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“Addison and I are leaving this afternoon. Are you sure you don’t want to come with us and spend Thanksgiving with your family?”
“While I appreciate the invitation very much, as I told you when you asked previously, I cannot leave the ranch at this time.”
I didn’t need to follow my nephew’s gaze to know who he saw. The way his eyes scrunched told me it was Jaicon.
“You know I want you to be happy.”
I smiled. “Of course I do.”
“Be careful.”
It was the second time I’d received the warning, yet my intuition was telling me I’d be the one to hurt her rather than the other way around.
4
JAICON
Tryst embraced his nephew Brix right before the man got in a nearby truck and drove away.
“Tomorrow is Thanksgiving,” he said, walking over to stand by me as I contemplated whether I should visit the meditation center.
“I’d forgotten.” It wasn’t a holiday I’d ever celebrated in the UK. “Will you be traveling?”
Tryst shook his head. “We have several people from the States working on the ranch. I host a meal for those who choose to spend the day here.”
“You’re very kind to do so, especially given it will keep you from your family.” There had been many instances when Tryst’s depth of caring and compassion moved me. It seemed he erred on the side of selflessness every time.
“While I miss them very much, those who remain here are my people too.”
Since arriving in Alamos, I’d learned a great deal about Tryst’s family. Only some of the details were in his dossier.
His only sibling, a brother, had passed away the year before Tryst’s wife died, leaving behind six sons and one daughter. The oldest son, Brix, owned the property adjacent to Tryst’s ranch. He and his uncle were as close as father and son. While none of the others had visited over the last month, he spoke of them with the same deep affection.
It was during one such conversation that Tryst confided in me that he and his late wife had not had children of their own. He hadn’t offered any reason why they didn’t, and I refrained from asking. One, it was clear the topic made him uncomfortable. Two, it was none of my business. Three, if I had, he might’ve probed me on the subject.
“A new horse is arriving at the riding center today. Would you like to see her?”
“I’d love to.” One of my favorite things about being here was having the chance to ride every day. It wasn’t something I’d had time to do once I left home for university. The riding center Tryst referenced housed an equine rehabilitation program originally developed for people who had or were experiencing trauma. It grew to offer services for horses as well.
Tryst walked me to thecasitawhere I changed into an appropriate attire. In case we had time to visit the meditation center later, as we did most days, I threw yoga pants and a T-shirt into a bag and brought it along.
“What’s her story?” I asked on our way to the barns.
“She has suffered severe neglect and abuse. If you feel at all uncertain, we do not have to be there for her arrival.”
“I can do it,” I assured him.
Tryst had researched recent successes in helping those who suffered from a photographic memory. Essentially, the exercises involved working to replace negative memories with positive ones. By witnessing the horse’s arrival, the idea was I’d gradually replace today’s memory as she completed each step of her recovery. While certain recollections could never be erased, that I might have a tool to help eliminate some of the bad was promising.
“What is her name?” I asked when the truck pulling the trailer arrived.
“We weren’t able to find out.”
“Sad,” I said under my breath.
Once one of the cowboys led her from the trailer, I witnessed the evidence of something far more heartbreaking than the animal not having a name. She was emaciated to the point where a clear outline of her rib cage was visible. There were also indications she’d been whipped.
When Tryst stepped closer, the animal’s tail swished, she held her head high, her eyes were wide, and her ears were pinned. As I watched and listened to him soothe her, I recalled something I’d read on the subject of love.
