Damn him for being right!
“The top paddock is the most secure with the new fencing and it’s the quietest. We need to move the other stallions first. Fury doesn’t look like he’s going to be willing to share with the other horses, and we don’t want to put them or him in danger.”
Dylan nods and we get to work. And even though the silence between us is sharp, I throw myself into the work and let it steady me. The ache of leaving this place doesn’t vanish, but it settles. Because I’ve survived worse. I’ve made harder choices. Even if it means starting over again. Because if there’s one thingI’ve learned the hard way, it’s that I don’t need saving, especially not by a man who doesn’t know what he wants.
EIGHTEEN
IZZY
FLIC:How’s it going with Dylan this week?
IZZY:Confusing.
FLIC:Spill!
IZZY:He’s so infuriating. He still hasn’t said if he’s keeping the horses, but he bought that spooked stallion at the auction last week and has been working with him more hours than I’ve been out there. He even skipped the second Stormhawks game on Thursday night because Fury let him approach for the first time without bolting to the other side of the paddock.
FLIC:Sounds pretty committed to me.
IZZY:So why hasn’t he said anything? I have less than two weeks left. What’s his plan?
FLIC:Have you spoken to him?
IZZY:I can’t. Things have been pretty tense since he bought the stallion. Long story.
FLIC:IsMad doing OK?
IZZY:Loving Oakwood. Loving Dylan teaching her to play football and swimming in the lake. He promised to build her a rope swing this week.
FLIC:What a jerk.
IZZY:We’ve got one weekend left. It’s going to be hard enough for her as it is.
FLIC:Just her?
IZZY:Shut up.
My eyes fly open in the darkness. I’m wide awake in a heartbeat, unsure what’s woken me. I reach for my phone to check the time and gather myself. I groan. It’s 1 a.m. I have four and a half hours until my day starts. Instantly I’m thinking about the jobs I’ve got planned, the supplies order I need to make. I’ve got eleven days at Oakwood Ranch and I want to make sure whatever happens, there’s enough feed and hay to last for a while.
I flick on the side light, its warm glow lighting the trailer’s interior. It’s bigger than it looks from the outside—a little oasis Madison and I have carved out for ourselves. The bed against the far wall is neatly folded away, pulling down like a shelf when she’s here. Just seeing it tucked out of sight makes my chest ache with longing for my daughter’s chatter. Camp will be over soon and I’ll have her back at my side every afternoon after school.
The kitchenette is small, but it has a small table tucked into the corner and a bench to sit on. It’s not the ranch house I always dreamed of, but it’s ours. Even if I did buy it cheap at a police auction after the previous owner went to jail for tax fraud.
Cooking isn’t exactly a priority in the trailer—I stick to simple things like pasta, grilled cheese sandwiches, and vegetable soups I can make in big batches and reheat. Or baked potatoes with all the toppings. Most nights, I’m so tired by dinnertime, I eat on the couch at the other end of the trailer, staring at the TV but barely watching. It’s where Madison and Flic usually gather when my friend visits, the three of us curled up with popcorn and sodas and a Disney movie.
The thought of Flic has the muscles in my shoulders tightening. Her messages replay on a loop in my mind. I need to ask Dylan if he’s made a decision yet. Because Flic is right. He’s acting like a rancher who plans to stick around. And if there’s even a chance, then I need to tell him I didn’t mean what I said in my anger after the horse auction. I need to ask him if he’s keeping the horses, and if there’s a place here for me and Madison if he is.
It’s been a week since the rodeo auction. Our fight has cooled to an uneasy simmer of annoyance. I know Dylan is avoiding me as best he can. He’s thrown himself into the ranch, taking on more every day without being asked. He’s not disappearing into the city anymore. No afternoons lost to watching the Stormhawks practice. Instead, he’s spent hours in the paddocks with Fury, talking to the stallion like he expects him to answer, that quiet smile he doesn’t even realize he wears growing with every small step of progress.
And despite the tension between us, Dylan still made time for working with Mad on her football over the weekend. Jake’s joined in too—he and Harper came to stay for a few nights, bringing that loved-up glow with them. Buck barely left Mad’sside for the entire two days, trailing after her like her new best friend, his ears perking up every time she called his name.
The Sullivan family is loud and loving and warm in a way that has sucked Mad in. Sucked me in too, I think. But every moment of kindness they’ve shown only makes the thought of leaving harder.
I sigh, realizing I’m awake now and I might as well check on Moonlight. She seemed restless earlier, and I put her in her stall tonight instead of leaving her in the paddock. She’s still got a week until she’s due to foal but there was just something in the way she moved today that gave me pause, and no way will I sleep until I’ve checked on her. I dress fast and grab my flashlight from the hook by the door before stepping outside. The cool of the night air prickles my skin. It’s a welcome contrast to the heat of the day and I breathe in deeply as I switch on my light and make my way toward the barn.
The second I open the door, I know something is wrong. Moonlight lets out a sharp whinny. It’s a sound I’ve heard many times before and it’s unmistakable. Moonlight is having her foal a week early. I rush forward and flick on the barn light.
In the sudden brightness, Moonlight’s stall comes into view and my breath catches. The mare stands near the back wall, her head low and her body tense. Her gray coat glistens with sweat. She shifts uneasily, her hind legs trembling a little. Then she lets out another low, keening noise that makes my gut twist.
