“He didn’t come in the house, if that’s what you’re worried about. He used the hose to wash, ate outside, and slept in the tack room.”
“That sounds like him even when he lived here.”
“How long ago was that?”
“A fucking long time.” Joe studied Tauna and Carric before moving onto the next stall, and then the next. Shadow was in the sixth one along, which seemed to take him by surprise. “This is Mani’s stall.”
“He’s on the end,” I said.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Sorry.”
Joe frowned and turned back to Shadow, who was observing us from the back of his stall. I wondered if I should leave them to it—if there was a private moment that passed between a horse and man when one of them had hurt the other so grievously. But Shadow merely grunted and then shifted so his shoulders blocked the view of his face, and Joe moved on.
The private moment came at Mani’s stable. He heard Joe coming and got to his feet, calling out with the rickety cry that even I recognised as his. He bumped his nose against the door until it opened and then snorted softly in delight as he finally laid eyes on Joe.
I stepped away as the old horse embraced his master. Joe hid his face in Mani’s mane, his shoulders shaking, and I took my cue to go back inside. My knowledge of horses was still limited, but I knew when a man needed a moment alone with his best friend.
Back in the kitchen, I forced myself not to pace the stone floor or peep through the window, and brewed a pot of tea for when Joe came in. Then I sat at the table and stared at my work. It had been a few days since I’d even glanced at the book, and it felt like a year. With Joe in hospital, I’d found myself unable to sit still, and helping out on the farm had given me a healthier outlet for that than running loops of Newquay.
As a result, I’d spent some time with Joe’s father. And fuck, if that hadn’t confused the hell out of me. I wanted to hate him... but I didn’t. And I’d yet to figure out why it mattered so much. Could Joe shed any light on that? I’d gone to the hospital every day to find out, but he’d been asleep each time. A sign for me to mind my own business?
Maybe.
Joe came back a little while later and leaned in the kitchen doorway, his eyes hooded and shot through with red. “Everything’s different.”
“Like what?”
He shrugged. “The stables, the feed shed... you.”
“Me?” I made an executive decision not to angst over what he’d been doing in the feed shed. “How am I different?”
“I don’t know. But you are.”
“Maybe it’s the fresh air I’ve been getting. I wasn’t taking the piss when I said I hadn’t done much work this week.”
“Emma reckoned you’ve done plenty. Cleaned out the trailer, by all accounts. Wheeled it down to the paddocks.”
“I didn’t do it on my own,” I said carefully.
“I know.”
“Your dad,” I started and then stopped. What was I going to say? That I knew his father had let him down in so many ways, but I kind of liked him anyway? “Your dad helped me.”
“I know that too.”
I searched for something to say that would ease the conflict in his eyes—a turmoil that seemed to make sense, even if I didn’t quite understand it. “I’ve been thinking about that space around the old stud farm.”
“Why?”
“Because your dad has been on my mind when I haven’t been thinking about you, and that led me to the empty field. You’re at capacity, right? You can’t take any more horses?”
Joe leaned heavily on the doorframe. “We don’t have the space, manpower, or equipment, and we can’t afford the horses we already have.”
“So you need another income stream?”
“Is that a trick question?”
