Cane’s still determined to give me hell.
“Buddy, you gotta wear the thing so you can get to your safe spot before the rain. Come on.”
I get a good grip on his halter and he whips his head up again.
Bill always says to never let ‘em see you sweat. Cane’s volatility makes me nervous all the time, but I fight to keep my cool around him. He likes Maggie, and Maggie only. She swore he’d be good for me since we’ve got a similar build and vibe, despite our lack of shared DNA. Cane must pick up on our differences though, because he has certainly not been good for me. Hell, he’s not even good for Jake when Jake plays into his many demands.
If I were smart, I’d take one horse at a time this morning, but this storm’s rolling in fast. The closer it gets, the more likely Cane’s going to freak.
I get him settled and clipped on, running a soothing hand down his nose. “It’s alright. We’ll get you in before the thunder.”
He whinnies as a rumble sounds, not doing me any favors. “We can do this, buddy.”
I get him on my left and Freckle on my right and we start the long trek to the house. Of course, I put them in the farthest pasture last night. My dumb ass didn’t check the weather to see if it might behoove me to keep them closer to the barn—or at least on the same side of the creek as the barn.
I try quietly singing to give them something else to think about, an old hymn Peepaw used to sing. Maybe it will remind Cane of him too. When we can see the house, lightning cracks across the sky. I tense, knowing chaos is about to erupt. No amount of “whoa”-ing is going to calm Cane. He rears back on his hind legs, almost crashing back down on my shoulder. He scrambles away from me, and I struggle to hold his lead line. He’s a thousand pounds, and I am not. He yanks free and heads for the woods.
Freckle’s restless from all this commotion, nickering and whinnying. In an ideal situation, I’d get Freckle settled, then come back for Cane, but Cane could get pretty high up the mountain fast.
I’m screwed.
I run, trying to not let Freckle get ahead of me, and reach the edge of the woods. I tie Freckle to a tree and say “stay,” like she’s a dog or something. Cane hasn’t made it as far as I feared. I approach him cautiously, and thankfully, he’s more calm under cover here. I lower to grab his lead line, stroking down his nose. “It’s alright, buddy. We can make it to the barn. I know you’re scared. We’re going to get through this together.”
I’m rattled as hell. I almost got trampled, almost lost a horse, and now I have to cross what’s sure to be a rapidly rising creek with two horses. I’m shaking all over, getting scratched by briars, and rain’s starting to drip from the canopy, moisture rolling down my arms. We make it back to Freckle and I untie her from the tree.
We’re out in the open and almost to the creek crossing. Water already flows about an inch over the bridge. An inch now could mean a foot in a matter of minutes. Flash floods are common out Painter Creek, but it doesn’t make it any less scary when it happens. I’m going to be stranded on the side with the barn and the cabin.
And just my luck, Jake’s truck is pulling in by the barn. A blinding flash accompanies an instantaneous thunder clap and Cane rears up again.
“Whoa, whoa,” I try, but Cane almost pulls my arm out of its socket. He’s just shy of rodeo-style bucking, and panic washes over me anew.
I could get trampled in a heartbeat.
But Jake’s running toward us, hands out. Rain drips off his straw hat and his eyes look serious, but calm. He turns his body to the side, sidling my way and holding his hand out for the lead line. I toss it to him and with a series of low, quiet commands, he gets Cane walking in a circle.
“There you go. Good boy,” he says.
I briefly make eye contact with him, but have to go on. I can’t let Jake see how scared I am: hands shaking, barely breathing, knees wobbling in a way that feels cartoonish.
I get into the barn, the sound of the rain switching to pattering on the metal roof. Freckle’s still worried and snuffling, but she’s not wigging out like Cane. I put her in her stall and slide the door closed, heading to the tack room to get some feed.
I close the door behind me, pin my back to it, and let myself fall apart. What the hell am I doing with my life? How in the hell am I running this farm by myself?
What was I thinking, running away from my life? Yeah, I didn’t get the promotion, but it was a good job. I just threw it away. Years of work. Years of love. Gone. And now I’m putting myself in situations where I could die and no one would find me for half a day.
My crying is hysterical, gasping for air. I slump against the counter in the middle of the tack room. The weight of everything feels so big, and I’m fighting to not fall into a panic attack.
The tack room window looks out into the barn, where Jake has Cane jogging in circles. His firm calm shows in his stance, the way he holds his head. He stops Cane and approaches him, giving him firm pats on his neck. Cane nuzzles Jake’s pants and his lips curl up in a chuckle. He says something that looks affectionate to the horse, then pulls a mint out of his pocket and gives it to him. After a few more pats, he’s walking a calmed-down Cane to his stall.
Meanwhile, my hands shake so much I almost spill the feed I’m scooping out.
I walk back out with a bucket in each hand, head down so my ball cap covers my face. I clip Freckle’s feed first, hoping Jake will just disappear or go away. I can’t stand the idea that he knows I fucked up. That he knows I can’t do this, that I can’t handle my job. That I’m a fake, a phony, a hot mess.
He stands with a hand on Cane’s stall door, eyes on me as I drop in Cane’s feed. As quickly as I can, I flick my eyes his way. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, no problem,” he says, sliding the door shut. Out of my periphery, I see his arm reach for me, but I stay just past arm’s length.
“I’ll muck the stalls,” I say.
