He gave her an amused glance. She was good with the dogs. And not in the way of some people. She wasn’t merely being polite. He often heard her speaking to Bertie, and to the mastiffs, too. As if they were people. Friends, not dumb animals. “Good morning,” she’d say. “How are you today?”

It was enough to melt Neville’s heart.

“Will you brush her again?” she asked.

“I can try,” he said. “I’ll fetch some grain.”

It took him but a moment to make up a bucket of warm mash. He carried it to the loose box and unlatched the door.

Miss Hartwright stood back. “Shall I—?”

“Wait here. It’s…safer.”

“Very well.”

He stepped inside the box, shutting the door behind him. Betty immediately showed him her haunches. It was a warning that she’d kick him if he came too close.

Neville clucked to her softly. “Easy, Betty.” The handle of the bucket jingled, a recognizable sound to the Abbey’s horses.

Betty’s swollen sides expanded on a deeply indrawn breath.

“Here, girl.” He approached on her left. When Betty moved her haunches, he rested a hand on her rump, letting her know he was there. She gave an anxious hop, one of her back hooves lifting in unmistakable threat.

Neville didn’t let it deter him. He simply continued around her, touching her side, and then her shoulder as he went. Gentle, reassuring touches that told her she was safe. That she had nothing to fear from him.

All the while, Miss Hartwright remained at the door, silent. He suspected she was holding her breath. A wild pony was less dangerous than a wild horse, but a well-placed kick from one could still do significant damage.

“Easy, Betty,” Neville murmured again. “You’re all right.” He stopped at her shoulder. It was up to her now. If she wanted the mash, she’d have to turn her head to take it.

He’d been through this with her every day since she arrived. She knew what she must do, and as each day passed, she became a little more willing to do it.

Today was no different.

After several minutes of cringing away from him, she finally worked up the courage to face him. A few limping steps, and another flare of her nostrils, and then she was lipping the rim of the bucket.

Neville clipped it to a metal hook on the wall. Betty thrust her head inside to eat her mash.

“I can brush her while she eats,” Neville said. “And check her…her bandage. If you’ll pass me that box?”

Miss Hartwright retrieved the wooden box of brushes. A roll of cotton gauze, and a small bottle of liniment were tucked inside of it. She smiled as she handed it to him. “You’ve charmed her, utterly.”

He took the box, his bare fingers brushing hers. The brief contact sent a jolt of heat through his belly. “It’s nothing.”

“Indeed it is. You have a way with animals, Mr. Cross. I admire it very much.”