Leap of Faith (20 page)

She just wished the memories would leave her alone too.

Jessica woke to the familiar, deep metallic rattle of the horse float approaching the house. She looked around the room, momentarily disoriented. The shadows were long outside and the sun had gone behind the house. She checked her watch. Four p.m. She'd been asleep for a full four hours! She was reminded she'd missed lunch by a painful gnawing in her stomach and sat up, stretching her leg out and rolling her ankle around. It was stiffer than ever. She should have iced it when she got back.

Instead of pulling the horse float into the large barn-style shed to unload his clearing sale spoils like he normally did, Steve pulled up outside. Curious, she edged herself higher, put her forearms across the back of the couch and watched out the window as he undid the bolts on the tailgate and slowly lowered it. The dogs were wriggling about on the back of the ute, clearly annoyed at still being restrained. Usually he got out and set them free to check out what scents had been left on their patch while they'd been away.

Jessica looked back to Steve and was stunned to see a wiry chestnut tail and the rump of a horse in the back of the float. From what little she could make out, it was a thoroughbred, a very thin one, by the looks of the poverty lines running down either side of its tail. It wasn't huge, probably only around fifteen-two hands, though it was often hard to tell with them standing in a float. Her mouth dropped open and her brain began ticking overtime. Why was her non-horsey husband unloading a horse from the float?

Perhaps he was doing Tiffany a favour and the horse was in transit, or something. Though, if that was the case, why wouldn't her best friend have shared the news? Jessica felt a stab of guilt. It was her fault she and Tiffany hadn't spoken much lately, especially about horses.

Jessica sucked in a breath when the creature appeared. Jesus, it was one of the skinniest, scrawniest pieces of horseflesh she'd ever seen: its hip bones stuck out prominently and its ribs were clearly visible. Despite the bright sunshine, not a hair on its coat glistened. The tail, she now noticed, was not only thin and raggedy, but matted – most likely with faeces.

It stood there with its head hung, barely even turning to take in its new surroundings. Jessica's heart lurched. Who could let a horse get into that condition? Someone should have called the RSPCA. Should she? She was surprised the horse could stand up, being so emaciated. Surely it didn't have any energy.

Steve encouraged it forwards as he headed the few metres across to the stable's day yards. She could see it could barely walk. He stopped and spoke to the horse, rubbed its face when it stumbled, tripping over its own feet. Jessica could almost hear his gentle, soothing tone as he looked deep into eyes that were most likely sunken into bony sockets. While he'd never had much to do with the horses, he was great with animals generally. It was the main reason their meat was so sought after – they had a reputation for their quiet, well-tended stock, all thanks to Steve's affinity with animals.

As mesmerised as Jessica was, she could sit there no longer – she had to know what was going on. She ignored the pain that shot down her leg and right through into the soles of her feet and stormed, as best she could, out of the house and across the turnaround area. She stopped far enough away from Steve and the horse so as not to spook it. God, it looked a lot smaller up close – probably only a shade over fifteen hands. And it seemed to be in a hell of a lot worse condition than she'd thought. Whoever had bought this horse and had Steve bring it home for a stopover during transit had clearly purchased it sight unseen. Bad move.

‘What's this?' she demanded. She hadn't meant to sound so cold, so aggressive, but the shock at what she was seeing and the annoyance of not knowing what was going on had caught in her throat. The horse eyed her warily and shuffled sideways.

‘Shh, you're scaring her,' Steve said. ‘It's okay, girl,' he said, rubbing the horse's neck.

‘Well?'

‘It's a horse, Jessica,' Steve said wearily.

‘I can see that, but who does it belong to?'

‘Me, well, us,' Steve said, and offered her the slightly boyish, lopsided grin she'd found so endearing all those years ago. Right now it infuriated her. She didn't have the patience for the runaround. He knew he was doing the wrong thing bringing the horse here, otherwise he'd simply tell her what was going on, without the cheeky grin.

