“Don’t tell Uncle Slade,” she said. “Please, don’t tell him, Wyatt.”

“Erin, she could have killed you.”

“I dropped the grain container near her front feet. It scared her half to death. I don’t know why, but I know that horse. It terrified her.”

Wyatt had seen it happen. “Did the container make a loud sound when it hit the ground?”

“What?”

He glanced at the horse. Violet was still bucking and kicking, so he guessed that she was also making a lot of noise. He repeated the question, this time raising his volume, which he’d learned to do only with practice.

“Not really loud,” Erin told him. “Little popping sounds as it hit and bounced around.”

Something niggled at the back of Wyatt’s mind, a memory that was trying to slip forward, only he couldn’t for the life of him think what it was. He only knew that he’d seen a horse react just that way once before when something was dropped at its feet.

He touched a hand to Erin’s shoulder. “You handled yourself like a pro,” he told her. “You’ve come a long way, and I’m really proud of you.”

Her chin came up, and he saw a flare of pride glisten in her eyes. “Thank you. I just reacted and tried to get out of her way.”

“You reacted exactly right. When a horse blows up and you don’t even have a halter on her yet, the first order of business is to get out of harm’s way until you can figure out how to handle the situation.”

Still nettled by the memory that wouldn’t come to him, Wyatt went to stand at the fence. Violet was busy striking the grain container with a viciousness that made his pulse accelerate. He knew Erin didn’t want him to tell Slade. She was afraid her uncle might renege on his word about the horse being hers. But Wyatt knew his boss would never do that. He might try to convince Erin to get rid of Violet, but he’d never go back on a promise. Wyatt almost wished the man would. Erin had become very important to Wyatt, and the thought of her getting hurt or killed made his blood run cold.

Erin came to stand beside him and waved a hand in front of his face to get his attention. When he looked down at her, she asked, “Could Violet ever have been in parades? Think of all the noise”—she broke off and waved her hand again, this time as if she were erasing a blackboard—“parades are really noisy. I realize you’ve never heard one, but the marching bands play music and pound on drums. The crowds along the sidewalks yell and cheer and throw stuff. An easily startled horse would never work out.”

Parades. The moment Wyatt saw Erin say that word, the memory that had been evading him popped into the foreground of his mind. “Oh, my God.”

“What?”

Wyatt felt heartsick and went back to studying the frantic horse again. She was finally starting to settle down, but every muscle in her body was knotted with tension. “I worked for a guy once over in Medford. That was the one and only time I ever got fired. I was at that ranch so briefly that I can’t remember his name now, but he trained parade horses, and I got so pissed at how he was doing it. We had words, and he told me to get off his land. I was so angry I didn’t even collect my pay.”