AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What?” I reply, shocked.
“I’m stuck here until you’re ready to leave. Might as well help out.”
“You’re not stuck here. We tookyourtruck,” I reply. “You can leave right now and I’ll walk to school like usual as soon as I finish.”
“We’re due at the same place in—” He pulls out his phone to check the time. “Forty minutes. I’ll wait. Help.”
I mask my shock with irritation. “Do you even know anything about horses?”
Caleb snorts. “I think I can handle it, Matthews.”
“Fine.” I hold out the two buckets I’ve already filled. “Give these to the two mares on the right. First two stalls.”
I have to bite my bottom lip to keep from grinning at the sight of Caleb balancing the two buckets as he tries to open the swinging door with his arms full. It slams shut behind him once he finally manages it.
“You said the left, right?” he calls from the aisle.
“Theright!” I holler back, and hear him laugh.
After all the mares are happily munching on their breakfast, Caleb follows me over to the stallion barn. Feeding Geiger and Gallie is a much quicker process. There’s only two of them, and their diets are identical, speeding up the measuring significantly.
As soon as the stallions are fed, I head back to the main barn, grabbing four halters from the row of hooks to the right of the door. “Can you handle two?” I ask Caleb.
He nods. I slip halters on Ransom and Stormy. Ransom’s our oldest mare, and Stormy is expecting a foal in four months. I’m certain Caleb notices I’ve given him the two most docile horses, because he lets out a quiet snort. He doesn’t comment, though, just follows me along the path that leads to the east pasture where the mares spend most of the day.
We let the four horses loose, then head back toward the barn for the rest of them.
“So you do all of this,everyday?” Caleb asks as we walk along.
“Gramps helps out how he can, but he injured his hip last year, and horses tend to move at the pace they want to, not how fast you want them to go.”
“Couldn’t you get someone else to help?”
“Yeah, I’m sure someone would help. If we could afford to pay them.”
“Oh,” Caleb says as he realizes.
He doesn’t make any more comments about my long chore list as we put the rest of the horses out to pasture and then start the smelly process of mucking out the stalls.
I keep waiting for Caleb to bail, especially once manure is involved, but he scoops up the soiled shavings quickly and efficiently. He contributes enough I realize I probably wouldn’t have had time to finish all the chores before having to leave for school.
“I’ve just got to grab my backpack, and then we can go,” I say as soon as the last stall has been cleaned. “Do you, uh, want to come inside for a minute?”
“Sure.” Caleb agrees easily, not realizing what a leap it is for me. Back when I thought Madison and I were still friends, I overheard her telling a group of our classmates how much she hated coming over to my house. And it was in a much better state back in middle school. Even if I’d had friends to invite over in the past few years, I doubt I would have. All Cassie has visited is the end of the driveway.
I can see Gramps bustling around in the kitchen through the front-facing window as we approach the house. “Ignore anything my grandfather says,” I warn Caleb. “I don’t have many”—more likeany—“people over, so he’ll probably try to embarrass me somehow.”
Caleb’s smile makes me think the prospect of Gramps embarrassing me in front of him is not an unwelcome one. It only falters when we reach the rickety front porch. Caleb glances down at the wooden boards nervously as they creak. Under our combined weight, they do sound like they’re about to give out any minute.
“I’ve yet to fall through,” I tell him.
“Comforting,” Caleb remarks.
Gramps is standing at the stove frying an egg when we enter the kitchen.
“I’m just going to run upstairs to grab my stuff,” I tell Caleb. “Feel free to help yourself to whatever.” I gesture vaguely around the kitchen and then give Gramps a quick glance that I hope conveys he better behave himself.
I rush up the stairs and into my room. My backpack’s sitting on the floor next to my desk. I pick it up and head back toward the door, only to hesitate. Letting the bag drop down to the floor once more, I unzip my fleece and fling it onto my desk chair. I pull my favorite sweatshirt out of my dresser. It’s a soft crewneck style that’s a vibrant shade of dark green. Then I pull the elastic out of my hair, releasing my long strands from the knot. I swipe the brush through it a couple more times before picking up my backpack again and heading downstairs.
