“Carson needs an extra hand with the others gone.” His way of telling her he hadn’t checked himself into the program again. He wasn’t that far gone. He was just…aimless.
“I see.” There was that small silence again, the kind that filled up with unspoken things.
He exhaled through his nose. “I knew Jeremy could handle the garage without me.”
Another beat stretched between them. Then she said softly, “I figured this might happen. You’ve never been good at sitting still when you don’t feel right.”
“Guess not.”
“You have what you need?”
“I do.” He shifted his weight, glancing toward the barn, eager to smell the hay and the scent of animals. “Had my go-bag in the truck. Three outfits. Toiletries.”
She made a small noise. “Gabe.”
“I’m fine.” His voice came out firmer this time. “I’ve got money. I’ll buy what I need. Don’t worry about me.”
“That’s not really how being your sister works.”
His lips tugged at the corners in a ghost of a smile. “Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it.”
She was quiet for another second. “You sound better already.”
He looked out at the deep smoky blue of the mountain plastered in white frost and snow like a dusting of sugar. “I am.”
“Good. Call me when you can.”
“I will. Bye, Lu.” After he ended the call, the silence that followed felt easy instead of empty.
He slipped the phone into his pocket and headed toward the barn. The morning had brightened, the wind carrying the warm, living smell of horses and hay.
The big barn door was open halfway. Sunlight slanted through the dust motes. As soon as he stepped inside, his shoulders slumped. If relief had a sound, it was this. Hoofbeats and the creak of leather and the scrape of a pitchfork somewhere outside.
He moved slowly, murmuring to each horse in turn. They remembered him, welcoming him with flicks of their ears and nickers of greeting. He ran a hand down one’s warm neck, grounded by the texture under his palm.
“Hey, boy,” he sighed. “Good to see you too.”
He started checking water buckets and hay nets. Small tasks that set the old rhythm inside him.
He was halfway down the aisle when a sound cut through the quiet—a light, high laugh carried on the air. He half turned toward the sound.
It couldn’t be.
Then he saw them—his old therapist Rhae, walking toward the door, her hand resting lightly on her daughter Navy’s head.
He stared, mouth open. When he left, Navy had been just a baby, crawling around on the floor and pulling herself up on things while he attended his therapy sessions.
Now she was toddling toward the barn in a bright pink coat and knit hat. He stepped into the aisle.
She spotted him, her eyes going wide. Then she broke into an unsteady run.
The sight of the baby, who all the vets affectionately thought of as a niece or little cousin, hit Gabe like a punch. He rushed forward to swing her up into his arms.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, and a laugh bubbled out of him before he could stop it.
“Hey, Navy.” His voice was rough, and he didn’t bother to hide it. “Look at you.”
Rhae’s grin was unstoppable as she approached them. “She’s walking now.”
