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The last time I ignored his advice, I’d nearly gotten myself—and my whole unit—killed. Somehow, the stakes felt equally high right now.

Nine

Eva

MAY 8

The mornings after the hospital night shift were hard, but I couldn’t waste any time in making progress with Phantom.

I slept for just a few hours and pulled myself out of bed at dawn. The house felt empty, even with the little roommate down the hall in the guest room and her handful of animals who had moved in with her.

Gramps’s presence and fingerprints were all over the house, from the coffee-stained mugs to the jacket he’d left draped over the arm of his chair beside the radio. His worn-out canvas and denim coats still hung from the pegs in the hallway, smelling of him.

There’d hardly been a moment to think about the house or box up Gramps’s things. I hadn’t touched his room or bathroom. I’d moved back into my own room, which Gramps had left just as it was the day I’d left. One wall of ribbons and framed black-and-white portraits of the horses we’d trained. Another wall of halters, bridles, spare reins, cinches, and a few of my barn coats. The rest of the room was as utilitarian as the eternal bachelor Gramps had been. I didn’t care for wallpaper or decor that other women my age fancied.

Despite my minimal personal items, Gramps had kept stacks of mementos, old news clippings about the farm or his horses, and about a hundred wooden carving projects or small inventions. The spare room floor was piled with his carpentry patterns and plans. He’d made dozens of baby bassinets that had been gifted across Baker County, and some rocking horses with the signature Birkstrom Ranch brand carved at the base.

What would I even do with all his treasures and creations? Toss them out? Donate them to the hospital or shelter?

A stab of pain cut through my chest, and I slammed the thoughts aside.

I still expected him to walk around the corner, his footsteps to echo on the wooden floorboards.

I couldn’t afford these distractions right now. The unfinished business inside the house meant little if I lost the property outside.

I stepped out into the sunlight nearly an hour past my normal start to the day. I spotted Eddie waving to Warren’s car as it left the driveway.

“What’s going on?” I asked as I stepped up to Eddie.

“Warren and Peter are going to Pendleton for the day,” he said. “Got an early start.”

“Pendleton?” I blinked. That was a good three-hour drive.

“Yeah, he didn’t tell me much about why but offered to take Peter off my hands for the day. I caught him smoking in one of the stalls. I don’t even know where he got the cigarettes.” Eddie turned away and muttered to himself, “That kid just doesn’t listen to me.”

I stared after the vehicle that disappeared down the highway. I felt bad for Eddie, but my thoughts were locked on Warren. Strange that he hadn’t mentioned anything the day before about going to Pendleton.

After feeding the horses, goats, and chickens, I grabbed the water bucket for Phantom and went about our new, calmer routine.

Phantom sniffed me and nudged my hand before he took a long drink from the bucket. I lifted my hand to stroke his broad forehead. His mane was tangled and his hair rough, but I hoped a few more weeks of grain, molasses, and nutrient-rich alfalfa would bring him back to full health.

Long after he finished drinking, Phantom stood next to me and swished his tail absently.

This was good. Tomorrow we could move to the next step.

I went to the tack room inside the barn, surrounded by the echo of Eddie fixing the last of the stalls. His efficiency was astounding. Now if I could only fill those stalls with new clients.

One thing at a time.

The tack room was full of dust, cobwebs, and brittle leather. It was only eight feet by eight feet, and each wall had rows of short wooden pegs full of halters, bridles, and harnesses. Below, saddles rested on wooden stands, surrounded by dozens of buckets of brushes, mane combs, and metal hoof picks.

I’d need my rope tomorrow to lasso Phantom and work on yielding him to pressure in a healthy way. A way that wasn’t about fear, dominance, or power.

But where had Gramps put the rope? He’d kept a few of our prized saddles and show bridles full of aged silver in the living room, but the rest of my old saddles, bridles, and halters were in disrepair.

No sign of my rope.

I reached back behind a saddle rack, shivering at the cobwebs I brushed aside. I felt the twisted rope at my fingertips. Finally, a small victory.