Javier cracks up, and my brain, still not quite in the present moment, reminds me that Sparrow was a teenager when he moved to the States, just like Ant. Only…Sparrow came here with a loving, supportive family and Ant’s circumstances couldn’t have been more different.
Sparrow and I have chatted on many occasions, and his recall of his years in Mexico is wonderful, but more importantly, it’s sharp. Precise. Ant often questions his own memories. He only has fuzzy recollections of happy Christmases and lonely days in his father’s family compound.
His sharpest memory is of a man with bloodshot eyes handing his grandfather a stack of cash.
Suddenly, Bram’s stoic, brotherly voice is in my head. “I see you’ve redirected your thinking to work out someone else’s trauma. That’s a neat trick.”
Gee, thanks, Dr. Barlowe.
“Hey, can I have the other half of the apple?” Ant asks, pulling on my front pocket.
Blinking back to the present—for real this time—I bat away his hands with a laugh and produce the apple, along with a few sugar cubes. Charlie walks over, understanding filling his far-too-insightful eyes.
“You have a few therapy sessions lined up for later, right?”
“Yep.”
“Alright, then. Go back to the bunkhouse and clean up, then lie down for a bit. I’ll take over here with Ant and Javier.”
I dart a quick glance at Javier, who shifts on his feet. I bet if I asked him to accompany me, to lie down with me and hold me against his body while my nervous system resets, he absolutely would.
But Ant needs his uncle, and I’m a grown adult who can—minor vomiting incident aside—self-regulate.
“Um, okay. Let me clean up this mess first.”
Charlie holds up his hand. “Nope. Me and Ant will take care of it. Don’t you worry about anything except getting right for your clients.”
His words are gentle and friendly, but he’s definitely in boss-mode right now.
“You got it, Charlie. Thanks. And, uh, sorry.”
I send Javier a little wave and then head back to the bunkhouse.
* * *
Charlie was right.I needed the time to decompress before seeing my clients. By the time I make it out to the therapy barn, Javier is chatting with one of the volunteers and being introduced to the horses we work with.
I smile when I see he’s wearing a Wild Heart T-shirt. We’re a little overcautious with quarantined horses, and I’d bet my paycheck the volunteer—Junior Underwood’s younger sibling, Lyle—made him wash up and change shirts.
I sidle up to Lyle and hold out my fist. “Nice job getting him a T-shirt at least one size too small.”
Grinning, Lyle slyly bumps my fist. “All in a day’s work here at the Wild Heart Equine Therapy and Rescue Center.”
I stifle a laugh, and Javier raises his brows as I pass him to set up for my first patient of the day.
“You okay?”
My cheeks flush. “Oh…yeah. Sorry about that. I—”
He holds up his hands with a kind smile. “No need to explain yourself. I’m glad to see you looking better.”
“Thanks,” I say quickly, then turn toward the stalls before my body reacts to all of Javier’s…Javier-ness.
I’m looking forward to my first patient, a woman in her mid-forties. She’s very successful, though she had kind of a shitty childhood and suspects it’s been holding her back. I suspect she doesn’t understand how successful she is. Overachievers are often unable to acknowledge their own achievements.
In the back of my head, my brother raises his eyebrow at me.
I grab Luna, another gorgeous Rebel Sky bay, and walk her out to the training area.
