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No, Hellfire didn’t go anywhere at all.
I pump my arms, determined to get to them. Xavier’s hands are raised to his head as he bends over the horse, who I can now see is laying down.
Maybe he’s okay? Just resting? I rarely see the horses down like that, but from what Xavier was saying, Hellfire’s feet were hurting so maybe he just—
When I finally get up to them, I breathe out a huge breath of relief.
Hellfire is alive.
His eyes are wide open and his nostrils flare out with each breath. Definitely one hundred percent alive!
I look over to Xavier, excited, but he still looks absolutely devastated.
My head snaps back to look at the horse.
“What?” I ask Xavier. “Is he sick? But you said the foot specialist is coming today. Is it something else? Can you call a regular vet to come, too?”
Xavier shakes his head, his gaze locked on Holy Hellfire, eyebrows dropped low in sorrow. “It’s the laminitis.” He reaches out and gently runs his hand down the horse’s mane like he’s bestowing a benediction. “He’s in too much pain. It’s finally time.”
“Time?” My eyes flick back and forth between Xavier and the horse. “Time for what?”
Xavier closes his eyes and bows his head. “Time to put him down.”
“What!” I take a stumbling step backward. How can Xavier even tell he’s in pain?
Though looking closer, even I can see that Holy Hellfire’s eyes are glazed and searching wildly. He only calms momentarily when Xavier’s hand strokes down his mane again. Still, it’s obvious he’s in some sort of distress.
I haven’t spent much time with the elderly horse, preferring instead to dote on Sugar and the others on my grooming roster, but I know that other than Samson, Hellfire is the one Xavier spends most of his day with.
I thought he was just spoiling the horse because he was a favorite.
But was it because he knew this day was coming?
“Go to the bedroom and call the vet from the phone inside my desk, top left-hand drawer. Here’s the key.” He reaches inside his pocket and draws out his keyring. He unclips a carabiner with the single key and hands it to me. “Speed dial one. Just push star, 1. That’ll get you the vet. Tell him Xavier Kent needs him right now for Holy Hellfire. He’ll know what it means. Then feed and water the other horses.”
He lets go of the key the second our fingers make contact. Like he can’t stand to touch me right now. He turns his head away, his focus going completely back to Hellfire.
I stand there a moment, imagining this glorious horse in his prime, refusing to budge when the top trainers tried to make him race, a regal legacy flowing through his blood and sinew—because he had a willfulness and stubbornness to match.
“Go!” Xavier snaps, all but roaring at me.
Both Hellfire and I startle at his abrupt tone and Xavier immediately starts murmuring how sorry he is for yelling.
To the horse.
Not to me.
Considering the circumstances, I let it pass. I turn and hurry across the field, trying not to focus on my smarting feelings. Xavier’s hurting. It seems impossible anything could rattle the man who always has it all under control.
But every day I’m learning more about him, aren’t I?
First thing I do is run up to the house and then to the third floor, key clutched in my hand. I open the desk where he indicated and there, lying inside the otherwise empty drawer, is a phone. It’s an older model, though it is detachable. It sits in its charging cradle. I pull out the receiver, staring at it with an awed kind of reverence.
Technology. A communication device.
I look over my shoulder like this has all been some elaborate test to see what I’ll do once given my first chance at contacting the outside world.
But no, of course there’s no one there.
Then I remember the cameras he had watching me the first days I was here. Has he set up cameras in here? Are they recording me even as I hesitate holding the receiver, looking around like an idiot?
While Holy Hellfire suffers out in the pasture.
My hand immediately lunches for the number keypad. Still, I stop where my finger hovers over the star button.
This could be your chance. Xavier is distracted by the horse. You could call someone. Tell them about what’s happened.
But who would I call?
Most of my friends back in New York were more of acquaintances than close friends. And even if I could call someone, the thought of going back to that life…
I frown. Wasn’t it just this morning that I was thinking how much more fulfilled and happy I am here with Xavier than I was back in New York?
But God, maybe that’s just Stockholm Syndrome talking. That’s a real thing. I read a whole New Yorker article about it once.
