by Eileen Brady
“I bet you do,” Mari said.
Mr. Cat looked down with disdain on all of us humans and dogs from his perch on high.
Chapter Forty-Five
Sunrise woke me up. Luke lay sleeping in the bed, hair tousled, curled up like a little kid.
“Merry Christmas,” I whispered.
I took my time dressing, surprised at my nervousness. The room felt quiet without Buddy, who’d gone home with Mari, Lucy, and the puppies last night. A little yogurt and a spoonful of oatmeal was all I could manage. A scribbled note to Luke lay on the kitchen table. Throwing an emergency granola bar in my purse, I took a look around, then wheeled my overnight case out to the truck.
Pinky, bless him, had made sure the parking lot was clear and my windshield was clean—except for the Merry Xmas scrawled on the driver’s side window with a happy face. Few cars braved the road so early. It didn’t take long to get to the New York Thruway entrance at Kingston.
Luke and I had finally had that heart-to-heart talk we both put off for so long. The kind of talk that decides things for good.
He had a long road in front of him between attending school, passing the bar, interning, and joining a law firm. My options were open after my contract with Oak Falls Animal Hospital was up. I’d been putting off planning my future, undecided about almost everything. Did we dare commit to each other, given all the uncertainty in both our lives?
We decided to try.
* * *
I stuck to the speed limit and made good time. There weren’t many travelers on Christmas Day. The old F-150 truck came equipped with a CD player, so I’d brought along a bunch of my favorites from college days. Many a time I drove back and forth from Gramps’s brownstone in Brooklyn to the dorm in Ithaca, singing at the top of my lungs. I realized I never sang like that anymore.
With the familiar first notes sounding, I raised my voice and sang until my body relaxed. The Thruway was a familiar friend, the exits well known. I programmed my father’s address into my phone’s GPS. Since I was driving in from upstate, and Gramps was coming from Brooklyn, we’d arranged to meet at my dad’s place in the Hamptons.
Time flew by, and I deliberately flew along with it until I turned onto the Long Island Expressway. Once there, I ejected my CD and rode in silence, counting down the miles to my exit.
My stomach started churning as I exited at the nearest gas station and called my Gramps.
“Hi, Katie. Are you almost here?” His warm, rough voice always calmed the storms.
“Yes. Probably fifteen minutes away. I’m just filling up the truck.”
His voice lowered. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. How are you doing?”
“Fine,” I lied. “Love you, Gramps. See you soon.”
* * *
My battered old F-150 looked out of place parked between the Mercedes and the Lexus, but I didn’t care. As I put on the parking brake, my phone began to ding with text messages, as one by one my work family wished me a very Merry Christmas.
A line of dark green shrubs lined the walkway of my father’s home.
The polished wooden door was hung with a real wreath that smelled of pine cones and cinnamon sticks. I looked for a doorbell, but all I found was a brass door knocker in the shape of a horse’s head. It made a hard rapping sound against the thick oak.
I heard laughing and feet running. The door abruptly swung open, and a familiar face looked up at me.
“Hi. Are you Kate?” asked an eleven-year-old boy.
The timber of his voice, the set of his eyes… I glimpsed tiny hints of my brother Jimmy peeking out at me through this boy…my half brother. Behind him stood a girl with straight blond hair and serious blue eyes.
I looked like my father.
So did she.
They were my family.
The children stared at the stranger on their doorstep.
“Hi. I’m Kate,” I said, as they rushed me and tugged at my presents. “But you can call me Katie.”
Epilogue
Lobo looked out over his herd. Not made up of his mother and sister and brothers, but his herd, nevertheless. The now familiar mountains rose behind him, blue in the afternoon light. He’d climbed them and run free again through the snowy fields.
And decided to come home.
Acknowledgments
Time passes so quickly. I can hardly believe this is the fifth Kate Turner book. A big thank-you to all my readers for making it possible. I’d like to acknowledge my critique group, the Sheridan Street Irregulars—Betty Webb, Sharon Magee, Art Kerns, Sonja Stone, and Charles Pyeatte—for their invaluable suggestions. I’m grateful to Barbara Peters for her thoughtful edits and insights into the storyline.
My inspiration for this book was meeting a few wild horses from the Salt River Reservation in Arizona who regularly came to visit our mare. We’re lucky to have the Salt River Wild Horse Management Group watching out for their welfare.
So many people go into the production of a book. Here’s a shout-out to Beth Deveny, Diane DiBiase, Anna Michels, and all my friends at Sourcebooks.
Finally, my husband, Jon, deserves a medal for being supportive and understanding as I walked around the house muttering about murder.
American wild horses represent a vision of freedom as they gallop across the desert, plains, and fields, but their reality is quite different. With their habitats shrinking and their population rising, responsible management is necessary for them to live their lives as Nature planned. Our lives are enriched by their lives. I urge you to support them and other wildlife—from bees to whales—in any way you can, because we are the most tenacious predator of them all.
About the Author
A practicing veterinarian for more than twenty years, Eileen Brady lives in Arizona with her husband, two daughters, and an assortment of furry friends.
Thank you for reading this Sourcebooks eBook!
Join our mailing list to stay in the know and receive special offers and bonus content on your favorite books and authors!
CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP
Books. Change. Lives.
