“He’s great. Seems super healthy, though a more thorough physical by a vet will give us a better picture.” As I approach, Moose sighs, lips smacking when he sniffs Alice, and I’m jealous of a damn horse.
“Do you mind helping me for a minute? Maybe givehim a few unexpected touches to see how he reacts while I’m standing at his head?”
“Whatever you need,” I answer.
She continues to stroke his neck gently, and I move to his side. “Okay, Moose, we’re going to try a few things now.” Alice nods, giving me the signal to touch him, and when I do, his ears perk, but stay soft. Damn, this horse might be perfect for the clinic.
“Such a sweet boy,” she praises. “Now we’re going to move a little faster. I’m going to lead you, and Arthur is going to stomp his feet for us.” I follow her instruction, and again, Moose reacts to the noise, but never in a bad way. After a few more minutes, Alice stops, praises him some more, and says goodbye to the horse I’m pretty sure just fell in love with her.
We walk out of the barn, and once we’re out of sight of the horses, she does a giggly little run on the spot, fists pumping into the air. “Oh my gosh, Arthur, did you see him?” She lunges into me, arms wrapped around my neck as I catch her waist. “He was perfect,” she mumbles into my neck.
When she pulls back, hands still on my shoulders, I have to swallow before coming up with actual words or thoughts, or anything that isn’t blurting out,Can I please kiss you now, even though we’re both working and people can probably see us?
I settle for, “Yeah, goldie. He was awesome.”
Awesome? God, I’m a chump.
Alice smacks my shoulders a few times, then lets me go. “He was, wasn’t he? I’m not sure how any other horse is going to top Moose. I mean, Buttercup was great, too. So gentle, but I think she’d need a little more training, which is okay, I mean, that’s to be expected, you know? Oh my gosh, I feel like I could run five miles with all thisadrenaline coursing through me. Sorry, it was hard to keep this contained in front of the horses, so it’s all coming out right now. I promise I’ll calm down soon.” She runs a hand over her forehead, catching a few stray hairs and tucking them back. There are a couple of curly pieces again, and I wonder if she straightens her natural curls.
“You don’t have to calm down. I’m glad you’re excited.” In fact, I’d like to see her this happy every day. Alice opens her mouth to say something, but stops short as she looks at something over my shoulder.
“Hey, kids,” Rosemary says brightly. “How did it go with Moose?”
Alice’s giant grin gives her the answer I suspect she was expecting. “So good. He’s incredible, and responded really well to different stimuli. He’s an amazing animal,” she says, looking over at the owner, a man likely in his early forties who is officially looking at Alice with a little too much appreciation in his gaze.
“Yeah, he’s always been great. I’m not surprised he took to you so easily. Probably decided he liked you the moment he saw you.” The way his eyes linger on her chest and his cheeky grin has me grinding my molars, but it’s Rosemary who clears her throat loudly.
“Well, thank you very much for letting us come today. We’ll be in touch in the next few days, if that’s all right.” She extends a hand to the man, shaking it quickly and with what I know is a death grip, and then she nods to the two of us. Alice waves and says a quick goodbye, but I walk away with zero pleasantries.
Rosemary, being the badass she is, doesn’t let the awkwardness of the moment linger and quickly moves us on to talking about more pleasant things, like how she’s picking the music for the drive back and that we’re having an early dinner because she said so.
TWENTY-TWO
tell me if it’s too much. or not enough
Alice
We got on the road early this morning to drive a couple of hours to another farm. After yesterday, I’m a little more apprehensive about how today’s going to go. Not because of what the owner said to me, which was awkward and unnecessary, but because I’m pretty confident we have already found two horses we can use for the program, and I’m not sure we’ll be as lucky today.
There are quite a few more to see at this place since these are retired racehorses, along with some broodmares that have aged out for breeding.
By lunch, though, we haven’t had much luck, so we head to a food truck nearby. Even Rosemary is quiet as we eat at a worn picnic table. I’m starting to feel the strain of the morning on my upper body, so when I finish, I move down to the grass to do a few stretches.
“Neck or shoulders bothering you?” Rosemary asks.
“Little of both,” I answer truthfully, closing my eyes against the sunshine beaming down on us. “I’m okay,though. I came prepared.” She knows all about my condition, so she understands what I mean when I say that.
“Sorry, my old arthritic hands are no good to you,” she says, flexing her wrinkled fingers.
“What does being prepared look like?” The question comes from Arthur, who hasn’t asked me any questions since I told him I had chronic pain.
“Oh, well, I usually have muscle cream, naproxen, ginger candies, and muscle relaxants, though those are a last resort for me if the pain and nausea can’t be managed with everything else, plus ice and yoga or stretching.” My eyes remain closed as I answer him, and a battle wages inside my brain, trying to decide whether I want to open my eyes and see the usual disinterest that glazes over people’s eyes when I tell them about an invisible condition that doesn’t sound all that bad. Part of me wants to witness it from him to prove to myself he’s like everyone else, while the other part is already disappointed by that being true.
“What condition do you have?” That’s definitely not a lack of interest in his tone.
I reach for my shoulder and start massaging it before giving him the mouthful. “Chronic cervicogenic headaches. When I fell as a kid, one of the bones in my neck got knocked out of place and never went back quite the same way. Now the muscles at the base of my skull are always trying to compensate for my wonky bone, which means they’re almost always a little tight. That and I get the occasional migraine, which isn’t fun either, as you’ve already witnessed.” The table creaks as he gets up, and my stomach sinks, knowing he’s likely about to clean up our plates and move on.
I swallow down the disappointment and gasp when a strong hand moves mine off my shoulder and takes over gently massaging where I’m sore. The heat of his body onmy back is impossible to ignore, and as I look down, I note that his legs are stretched around mine. Like on the bathroom floor at the bar.
