Page 120 of Love, Lies, and Whiskey

Doc peered in, and his heart thudded a little harder. Lucas was fast asleep with Mighty on one side of him, his arm over Sadie, and Pickles lying at his feet. Mighty lifted his head at the silent intrusion, and Pickles didn’t move a muscle, but he was eyeing Doc.

Doc had been thinking a lot about the way the dogs had sniffed Lucas so fervently the first time they’d met him, how Sadie had whined even while he was playing with her, and the way they stuck to him like glue. He had no doubt the dogs had known something was off with Lucas.

Why the fuck didn’t I?

As a medical professional, he knew it was an unfair correlation, but it didn’t fucking matter. It was how he felt.

He made his way downstairs and headed outside, filling his lungs with the brisk October air. He walked down his driveway and along the narrow road until the trees gave way to grass. Then he cut along the hill, gazing out at the pastures on his way to the rehab barns. A few horses were visible in the distance. That sight usually calmed him, but today he was too angry.

Tortured.

He turned away and looked beyond the barns and pastures, over the treetops, to the mountains in the distance. They were every bit as majestic against the predawn sky as they always had, but the beauty and sense of freedom they’d held his entire life had dulled with Lucas’s diagnosis.

The whole fucking world had.

When he entered the barn, the familiar smell of the horses finally brought a modicum of solace. He made his way from one stall to the next, checking the horses, giving them extra love, and taking stock of the good he’d done. He’d hoped to take the edge off his anger, but as he walked into Queenie’s stall, she nickered, turning her bright eyes on him, and he felt a stab of guilt.

“Morning, sweet girl.” He petted her, wondering if she’d hoped Lucas was with him.

Lucas had been visiting Queenie every time he was at the ranch. Two weekends ago, he’d been chomping at the bit to visit the healing horses with Doc in the morning, and he’d enjoyed it so much, he’d been excited to do it again. But this past weekend, after he got the news of his cancer, he hadn’t wanted to.

Doc didn’t blame him. Queenie had come a long way in the month since Lucas had first met her, but the rehab barn was a heart-wrenching environment, and Lucas had enough heart-wrenching things of his own to deal with.

They all did.

Queenie pushed her muzzle into Doc’s chest. He scratched behind her ears, trying to muster a smile or a positive word, but he was grappling with guilt and worry.

“She knows you’re troubled.”

Doc was startled by Tiny’s voice, but he didn’t turn around. He didn’t want his father to see his pain. “Isn’t it a little early for you to be here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” He walked into the stall and stood beside the horse, giving himself a head-on view of Doc, studying him.

Doc studied him right back, remembering years ago, standing in a barn with his unflappable father beside a horse they weren’t sure was going to make it. His father’s hair had been long then, too, but dark like Dare’s. His father had barely left the horse’s side in the twenty-four hours since it had arrived at the ranch. Doc had asked him why, and his father had said, The horse is scared. I’m giving her a reason to fight. Doc hadn’t understood how sitting there would do that. His father’s answer was simple. Love is the cornerstone of hope. Nurture the heart, and the mind and body will thrive.

His father looked at the horse. “How’s she doing?”

“Good.” It was a pat answer, because Tiny kept close tabs on all the horses. He knew exactly how well she was doing.

“And you, son?” His dark eyes found Doc’s again. “How’re you holding up?”

“Fine.” Knowing the horse would feel his rising tension, he walked out of the stall.

Tiny followed, closing and locking the stall. He put a hand on Doc’s shoulder, applying enough pressure to set Doc’s legs in motion to walk with him out the back door of the barn. He planted his boots in the dirt and crossed his arms, facing Doc head-on. “You sure about that?”

Fuck no. “As good as to be expected.”

“Then you’re doing better than I am. My grandson is going through a hell of a health scare, and I’m downright angry about it. He’s too damn young to deal with this shit.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Doc barked, as if Tiny had accused him of not caring. He knew that’s not what Tiny had meant, but that didn’t stop his heartache from pouring out. “You think I wouldn’t give my life to save him from all of this? To save Juliette from worrying?” He paced angrily. “He’s a fucking kid. He should be thinking about kissing his girl, and Halloween costumes, and the fucking Snow Ball dance, not PET scans and treatment plans, and worrying about whether his hair is going to fall out. You should have heard the questions he asked his doctor. It broke my fucking heart.”

He turned away from Tiny, tears burning his eyes. “And what fucking good am I? I can save a ranchful of horses, but I can’t save my own son from going through this or the woman I love from suffering.”

His father’s heavy hand landed on his shoulder again, hauling him into his arms.

“I’m fine,” Doc bit out, trying to pull away, but Tiny was a strong bastard, and he locked his arms around him.

“The hell you are. We’re all about as fine as rabbits caught in a rattler’s nest.”