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I shake my head. “No. Fuck that.” Then I stalk out of the house in the direction of the stables. When I get there, the vet is standing outside, talking to my father.
“You can come pick her up on Friday, then?” my father says. I don’t give the vet a chance to answer.
“Hold on a minute. My sister said all Moonfire needs is a medication and a special diet. Is that true?”
The vet nods. “That’s correct. You can get it at your local pharmacy with a prescription.”
Dad holds up his hand. “Son, I’m not spending good money on a horse that…”
“Shut up, Dad. And how much does it cost?” My dad looks at me with daggers but I don’t care.
The vet brushes her hair out of her face as she thinks. “At the dose Moonfire would need, you would probably get fifty doses for a hundred dollars or so? I’m honestly not sure. It’s a lot more expensive when we sell it, but I know some of our patients have said it’s less at the drugstore.”
“So it would be what? About seven hundred bucks a year?”
The vet nods. “Give or take.”
“Write the prescription. No one is putting that horse down for seven hundred a year. I’ll pay for the medicine, and whatever it costs to change her diet and cover her upkeep.”
“Now, hold on a minute, son,” dad tries to interject.
“No. Parrish loves that horse. She’s loved that horse for as long as I’ve known her. There is no way in hell I’m letting you put her down for what you know damn well is pocket change on this ranch. After everything that woman has been through, I can’t believe you, Dad.”
I hear a sniffle from behind me, and I turn around. Parrish is standing there, her arms wrapped around her waist. She has been listening to the
whole thing.
“Parrish, I…”
I don’t get a chance to finish my sentence. She runs over and throws her arms around me, hugging me with every ounce of strength she has inside of her. I can feel her crying into my shirt. She’s sobbing so hard, for a second I don’t think she is breathing. So, I hold her tight and let her cry, patting her hair as I whisper, “Hey now, it’s okay. She’s going to be okay, Parrish. I promise. She’ll be okay.”
After a few minutes, Dad walks up, and the look on his face is one of pure and utter misery.
“Parrish. I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking. It’s just, with this project, and all of the money going out. I wasn’t thinking about Moonfire, and what she meant to you. I was an ass. Can you ever forgive a foolish old man?”
Parrish pulls away from me, and brushes the tears from her cheeks. Then she hugs dad. When they separate, she gives him a gentle shove.
“I love you, you old coot.”
Dad laughs, and brushes a single tear from his cheek. “It’s more than I deserve.” Then he turns to the vet. “Obviously, we’ll be moving ahead with the treatment. Write us that prescription, Doc.”
Chapter 15
Parrish
I’m getting Gracie settled into her old bed in the ranch house, but my mind keeps drifting to what Hawk did for Moonfire today. It’s the nicest thing he’s ever done for me by a mile… it may actually be the only nice thing he’s ever done for me. But I feel like I’m being forced to admit that Hawk is a different person now. Sure; he’s a big city player, with a different model in his bed every night. But maybe, just maybe, he’s more than that. Maybe coming back here has opened up his eyes to the kind of person he’s capable of being.
Or maybe I’m just fooling myself.
I check to make sure Gracie is fast asleep, then I wander downstairs to the kitchen. Usually, everyone is asleep by now. Anna is generally curled up in her bed watching TV, and Candy and Sam are “early to bed” types. I have no idea where Hawk is, and I don’t really want to go searching for him. The only thing I want right now is a giant slice of the carrot cake Candy made after dinner. When I get to the kitchen though, I find Hawk there too, eating directly from the carrot cake with a fork; his eyes go wide and he looks epically embarrassed. I shake my head with a smile and get a cake knife from the drawer and two plates.
“Your brother used to do the same thing. He couldn’t be bothered to wait to cut a slice, so he’d just dive right in.” I slide the cake away from him, cutting two slices from the hole he’s made. Then I put the cake back in the fridge, and pour two cold glasses of milk. He takes the milk grateful and indulges in a long, slow sip.
“God, I forgot how good it was when it was fresh,” he says with a smile as he wipes away a milk mustache.
“At least we don’t have to worry about sharing with the reporter. She doesn’t drink milk. Or eat cake. Or pasta, or rice, or cheese, or basically anything we like here.”
Hawk dives into the cake. “Whatever. More gluten for me.” I snort laugh, then have to cover my mouth so I don’t wake anyone up.
