Hallie: I’ll be there soon.
Hell yeah.
I’ve left the door to Maisie’s stall open so she can come and go freely, but so far, all she wants to do is sit. I’ll give it another two hours, and then I’m calling the doc back like she suggested. Maisie doesn’t seem to be in distress. Her ears aren’t pinned. Her tail isn’t swishing abnormally. All good signs.
Sweeping a stall, the smell of hay thick. Hallie walks in, her face radiant despite the concern on her features. She’s in a pair of yoga pants, an oversized sweatshirt, and cowboy boots. Her strawberry hair twisted up on her head. Not a stitch of makeup, yet she could not be more beautiful.
What are you doing here, asshat?
Fuck if I know, I answer myself, which is true. This is uncharted territory. I haven’t wanted to spend a lot of time with a woman in recent years. It just didn’t suit my lifestyle.
But now that I’m home, I realize how lonely the road could be. When you’re mixed up in it, you go in the zone and you love it. You love the thrill of the crowd, the thrill of the sport, and chasing glory. But trailers and hotels don’t speak or say “home,” and that can wear on a man.
More and more, I find that I’m exactly where I need to be: back in Stone Ridge at Sawyer Farms, living in Grandpa’s house and making it my own.
“How’s Maisie?”
“Seems all right.”
From within the stall, she knickers, so we head over.
“Will she let me pet her?”
I raise my hands in the air. “Did you bring a treat?”
“I should have.” Hallie’s laugh is infectious.
“I got you.”
I reach into the canister on the wall opposite Maisie’s pen and hand one over.
I spread a blanket on the soft hay next to the horse, where we both sit. Hallie extends an open palm, and Maisie takes the treat right away. Then she nuzzles Hallie’s hand in a show of affection. Horses have an uncanny ability to read people, and she knows Hallie’s as good as they come.
Maisie’s eyes half-close with all the love she’s getting. “Such a pretty thing. Aren’t you a sweet girl?”
She nickers with content before turning her attention back to the hay. All signs are good. Ears forward, tail relaxed, breathing steady.
“How long have you been out here?” Hallie asks, looking around the barn. It’s as clean as it’s ever been since I had nothing to do but be with the new mama.
“Couple hours. Want to give her at least another two or three before I’m convinced she’s out of the woods.”
“What are we watching for?”
I settle onto the blanket, patting the seat next to me. I explain that with twins, she could go into labor early, so I’m looking for signs that she’s in early labor. We sit for half an hour, sharing stories about our respective jobs.
I share Maisie’s official name, Doc’s Amazing Grace.
She shares that her first sale at The Kindly Crumb was a pecan pie tartlet made from her grandmother’s recipe. She gets this soft look on her face when she tells me about it, how her hands were shaking and how the customer ordered two dozen more for her book club.
“I’d love to try it sometime.”
Her cheeks blush, her eyes brightening. “I’ll put one in Maisie’s next batch of cookies.” She looks over at the mare, who’s fallen asleep. “So, what’s her registered name?”
“Doc’s Amazing Grace. Her sire was out of the Doc Bar line—legendary heading horses. Gramps loved that hymn, said she moved like grace itself.” I watch Maisie shift her weight to get comfortable. “But she’s been Maisie since she was a week old.”
When Hallie shows me a burn scar on her wrist, I chuckle and show her one of my permanent rope burns in almost the same spot.
Quiet settles in, with only Maisie’s breathing and the occasional creak of wood breaking the silence. Hallie leans herhead against my shoulder, and for a moment, everything feels right.
