“You made it,” she said. “I’ll get you some water.”
She went to the kitchen, got a cup with water, found a straw. Brought it back to Sam and helped him drink.
“I. Feel. Crappy.”
“But you’re alive. As soon as the roads clear, an ambulance will be here to take you to the hospital.”
“Where’s. Rena.”
“She and Brock left last night. I promised to get you to a hospital, and I guess they trust me to do as I say.”
He drank some more, then said, his voice still gruff and unnatural, “Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “I— They didn’t. Mean to. Hurt. Anyone.” The last word came out as a sigh and he drifted off again.
She checked his vitals. His blood pressure was elevated but his pulse was steady. She gave him another injection of antibiotics, then let him sleep.
By the time she was done, Jake had the horses out front and she pulled on her jacket and boots and went out to meet him. Sam was in no condition to hurt anyone in the house, but she had woken up Ryan, asked him to stay alert while she was gone. She would have woken up Avery, but Ryan said he was fine and to let her sleep since she’d had a rough day.
It was quite endearing of the kid, Ellen thought.
Ellen handed Jake a muffin, then mounted Stella, a sweet, sturdy Appaloosa they’d had for years.
The wind and rain had stopped, and the eastern horizon was just lighting up, a deep indigo that was a shade lighter than night.
Jake took the lead because he had the spotlight to guide them through the storm-damaged fields.
Her son was a man. It was bittersweet. She remembered when he was a young boy, excited to learn, eager to please, happy as the day was long. He followed John everywhere, absorbing not only his knowledge, but his kind, gentle spirit. She knew all of her children grieved the loss of their father, but it had hit Jake the hardest.
She pulled Stella up to ride side by side.
“Are you okay?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah.”
“It’s okay to talk about your dad. I miss him, too.”
Jake didn’t say anything, and she didn’t want to push, but he had never talked about losing John. She’d been wrapped up in her own grief for so long and she had never pushed him to talk, then or now.
A moment later, Jake said, “I don’t want to go to college. I wanted to be a vet because Dad wanted to be a vet, and when I told him I was going to do it, he was so happy. But if I spend seven, eight years in school, I wouldn’t be able to come back. There isn’t a great need here, we already have multiple vet practices in the county and it’s not practical. Which means I’d have to move to Dallas or Houston or some community that has an opening. I don’t want to leave our valley.”
“Maybe you can study something else—” she began.
“North Central Texas College has a two-year Equine Studies program,” Jake said. “I’d graduate with an AAS in equine science. I’ve already talked to a counselor and a couple of the instructors and it’s exactly the kind of program I want. We can expand here, I can breed horses. There’s a market for it, and I love working with the horses more than anything. Especially training horses for cattle ranching. I can make a good living out of it.”
Tears burned behind her eyes. She was happy and sad all at the same time. “This is what you want?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation.
“Okay,” she said.
He glanced over at her and smiled, relief etched all over his face.
“I just want you to be happy, Jake. I didn’t want you to not go to college because you think I need you. I never wanted you to feel obligated or pressured to do something you don’t want to do.”
“I want to be here; it’s in my blood. There’s no other place I want to put down roots. Like Dad always said, grow or die. Adding horse breeding to our farm will help us grow, just like the pecans, just like the vineyard, just like the sunflowers.”
Jake was right. John lived on in his son, and Ellen felt an odd peace fall over her. She glanced behind her and saw rays of light breaking across the horizon as a thin red line told her dawn had broken.
Twenty minutes later, they reached the Coulters’ ranch. They rode around the property to make sure no one was there. It was empty. Brock Jones’s big truck with Louisiana plates was parked near the house. He hadn’t lied about that.