‘Well, mine, then,' he said, standing straighter. ‘Come on, girl,' he urged, tugging gently on the lead rope.

The horse obediently followed in its uneven, foot-dragging shuffle. Its head was down and it cut a forlorn figure. Jessica didn't think it would have the energy to object even if it wanted to. She felt herself softening slightly. She supposed they could spare some hay. And the stables weren't being used. But she was stuffed if she was going to be taking care of it. Not when she hadn't had a choice in the matter.

God, what's he thinking?
In their six and a half years of marriage he'd never shown an interest in the horses beyond providing occasional assistance to her. Jessica found this shift in their roles quite disconcerting.

‘But you don't know anything about horses,' she called.

‘Well, I'll learn, then. If you won't help me,' Steve said. She felt a twinge of guilt; all the times Steve had cooked her dinner while she'd been busy getting ready for events, all the times he'd done shifts leading colicky horses around, or sat and kept her company while waiting for vets to turn up. Not to mention everything he'd done for Prince and Beau and her since she'd been laid up.

But this was different. She couldn't provide hands-on help; she'd get sucked into the vortex of horses again for sure. There was something about them. But she was done. She was at a different stage in her life – she was going to devote her life to being a great mother to someone.

‘But why?'

‘I couldn't leave her there, Jess, standing at the fence staring at me like that. You didn't see her, or talk to the old lady …'

If it wasn't such a serious situation, Jessica would have laughed. Instead, she stared at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. She almost shook her head sadly at him. He'd fallen for ‘the look', hook, line and sinker.

Her father had drummed it all into her early. Proper horse people learnt early on not to gaze too deeply into the eyes of a forlorn-looking horse: the pull to save them was just too great, and before you knew it, you'd taken home a dozen mouths and were buying feed by the semitrailer load. And you certainly never listened to the sob story of the owner. It sounded hard-hearted, but you couldn't save every lost soul. She couldn't believe Steve, the businessman, man of the land, a man who made a business of selling livestock for meat, for Christ's sake, had fallen for it. It was almost laughable. Almost, but not quite.

While he was kind to all animals, he was also pragmatic, being a farmer who raised stock to send off to slaughter. A huge part of his life was about not getting emotionally involved, keeping a professional distance and seeing the stock as a mass and not individuals where the long lashes could too easily suck you in.

Was she being too hard now? Probably. But if Steve had suddenly lost the plot and become a total sucker for a stray, which was what this seemed like, then she'd have to be the voice of reason. Someone had to be. And when it came to horses, she was the expert in the family. She'd been raised to only have the best stock on the premises. She and her father before her were serious horse people – there was no place for stock of dubious breeding or conformation. She knew it sounded snobby, but you had to draw a line somewhere. Otherwise you'd end up with paddocks filled with useless horses just waiting out their final days. Fine if you were the RSPCA or some other rescue organisation, but not fine for Collins Park.

‘I suppose we could feed it up and sell it on,' Jessica said, thinking aloud. They might have a decent-looking thoroughbred, though a plain one, once the bones were covered. Its legs seemed long and straight enough from this distance.

‘No,' Steve said, ‘she's staying. I like her.'

‘But what do you know about her?'

‘What do I need to know other than that she needed saving?'

‘But why you, why us?'

‘I don't know, Jessica, but you could at least be supportive.'

‘I am being supportive.'

Steve stared her down.

‘Well, what if it's been doped and turns out to be a dangerous nutcase?' she persisted. There was probably a very good reason why the horse hadn't been sold through the normal channels.
Who sells a horse at a clearing sale with fencing equipment and farm machinery, anyway? Weird.
She was finally starting to come to terms with not having horses – the last thing she needed was to see one again out of the window every day. It was all too confronting.

‘As if, Jessica. And anyway, dealing with anything with a brain is a gamble. We both know that only too well.'

‘You're right. Sorry.' Still, she eyed the chestnut warily.
I guess you're staying then.

