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“Good. Make it fast.” Dad pushes his chair back and stands. “You got this? It’s good seeing you again, Warren.”
“Don’t go visit Mom.”
“She’s my wife.” He shows me his teeth. On anyone else, it might be a charming smile. On him, it’s the smirk of a shark. “I should visit.”
“Leave her alone. If you won’t divorce, at least don’t drag her down with you.”
“Good luck, son. We’re rooting for you.” He winks and walks off, whistling softly to himself. I watch him go and feel like I’m falling off a cliff, spiraling into the dark, rushing down toward black churning waves.
And hoping I hit a rock hard enough to make my end quick.
Chapter8
Melody
The vet’s in with Bomber for a few hours. Equipment, a portable X-ray machine, casting materials, and several helpful techs all fill the stable. The vibe feels frenzied but calm. I pace across the paddock feeling horrible, an ugly stone in my throat. Kat sits nearby, back against the fence, alternating between watching me and trying to read. There’s nothing else to do at this point, nothing else we can do. Ford brought in the best horse doctor in the area and told him to do whatever it takes, and now we wait, hoping the grizzled old Texas veterinarian can manage a miracle.
“They’re going to save him,” Kat says as I slump down beside her. She puts an arm across my shoulder. “I promise, they will.”
“You don’t know that.” I close my eyes and lean against her. “Poor Bomber. Even if the break’s clean and they can set it and he heals right, he’ll never race. I doubt anyone will be able to ride him ever again.”
“We’ll figure out what to do with him when the time comes.”
I take a deep breath and slowly let it out, trying to manage this terrible feeling lodged deep in my chest, but it’s like a splinter in my heart.
I grew up on a ranch. I’ve worked on multiple farms since then. I’ve seen this before, over and over: horses rarely survive a broken leg, and when they do, their quality of life tends to be very low. Horses aren’t like people—they’re top heavy with very little in the way of muscles along their lower parts, which means their breaks tend to heal wrong because they’re often standing, and they tend to experience a lot of pain since there’s not much to support the weakened portions. Horses’ legs carry a ton of weight and stress, and more often than not, it’s cleaner to euthanize them rather than let them suffer for the rest of their lives.
I’ve seen it before. I’ll see it again. I’ve even pulled the trigger, or hit the plunger, or done what needed doing, and it sticks with me in ways I don’t fully understand. Maybe that’s why I’m taking this so hard. I don’t want to lose another animal. I hate that we have to make this decision, and for some reason it’s weighing on me even harder than it normally does. I don’t know what it is about Bomber, but I’ve put so much time and energy and love into that animal, and to see him in pain, to see him suffer, to watch him have to be put down—it kills me. It truly kills me.
“I’ll buy him,” I whisper and feel the idea form in my chest like a salve to the rot I feel there.
“What?” Kat frowns and shakes her head. “Melody—”
“No, I’ll buy him. I’ll pay his stabling fees. If he survives this and his leg heals, I’ll take him on. I’ll take care of him.”
“Honey, you know we don’t need money,” Kat says softly. “You can just have him. He can just stay here.”
“But space is limited. If we keep Bomber in a stall, that’s one less spot for a horse than can earn something for the business.”
Kat looks concerned. “It’s not aboutearning, Melody, you know that. Ford’s got plenty. We don’t actually need to turn a profit.”
“I need to.” I pull back and climb to my feet. “I can’t just keep relying on your generosity. I need to do something on my own for once.” I walk away, pacing again, head spinning from here back to my father’s ranch and back to here again. “I know you and Ford can keep Bomber around indefinitely. I know the money means nothing to you guys, but it meansa lotto me. I have to prove—I have to prove I can do this.” I stop and face her, hands on my hips, breathing fast.
“This isn’t just about Bomber,” Kat says.
And she’s right, it’s not about Bomber. It’s about how I feel likeI’mBomber with a broken leg, barely standing upright, afraid I’ll never heal no matter how much time passes. It’s about me, and my family, and War, and everything else. It’s about being the person I’ve always wanted to be, independent, in control of my own life. Strong, competent, smart. It’s about standing tall and holding my head up.
And being so afraid I’ll never get there.
“I can save that horse,” I say and hold my head up. “I can pay to give him a good life and I want you to let me.”
“Okay,” Kat says, looking bewildered. “If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do.”
The barn door opens and Nicky comes out. She’s young and cute with curly hair and green eyes. Her eyeliner is smudged and she’s wiping away tears, but she’s smiling, and that knot in my throat loosens a touch at the relief etched into her.
“They set the leg,” Nicky says as she comes over. “The vet said the break was simple and clean. He thinks Bomber’s got a real chance at making it.”
I nearly fall over with relief. I tilt my head down and close my eyes for a second, getting myself together, before looking at Nicky.
