Page 82 of Ethan

“Okay.” A beat. “Ethan.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m still working through some things.”

“I know.”

“But I miss you.” It came out soft, like she hadn’t entirely meant to say it out loud.

He felt something loosen in his chest that had been tight for two days.

“I miss you too,” he said. She hung up.

When he pulled into Billings late afternoon, he was stiff from the drive and ready to be out of the truck. He found the address without trouble, a property on the outskirts of town that looked decent enough from the road but told a different story up close. Fences that needed work, a barn that needed paint, and a general air of neglect that made his jaw tighten before he’d even cut the engine.

He got out and a man came across the yard toward him. Mid-forties, heavyset, with the look of someone who’d been expecting this visit and wasn’t happy about it.

“Harrison,” the man said.

“Mr. Dillard.” Ethan shook his hand once. “Where is she?”

Dillard led him to a stall at the back of the barn and Ethan stopped in the doorway, looked at the mare, and felt the anger move through him slow and cold.

She was thin. Not dangerously so, but enough. Her coat was dull and her eyes were flat. The way horses’ eyes got when they’d stopped expecting much from the people around them.

He stood there for a moment without speaking.

“She’s fine,” Dillard said behind him. “She’s just a picky eater.”

Ethan didn’t respond. He stepped into the stall slowly and let the mare get a look at him, moving easy, no sudden gestures. He knew she remembered him. Horses never forgot who treated them well.

“Hey, girl,” he said quietly. “I’ve got you.”

Her ears came forward.

He clipped a lead to her halter, opened the stall door, and walked her out.

“Now hold on.” Dillard stepped in front of him. “We had a deal.”

“We did.” Ethan stopped and looked at him. “The contract you signed states that if this horse is found to be mistreated or neglected I have the right to reclaim her. No refund.” He held the man’s gaze. “Look at her, Dillard. Not only is she in bad shape, but she appears lame.”

Dillard’s jaw tightened. “I want my money back.”

“You’re not getting it.” Ethan moved around him. “Step aside.”

“You can’t just walk in here and—”

“I just did.” Ethan kept walking toward the trailer, the mare quiet at his shoulder. “If you’d like to take it further you’re welcome to call my lawyer. His number is on the contract. Or we can call the sheriff's office.”

Dillard said something behind him that Ethan didn’t dignify with a response.

He loaded the mare, latched the gate, and climbed into the truck.

Later, at the motel, Ethan dropped his bag on the bed and looked at his phone.

He wanted to call her. But the horse came first.

He picked up his keys, left the room, and crossed the parking lot to the trailer. He unlatched it quietly, not wanting to disturb the other guests, and stepped inside.