‘So just a brick of meadow hay, or should I give her something else as well?' Steve asked.

‘No, just the hay. And leave her out of the stable and just in the day yards in case she freaks out.' It made sense – the day yards were more secure and Jessica didn't want her stables destroyed if the horse got a fright or went crazy when the drugs wore off and it was inside and not used to such confinement. The horse might never have been inside. Though it had clearly coped okay with being in the float.

Jessica did think the horse looked drugged from what she could see; its eyes were far from alert. But that could be resignation to being in a new place with an unknown fate or simply severe malnutrition.

‘No, I'll open the stable door – she can have the run of both. It's going to be chilly tonight.'

Jessica fumed at being overridden about something to do with horses. She'd had a lifetime of experience. She almost pointed out that the horse was clearly quite used to being outside.

‘Should I put a rug on her – there'd be one to fit, wouldn't there?'

‘I think you should just leave it in peace and wait until we see what it's like before mucking around with it too much. It might never have had a rug on and you don't want to terrify it. Let it settle in first.' While she was appearing supportive – well, she hoped so – what she was really hoping was that by morning Steve would have come to his senses and had agreed to fatten the creature up and on-sell it.

Jessica watched while Steve gave the horse the same amount of hay she would have given it, filled the water tub up, and stood rubbing the chestnut's mud-caked neck for a few minutes. She refused to acknowledge the jealousy and annoyance that swept through her. But she did admit to feeling quite unsettled by the horse. Who could have let it get into such a state?

She thought of Prince and Beau and how she'd just cast them aside. To ease the guilt threatening to overwhelm her, she moved to where Laurel and Hardy were still on the ute, gave them each a pat, and unclipped their chains.

‘Now, go quietly,' she warned them. They seemed to understand, because they silently hopped down and trotted closer to the yards to check out the newcomer. Jessica knew it was ridiculous, but she felt ganged up on, an outsider. Yet she didn't want to join Steve with the horse because she might just get drawn into its vortex too. Someone had to keep a level head. So, instead, she made her way slowly back to the house.

‘Leave it in peace,' she called to Steve at the door.

*

Later, Jessica tried to tune out her annoyance at Steve overstepping the clearly defined roles in their marriage and concentrate on
CSI
on the TV. But Steve was like a jack-in-the-box, leaping up to go out and check on the horse every few minutes. After the third time in the first hour, Jessica snapped at him to sit still; she was trying to follow the clues of the show and wanted to watch in peace.

‘And,' she added, softening at his crestfallen expression, ‘how would you feel if every time you felt relaxed, someone you were afraid of poked their head around the corner, startling you?'

‘I don't think she's afraid of me,' Steve said. ‘How could she be when I'm the one who rescued her? She knows and understands.'

‘Well, wary then,' she conceded. ‘And for all we know it was drugged and could be a complete dangerous nutcase in the morning, when the drugs wear off.'

‘Why would anyone go to the expense and trouble of drugging her? As if, Jess.'

So some patsy would take it off their hands
, she wanted to say, but didn't. If Steve wasn't prepared to see the situation like it was, then she wouldn't be helping matters by pointing it out. He was also decidedly testy with her for her clear lack of support. But as much as she loved Steve and the soft side that showed itself occasionally – like the dogs being allowed inside – she thought he was being ridiculous. Not to mention straying way too far onto her turf.

They went to bed annoyed and without a kiss goodnight, and rolled to their respective edges of the bed with their backs to each other.

As she waited for sleep to claim her, Jessica seethed at the horse outside that was unsettling their lives after just two minutes.

Her eyes flew open as she realised she hadn't asked just how much Steve had paid for the beast. Far too much, no doubt. The money was as much his as hers, though – it was probably best not to get into that.

Jessica was lacing up her runners for a walk when Steve came in after checking on the horse. She was beginning to like the mornings again because she now had a routine in place, a way to kill a few hours from an otherwise dull day.