“What?” Candice asks.
“I scheduled it to send after I left. It explained why I was leaving, that I wanted to go, and that no one was making me do it. I said I loved them but that—that I couldn’t do it anymore. I told them I needed to be on my own.” I fiddle with the sleeves on my sweater, unable to look at Candice.
For some reason, the fact that my parents ignored my wishes completely makes me feel small and invisible. Like what I want is completely irrelevant and not even worth considering.
“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry,” Candice says. “They should have listened to you.”
“I’m not surprised they didn’t.” I force a laugh. “But it still makes me feel horrible.”
“What can I do to help?”
Candice, for as long as I’ve known her, has taken care of those close to her. Often, that means the horses at the rescue, who are as much her family as Beau is. It’s pretty clear that she now considers me one of the herd, and I couldn’t be more grateful.
“Is there anything around here that needs doing? It might help take my mind off of all of this.” I gesture at my phone. “I’m used to being busy, and without all my social media and pageant work, I kind of have nothing to do, other than organize my clothes.”
“Win, I’ve got just the thing,” Candice says, giving me an encouraging smile. “Get dressed and meet me in the barn in twenty.”
Twenty minutes is not long enoughfor me to get dressed, and Candice knows this. Especially when all of my winter clothing ispacked away in one of the many suitcases I brought with me. I’m digging through it in fistfuls, throwing clothes onto the bed as I go, searching in vain for the geometric patterned fleece I know is in there.
“Ah ha!” I yell triumphantly, as I catch sight of the sleeve.
I tug it out, and layer it on top of a black workout top. The pinks and blues in the pattern bring out the color of my cowboy boots, and my blue bootcut jeans tie the whole look together. Whatever Candice wants me to do probably doesn’t require any makeup, but I swipe on some lip gloss and mascara anyways. I haven’t left the house without some makeup on since I was twelve. Normally, I’d curl my hair, too, but it’s so short now that I settle for hiding it underneath a hat.
I step outside and immediately realize that I’m not going to be warm enough. The cold air easily pierces my fleece and I shiver. Oh well, I look cute this way and it will be warmer inside the barn. I shuffle my way through the snow, making sure to step in footprints left behind by others. I pass a few paddocks that are, to my surprise, full of horses. I would have thought they’d be inside this time of year, but they look pretty happy to be out in the snow. One of them is even rolling around in it.
By the time I get to the barn, my feet are like icicles inside my boots and I can’t feel my hands. I wander around the barn, walking by a few empty stalls and the tack room until I find Candice, who’s chatting with Tomás.
“Hey,” I say to them.
“Hey Winnie,” Tomás says. “It’s good to see you again.”
I give him a quick hug, genuinely happy to see him, too. I met Tomás when I visited last time, and I was immediately charmed by his easy going personality and his slightly off-color jokes. And it’s fun watching him needle Candice like a younger brother.
“Are you warm enough?” Candice asks me.
“I am now that I’m inside,” I admit.
“You need to learn to layer, princess,” Tomás says. “Do you have anything on under that fleece?”
“Just a thin shirt.”
“Well, add another tomorrow. And a vest on top. Plus, get yourself some wool socks for your boots,” Candice says.
Her comment about socks has Tomás looking down at my boots.
“You look like cowgirl Barbie. For now. They’re going to be covered in horse shit by the end of the day,” he says, shaking his head.
I wince a little, thinking about my perfect pink boots getting covered in mud and poop, but I don’t say anything. I just smile and say, “It’ll be fine, sugar. I don’t mind a bit of dirt. And I packed leather cleaner.” Turning to Candice, I ask, “So, what am I doing?”
“Follow me,” she says.
We walk down the row of stalls until we reach one that is tucked behind the tack room by itself.
“We often quarantine horses here,” she explains. “Rosie came in yesterday.”
“Rosie?” I ask.
As if she knows we’re talking about her, the horse I assume must be Rosie pops her head over one of the stalls. She’s a gorgeous, shiny dark brown, with a black mane and a small white patch between her eyes, which is shaped like a lopsided star.
