Mel’s gaze flicks to my hair. I remember how taken aback they were when they first glimpsed the drastic haircut and color change, the disapproval tightening Ross’s jaw as he stared at Kane. I’m riding on the hope Ross will intervene if Kane or Nolene try to harm me.
As if I summoned the she-devil, Nolene enters the kitchen in a tank top and cycling shorts, her short, dark hair still damp from a shower, Zorro mask in place. She spares me a curt glance, dismissing me with an irritated thinning of her lips and accepts a glass of smoothie from Mel.
Over the last day or so, I’ve noticed a definite change in Nolene. Whenever I have to interact with her, she comes across colder and even more resentful than usual. I don’t know what’s going on, but I sense it’s not good.
I sip my drink and listen as the four of them discuss what’s to be done today, a seemingly endless cycle of meds, feeding, cleaning, and repairs. My thoughts drift. If I was home right now, what would I be doing? Without a doubt, I’d be sleeping in. Once I woke up, it would take me a while to get ready, it always did. Then I’d shop, maybe visit a friend or attend a charity function or fashion launch. In the evening, I’d pop to the gym and probably eat out.
It’s a life that seems so far away.
And so empty.
I suck in air, stunned by the thought. Where did that come from? And what do I want to call it—a traitorous thought or a spark of insight? I force myself to open that disquieting door. I’m thirty-three years old, and what do I have to show for all those years? I’m single, childless, career-less, and directionless.
Before I can explore that revelation further, an awful banging noise outside causes me to choke on a mouthful of smoothie. Recovering, I sputter out, “What is that noise?”
“It’s Carrot-top banging his feed bucket on the gate,” Ross explains with a grin. “He does it if we’re late with his breakfast.”
I can’t help laughing. Feeling an unexpected rush of affection for the cheeky donkey, I run my fingers through my hair, still acclimatizing myself to the short cut. I catch Kane staring at me. And Nolene staring at Kane. I can’t read Kane’s expression, but there’s a look of such pain and longing in Nolene’s eyes that my pulse spikes.
If it isn’t Saba, it’s Nolene.What is it about this man?
Before he leaves to complete his chores, Kane takes me aside. “I don’t want you skipping dinner again,” he says. “You need to keep your strength up.”
I nod dutifully.You’re right, my nod says.I’ll need my strength to escape.
While I remain with Mel to help with the cleaning and never-ending piles of laundry, Kane and Ross spend most of the morning conducting routine check-ups and doctoring any sick animals. Kane seems especially skilled with the special needs animals. His endless patience with them is surprising since he has so little patience with me.
After lunch, Kane takes me to a shady spot outside the stables. He rummages in a tack box and pulls out a brush. “I want you to groom Nugget.”
Nugget, I soon find out, is an old blind horse Ross rescued after finding him wandering alone on a deserted road. He’s a beautiful-looking horse, I acknowledge silently, admiring his dark brown coat and white legs and muzzle. He’s also huge and powerful. And I’m to groom him?
“I don’t think so,” I say.
Kane lifts an eyebrow. “Funny, I didn’t ask.”
After showing me how it’s done, Kane hands me the brush and steps back to observe. At first, I’m nervous being so close to such an intimidating animal, but Nugget stands so docilely under my ministrations, seeming to love being brushed, that my fear soon recedes.
After a couple of minutes, Ross and Mel join Kane to watch me brush Nugget. I frown. Isn’t there enough work at the sanctuary? Why are the three of them standing around to observe me groom a horse for the first time? Turning my back on them, unable to shrug off the sensation this is some sort of test, I brush Nugget’s coat until it gleams.
At last, Kane says, “Okay, that should do it.”
I breathe out a sigh of relief. My arms are aching. I stand next to Mel to admire my handiwork. Tossing his head, Nugget gives a snort and I watch in horror as the horse rolls in the dirt, destroying all my hard work.
“No!” I wail.
Kane and Ross roar with laughter, slapping each other on the back.
A wry grin skims Mel’s lips. “I’m afraid Nugget always does that,” she explains. “He loves being brushed so he’ll roll in the dirt in order to get you to brush him again.”
My mouth falls open. I’m so angry it takes several seconds before I can respond. “It took me ages to brush him! What a waste of time!”
Mel plucks the brush out of my hand before I can throw it at Kane. She gives me a leveling stare. “Amy, we see so much suffering and death here at the sanctuary we need to create opportunities to laugh, whether at ourselves or one another. If we don’t, this work would be unbearable.”
“But it was such a waste of time,” I repeat, still disgruntled.
“Not for Nugget,” Mel replies. “You gave him pleasure and he’s had so very little of it in his life.” She touches my arm. “Here at the sanctuary, we’re all on the receiving end of a practical joke at one time or another. It’s not a bad thing to learn to laugh at yourself.”
I battle the remnants of my anger, hearing Mel’s pointed words, understanding them, but unable to fully shrug off a sense of unfairness.
