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I slap my hand over my mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine,” Tim cuts me off. “It’s the carrots. Jupiter loves them. It seemed to distract her long enough that I was able to slip the saddle right on. The problem is that I ran out, and I was making my way to the house to get some more.”
My throat burns with emotion. This is huge. After all these years, Jupiter is finally wearing a saddle.
“Carry on back to the house,” I tell Tim. “I’ll wait for you in the paddock.”
Tim nods. “Now don’t get any crazy ideas like riding her. She isn’t ready for that just yet.”
I laugh, but when Tim hurries past me I consider his words. Everything around me is spiralling out of control—my life, my future and my emotions. As a girl whenever I overheard my parents arguing, the next day I would beg my mother to let me ride. Riding was a way of finding my calm, of regaining some control.
I walk with quickening steps toward the paddock. My sight is set on Jupiter, who stands grazing on the vibrant green grass, and as Tim had promised, she has the saddle secured on her back. A saddle that has my name written all over it.
I enter the enclosure and keep a confident gait as I approach. Her head is down as she grazes on the carpet of grass below, but her eyes are focused on me. Our eye contact is unbroken as I close the distance between us. She doesn’t bolt, doesn’t back away, and an air of calm settles around us as she stands watching me.
“Thatagirl,” I say, and when she raises her head, I place my palm on the bridge of her nose. I stand in silence for a beat to gauge her response. I haven’t been this close to her before, and I know if she’s going to bolt, it’ll be now. To my surprise, she remains calm as her copper mane is whisked up in the gentle breeze.
From the bridge of her nose, I work my palm slowly across her jaw, down her neck, and onto her shoulder.
Jupiter isn’t wild, and I don’t think she’s dangerous. Maybe it’s reckless of me to try to mount her, but right now I just need this escape.
I drop the stirrup so it is easier to reach. I grab her mane with one hand and grip the saddle with the other. With my foot placed in the stirrup, I pull myself up.
I sit tall for a few seconds and take everything in. I am sitting on a horse who is deemed out of control, who hasn’t had anyone astride her for over a decade. Today is monumental and I would hate to push her too far.
“Good girl,” I whisper. I’m about to slide down when Josh catches my attention. He is running toward the paddock waving his arms frantically in the air.
“Chelsea, are you bloody insane? Get down this instant!” His voice is high-pitched and verges on erratic as he nears.
The air of calm that surrounded us moments ago is starting to evaporate. Jupiter’s relaxed stance goes rigid, and the rate of her breathing intensifies.
“Josh, stop,” I call, but it’s too late. He continues to bark at me to dismount, waving his arms wildly as he runs toward us.
Jupiter neighs loudly. Seeing as she isn’t wearing a bridle, I have no reins to hold onto and instead grab for her mane, but the coarse hairs slip right through my fingers as she bucks beneath me. I’m jolted forward and then back before I’m thrown to the ground.
Colours bleed into each other as the world around me spins. Josh’s face comes into view for a split second before everything goes black.
Chelsea
Iwake up to the high-pitched sound of beeping. I open my eyes only for my vision to be flooded with bright light, so bright that I have to hold my hand over my eyes to give myself time to adjust.
“Thank God.” I hear a male voice to my right, a male voice that sounds remarkably like Lucian’s. I lift my head, about to crack open my fingers to peer between them when my hand is pulled from my face. I squint as the bright light once again fills my vision and it takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. Slowly everything around me begins to take shape.
I’m lying in bed in a white room. Machines beep all around me, and an IV has been taped to the back of my hand with a needle going directly into a vein.
I have so many questions, but all I can focus on is the needle. I’m about to yank it out when Lucian takes both of my hands in his. “Leave it, the doctor said you need fluids.”
I pull one of my hands free and rub my head, which is aching. I flinch immediately when my finger makes contact with some kind of dressing. “Where am I?” I ask.
“In hospital.” Lucian takes a control and presses a button that lifts the top part of the bed into a sitting position. When my back is vertical, he plumps the pillow behind my head.
“I know that,” I say, and make a sweeping motion with my arm. “Where?”
“In a private wing at St Anthony’s.”
I flash a glance around the room for a second time and take in the sheer size.
Lucian releases my hand and from the inside pocket of his jacket pulls out a small container. “Don’t tell the nurses, but I snuck you in Mrs Collins’ freshly made turkey salad.” He stands and pulls out a tray that he positions directly over my lap.
