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Trace turned to look at Lilah in the backseat. Her face told him she was considering what he’d asked. But he could see the moment her bleeding heart took over.
“Arthur said he was a good boy,” Lilah replied, referring to the older gentleman that had voluntarily turned over his horses. “And that he deserves a good home.”
Arthur was in his eighties. He lived by himself in a remote area of northern Minnesota, and it was his grandson who had contacted the local humane society, looking to get rid of the horses. The grandson said Arthur could no longer care for the horses, as his memory was quickly fading. He was going to take them to auction this week if the humane society couldn’t take them. That’s when Lilah was contacted. Trace knew she’d probably saved the horses from ending up at a slaughterhouse. Still, he worried they were too much for her to handle on her own.
“I told Arthur we’d find him a good home.” Lilah set her hand on the door, steeling her face. “We’ll get him some veterinary care. In a few weeks, Jesse can start working with him. Maybe by the end of the summer he’ll have enough training that we can rehome him?”
That would be best for the unruly gelding. But would it be best for Lilah and the kids? What if the horse got loose like Daryll had yesterday? Trace’s protective side prickled, but before he could respond, Lilah opened the door and got out of the truck.
He turned to Jesse, looking for backup. But Jesse just gave him a shrug. Lilah had made up her mind.
Trace sighed and adjusted the baseball hat on his head. “Let’s get them unloaded and see how it goes.”
After they opened the big barn door and turned on the lights, the four of them gathered at the back of the horse trailer, which shifted and groaned as the horses inside protested the delay.
“You girls lead the mares. Jesse and I will unload the gelding,” Trace instructed as he unlatched the trailer door and cracked it open.
The aged palomino mare in the last slot craned her head toward him as morning light poured in on her dingy, cream-colored coat. Her eyes were wide and worried, but Trace talked to her as he crept in. He slipped beside her, snapped a lead rope to her halter, and unhooked her trailer tie. The mare followed Trace out of the trailer with cautious steps. Once she was on the ground, he handed her over to Lilah. The mare seemed kind. Her dropped belly indicated she’d probably been a broodmare most of her life.
“Hi there, my sweet girl,” Lilah cooed, as if she knew the palomino mare well. As she gently ran a hand over the mare’s neck, Trace’s heart squeezed. Lilah had never met an animal she didn’t love. He was just afraid her big heart would blind her to the enormity of what she was taking on.
Lilah led the mare toward the barn, and Jesse unloaded the second horse—another older quarter horse mare. This one was dark bay, nearly black, and looked like she could use a few good meals. Frankie took the skinny mare from Jesse and joined Lilah in the barn. As she did, the trailer started rattling like an unbalanced washing machine. The gelding whinnied as he crashed and banged his body against the metal divider that kept him in place. He was not happy about being left behind.
“Let’s get him out before he breaks something,” Trace said to Jesse, not sure if the horse or the trailer would give first.
Jesse scooted around the outside of the trailer, and after a tense minute, he managed to reach through the trailer window and snap a lead rope onto the horse’s halter.
“He’s ready, but be careful,” Jesse announced. “Who knows what he’ll do when you open that divider.”
“Okay, I’m going in.” Trace said a little prayer as he stepped into the rocking trailer. The gelding whinnied again, calling for the mares while staring intently out the window. Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, Trace opened the divider that separated him from the horse and took hold of the lead rope. Once he was near the gelding’s shoulder, the horse cocked his head at him, like he wasn’t sure where Trace had come from.
“Easy, boy.Easy.” Trace stepped toward the back of the trailer, asking the horse to follow him to the open door. “Let’s get you out of here. Okay?”
The gelding wholeheartedly agreed with Trace’s suggestion. He lurched for the open door, and it took everything Trace had to hang on while still avoiding flailing hooves. The two of them made a hasty exit out the back of the trailer.
“Whoa,” Trace repeated over and over while managing to guide the horse into a few small circles. Once he’d convinced the gelding not to gallop, he pointed him toward the barn.
Jesse stood near the trailer, primed to jump in if needed. “You okay?”
“I’m good,” Trace replied. He’d gained some rope burn and wished he’d worn gloves, but at least that was the only injury he’d sustained from the shotgun unloading. It had been a long time since he’d voluntarily handled a horse like this. In his younger years, Trace had ridden broncs and started colts. Now, at thirty-eight years, he preferred horses on the reliable side.
Glancing at the barn, Trace found Lilah and Frankie. They stood near the entrance, watching with eyes as wide as tractor tires.
“Which stall do you want him in?” Trace asked.
Lilah opened her mouth to respond, but a whinny from the miniature horse in the pasture drowned her out. The high-pitched greeting sent the gelding into another tizzy. He reared, and Trace held his breath as the gelding’s belly rose in front of him. He was basically flying a thousand-pound kite.
Taking a step back, Trace kept hold of the end of the lead rope. When all four hooves were back on the gravel, he spun the gelding into another circle.
“The last stall,” Lilah shouted, answering Trace’s previous question. Then Jesse shouted for Lilah and Frankie to back up. They did—quickly—as Trace led the gelding into the barn.
The gelding snorted as he pranced down the lighted barn aisle. Once Trace got him in the stall, he unhooked the lead rope, backed out, and shut the door. The gelding immediately spun a circle, screeched at the top of his lungs, and banged his rear end against the water bucket. Water sloshed over the horse and ground.
Trace turned to Lilah. Her eyes were glued to the horse, as if she were watching a car accident. Frankie and Jesse stood behind her, completely quiet.
“Arthur said he was agood boy?” Trace repeated Lilah’s words from earlier. Maybe Arthur’s memory was slipping faster than his grandson knew?Thatwas not a good boy.
The horse whinnied again, frantic, as if he’d been abandoned. But the mares who’d come with him were just across the aisle, chomping hay contently in their stalls—like normal horses.
