The only person I wanted to see again was Danica, but I also didn’t want to see her again.
Tingles of unease prickled up and down my arms.I stretched my fingers wide at my sides to work out the numbness as I tugged my white T-shirt over my head and, barefoot, navigated the hallway to the door.Portia was already through the dog door and beelining it across the driveway to the field where we’d just been.
That’s when I heard the quacking, the honking, andhee-hawing.
Son of a bitch.That bastard donkey was at it again.
I glanced at the ceiling, appealing to Erin for some extra patience and compassion, because at the moment, I had none left.
It’d been twenty-eight years since I let a piece of meat touch my lips, but if I was going to start today, that meat would be donkey.
My regular anxiety meds weren’t cutting it the closer the clock ticked to the “after school” hour when I knew I’d see Danica again.
So I planned to pop an Ativan and let it dissolve under my tongue right before they arrived.
Not only was I stressing out about seeing her again, and the stirring feelings I had, but I also didn’t want her or Sam to see me the way they did yesterday.I was embarrassed by my behavior and that I just took off like that.
I wasn’t sure how I was going to address it and that, too, stressed me out.
So I spent the majority of the day in the field with the horses.There was always something to do, something to mend, something to paint.Piñata was still alive—the lucky fucker—but only because I couldn’t catch him.If it were up to me, that nuisance would be ground to hamburgers by now—not that I’d actually eat them.
In addition to tormenting the ducks until they were about to stage a coup, that jackass had barreled through my fence, and it took me all day to repair it.
To be fair, the spot he took out needed to be mended.The posts were rotten and that’s why it was so easy for Piñata to smash through the way he did.I didn’t chase him when he got onto the driveway though.For all I cared, he could desert the property completely and become the island’s problem.A feral donkey that would hopefully meet his demise on the road one night like a stunned-by-headlights squirrel.
I glared at the beast as I mixed the concrete in the wheelbarrow to pour into the newly dug out hole.Luckily, Cameron Arendelle, who co-owned the distillery, was also a very talented carpenter and he managed to source me new wood for the fence and have it delivered within an hour of me calling him.
I brought my skill saw and a generator out to the field and cut my posts and planks to size right there, since it was easier driving it all out to one place in the truck than making multiple trips.Because, of course, the spot on the fence where Piñata broke through was as far away from the barn and my workshop as possible.
God, I hated that donkey.
With an audience of almost all the horses watching me from about thirty feet away, I grew hot from all the labor, even though the sky was a blanket of gray clouds.So far, the rain had stayed away, but apparently it was in the forecast.
“A little help would be nice,” I said to my audience, made up of Galahad, Ginger—the older mare with white and brown splotches, Monarch, Piccolo, Pixie, and Blodyn.Kenny, the cranky old Thoroughbred I rescued three years ago, stood off to the side since he only really liked Monarch, and “like” was a generous term.HetoleratedMonarch the same way he tolerated getting brushed.The same way he tolerated me.The only animal he seemed to genuinely get along with and seek out was Portia.Which was probably why she was lying at his feet sleeping as he quietly munched on grass.I liked the old bay roan with the reddish-brown body and the black mane, tail, and legs.He was a handsome man, but he’d had a hard life, and his last few owners hadn’t been very kind to him.So I understood his ornery demeanor.He’d never bitten me or anything; he just … avoided everyone.
Everyone except Portia.
Not even a lip flutter or a snort responded to my request for help.Just silent judgment and curiosity.
“None of you would actuallysurviveif you got free, you know,” I said in Italian.“You’d be back here in less than a day.This fence is for your own protection.”
Still no response.
This was better than talking to myself though.That was a sign of going crazy, right?Even if the ones I spoke to didn’t answer me, at least they existed.At least there was achancethey could reply, somehow.
I hoisted the big square post out of the back of my pickup and carried it on my shoulder over to the hole, then I secured it with shorter, flatter pieces of wood nailed into either side until it was straight up.I did that to the two other posts I needed to replace, and after I double-checked things with my level, I started shoveling the concrete into the hole around the posts.
I was too far off at the other end of the field to hear the crunch of gravel beneath tires as a vehicle ambled down the driveway.
But the animals heard it, and they all turned to face the long, narrow lane.Portia must have recognized the white RAV, and took off at a quick trot, grunting with nearly every step.
Even though it was hard work, and I was already sweating, my temperature spiked at the thought of seeing Danica again.
I hadn’t taken the Ativan yet, but it was in my pocket.So I dug it out, not caring that my hands were dirty, and placed the tiny pill under my tongue.
Then I got back to work.
The concrete was the kind of stuff that started to dry rather quickly.So I didn’t have time to waste.It was like I could feel her eyes on my back as I continued to shovel the mix around the posts, and eventually, I heard her voice—and Portia’s.
