And I envied him.
Amy let go of Blue and stepped out of his stall. She latched the door, and quickly wiped her eyes, and neither of us spoke until we were out in the parking area again, standing too close to the truck that was ready to take her back to her home.
She turned slowly and faced me. “I guess…that’s everything.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I think so.”
“I should go, then. It’s a long drive.”
I nodded. “Right. I won’t keep you.” I paused. “Drive safe.”
“I will. And thank you again. For everything.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. “And…thank
you
.”
She smiled, which only emphasized the extra shine in her eyes. Then she dropped her gaze and cleared her throat. “Well, if you’re ever on the other side of the mountains and want to say hello, look me up.”
“I will,” I said. “Same goes for you if you’re back this way again.”
We exchanged smiles, and then she put her arms around me. I hugged her tight, closing my eyes and willing myself to keep it together. Just until her truck disappeared down the driveway. I could do that. I could.
God, please…
Amy loosened her embrace, and as we pulled back, our eyes met again. We didn’t let go yet, and at this point, pulling away completely wasn’t inevitable. Not when we were still just close enough together to tease my senses with all the times we’d been this close before.
But then we both pulled back and broke the embrace completely. We avoided each other’s eyes through one last good-bye, and the jingle of her truck keys in her hand told me this moment was well and truly ending. With every step she took toward the cab, panic rose in my chest, like there was still something I needed to say before the opportunity passed.
The driver’s side door slammed shut, the opportunity had passed, and I didn’t wait to watch the truck disappear down the driveway before I went back into the barn.
It hadn’t even hurt like this after my ex-wife left. And at the same time, I couldn’t recall ever being this numb. Empty.
I thought back to the day I met Amy. There’d been nothing in her eyes. Barely any life, let alone a spark of personality or feeling. She’d been cold, distant, detached.
This must have been what she felt back then.
I wandered down the barn aisle, and didn’t even realize where I was going until I stopped in front of Blue’s door. He greeted me with a soft nicker, and I ran my hand down his neck while my mind followed Amy down the driveway, down the dirt road, down the highway and the interstate toward the mountains.
Did I really think she’d stay forever? Horses came to this place to recover or train, and then they moved on. Why should it be so different for the humans? For God’s sake, she’d come here to escape a world that had been shaken off its foundation; we both knew she’d eventually have to go back and pick up the pieces. We knew this was coming.
Blue nudged my arm with his muzzle, and I realized I’d stopped petting him. As I resumed stroking his neck, I thought,
And what am I going to do with
you
now?
He wasn’t ready for a new owner yet. He was sound, and with some time and patience, he’d be safe for someone other than Amy to ride, but not yet. If I sold him now, or handed him off to another trainer who specialized in rescues, he may as well be back at square one. Establishing trust with a new handler wasn’t a simple process with a horse like him.
But I didn’t know if I could handle working with him. Not when everything about him said Amy to me.
One way or another, though, I had to let him go at some point. I couldn’t hold on to him; I couldn’t hold on to her. Neither of them belonged here.
I just didn’t know where that left me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Amy
I was sick to my stomach as I turned off the road and drove between the pair of stone lions guarding the entrance to Dover Equestrian. Heart pounding and gut twisting, I followed the pristine asphalt driveway through the trees and past the familiar sprawling pastures and the huge garage where the semi truck and trailer waited to take us all to competitions I didn’t even want to think about. Even with my windows closed, I couldn’t avoid the sweet smell of beauty bark and cedar shavings mixed with recently rained-on evergreen trees.
Someone rode a tall black warmblood in the outdoor dressage arena. Cars I may or may not have seen before were parked in the asphalt lot beside the barn. Every sunny pasture was full of blanketed, grazing horses, and I couldn’t remember any of their names.
I tried not to look at the barn. No doubt it was exactly as I’d left it, though maybe everyone was a little more lax about fixing every splinter and paint chip now that Sam was gone. I wouldn’t have blamed them. For now, I didn’t care to look, so I kept driving past the barn and the covered arena and a few more pastures.
My throat tightened as I came around the driveway’s last curve.
The three-story colonial peered over the immaculately trimmed hedge and flawless landscaping. Everything had obviously been maintained in my absence, but I couldn’t help shivering like I’d just pulled up to a spider-webbed, broken-windowed haunted house. I wanted to turn around and drive away. Back to Eastern Washington, back to Dustin, back to somewhere other than here, but it was too late. The front door flew open, and before the truck was even in Park, my family came outside.
Steeling myself, I turned off the engine and got out of the truck.
My boots had just hit the cement when my mother came around to the driver’s side, arms outstretched.
“Oh, honey.” She carefully wrapped her arms around me like she thought I’d shatter under the slightest pressure. “It’s so good to see you. We’ve all been worried.”
“I know.” I closed my eyes and hugged her back. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” she said. “We’re just glad you’re home.”
My entire immediate family was here, so obviously word had gotten out. My parents hugged me, and then Mariah did. My older sister’s smile didn’t hide her tired eyes, and I wondered just how ragged the last few weeks had run her. Because I didn’t already feel too guilty for words.
Curt gave me a typical big-brother bear hug, but not before I caught a glimpse of just enough smug “I told you so” in his eyes to make me want to drown him in a water trough. No doubt he thought I was here because
he’d
persuaded me, and yes, to a degree, that was true, but I had no use for gloating right now.
My mom and sister herded me inside while Dad and Curt insisted on emptying out the truck for me. My skin crawled with guilt, and also the growing irritation over being treated like an invalid. A few weeks ago, maybe, but I’d picked myself up after my emotional breakdown, and I was probably stronger now than I was before Sam died.
