two of them. She paused when she reached the stable doors and looked back, then smiled when she saw Wyatt offer the apple again, one arm over Buttercup’s neck. The horse nibbled, then bumped his nose against Wyatt’s pocket, looking for more.
“You got your drop-everything guy back, Buttercup,” she said. And we all got our drop-everything-to-be-there home.