I thought, anyway. I thought that until I was about three steps into the unchanged foyer of my own house. Standing in the place where, with a backbeat of pouring rain and my own pounding heart, two officers in wet uniforms had said the words that sent me into my weeks-long tailspin. With the August sun pouring in through the windows around the french doors, I shivered, and couldn’t stop my stomach from turning or my knees from shaking or my head from spinning.
A hand materialized on my shoulder. When I turned my head, concern creased Mariah’s forehead. “You okay?”
I nodded. “Just strange to be back.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“And don’t worry,” I said quickly. “I’ll be back working in the barn tomorrow, so you—”
“Relax.” She squeezed my shoulder. “Take your time getting back into the swing of things. Dena and I have had it under control this long; we can keep it going a little longer.”
“Thanks,” I said softly.
Still, I was restless. My conscience couldn’t deal with another day of letting someone else carry the weight of my business, so as soon as I was dressed the next morning, I went out to face down the facility I’d left behind two months ago.
The employees usually finished feeding and picking out stalls around seven, and the barn officially opened at eight thirty. About eight o’clock, I stood outside the flawlessly whitewashed door and tried to steel myself.
The tap of my boots on the concrete echoed quietly down the immaculately swept aisle. The barn was more alive than I remembered this place ever being. The horses weren’t just part of the scenery as they nickered at me through the vertical metal bars on their stalls. Every stall had a name plate on the front, and as I connected names with faces, I remembered who was who. I even remembered some of their little personality quirks. Gamma the temperamental thoroughbred who was terrified of striped jump poles. Melody the Bashkir Curly who was half the size of all the other jumpers in the barn but still tried
so hard
for her owner. Herrlich, the pretentious warmblood who seemed to know his owners had paid six figures to bring him over from Germany.
I remembered their quirks, but it didn’t go any deeper than that. I’d ridden some of these horses hundreds of times, and I felt like I was walking through a stranger’s barn. Past stalls full of horses I’d never seen before. No different at all to the first time I’d set foot in Dustin’s barn, even though I should have felt for these horses what I felt for his when I saw them for the last time yesterday.
I paused in front of one stall, watching a blanketed gray thoroughbred eat. This would just take time, I reminded myself. It had taken time to bond with Blue and Star, or to look at any of the other horses like they were anything more than farm equipment with a pulse. With some time and patience, especially without some of the old pressure hanging over my head, I’d get there with these horses too.
I was in control now. I could scale back my workload if I needed to. I could make this the business I’d always wanted it to be. Perhaps not as prestigious and profitable, but I could take the weight off my sister’s shoulders as well as my own and make this into what we’d wanted it to be in the first place.
That was, of course, assuming I didn’t go insane all over again.
And prior to Sam’s death, my best defense against insanity was to throw myself into my work, so despite my sister’s insistence she and Dena had it under control, I made myself get back to work immediately. Day by day, though, it became clear it wouldn’t keep a breakdown at bay this time.
Horses were in boxes instead of grazing in the sun between trail rides. Shoes clanked on concrete instead of crunching on gravel or thudding on packed dirt. Trips to the feed store, the hardware store, the tack store, were handled by other people, and when I took care of them myself, they were far shorter than I was used to. The stores were so much closer. What had taken two hours while I lived on the other side of the mountains took thirty minutes now, and where two hours wasn’t a big deal before, thirty minutes felt like a colossal waste of time I couldn’t afford to spare. Everyone in this facility, even the horses it seemed, were in a huge, constant hurry.
The arena had never felt so confining. Even the pastures, with their perfectly maintained white posts and boards spanning acre after acre of lush land, were claustrophobic. Suffocating. The house and its huge empty rooms and long, echoing halls was simultaneously too big for one person and so constricting I was sure at any moment it would collapse in on me.
More than once, I caught myself walking down the aisle, looking around like I was sure I’d never been here in my life, because these walls and faces weren’t what they should have been. I was a stranger in my own goddamned barn.
If this is where I’m supposed to be,
I thought,
then why do I feel like I don’t belong here?
But that wasn’t the only reason I was slowly, steadily losing my mind all over again. Day by day, every inch of this place reminded me a little more of King’s Ranch because it was the polar opposite. It didn’t matter if he was dead and gone now; this place was still Sam. And that place, on the other side of the mountains at the end of a back road in the middle of nowhere, was Dustin.
And every day, a particular closed door at the south end of the barn aisle, across from the office that had once been Sam’s, bugged me. I was constantly aware of it, of what was behind it, but couldn’t make myself go through it any more than I could make myself ignore it.
Not until about three weeks after I came back.
Every horse had been worked. Dena was training full-time now, so her mother and I made it through the work schedule by about eight o’clock every night, though that was still by the skin of our teeth. With the last horse blanketed and put away for the night, I still had an hour to kill before I fed, and as I came out of the office after taking care of a few things, that door caught my eye for the thousandth time.
Just go in there. It’s not like it’s haunted.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I walked across the aisle, pushed open the door, and, as I stepped into the room, flicked on the light.
The instant the lights came on, my hackles went up. I’d never realized just how much I’d come to hate this place. The whole facility, yes, from the massive barn to the huge cavernous house, but
this
room more than anywhere else. This room where the trophies gleamed and the ribbons hung. The trophies that were never big enough. The ribbons that were never blue enough, long enough, prestigious enough. This room that smelled like silver polish and made me think of the nauseating sourness of celebratory champagne on my tongue.