by Ann Hunter
He barely recognized the stranger he opened his door to. She stood there, shoulders slumped, drenched from the rain, and unable to meet his eyes; defeated.
Her voice was barely louder than water sheeting around her, “He left me.”
“Rowan.” He almost slammed the door on her, overcome by hurt. But the cry she let out as she clutched her wide belly awakened Dot’s dying request. Forgive her.
He grabbed Rowan’s elbow and pulled her inside, locking the door. It was a dark and stormy night. “You got yourself knocked up.” Joe’s words were slurred to the point neither was sure if it was a question or a statement.
He sat her on the couch and hurried to the kitchen for some coffee. She let out another cry.
“I don’t know what to do, Pop.”
He was struggling to process it all. He was still so mixed up in anger and grief. And she’d left him when he needed her most. Abandoned her own mother. How could she show her face now?
“I had nowhere else to go.”
Joe poured coffee into a large mug, hoping to wake himself up. He was really struggling with the forgiveness thing.
“Can you get me to a hospital?”
Joe sipped his coffee casually, folding one arm beneath the other. He leaned back against the counter, watching Rowan breathe heavily. “I don’t even know how you got into the farm. Clay said the front gate’s blocked.”
Rowan let out a low groan. That’s when her water broke. “Pop, call a paramedic, please!”
“Phone lines are down too.” He huffed, and set a pot of water to boil. “You gonna mess up my couch?”
“Pop!”
“I guess we’re doing this here.”
“Really?” she asked, panicked.
Joe threw a dishtowel over his shoulder. There would be time to be angry later. “Can’t be that different than foaling.”
Rowan got to her feet and paced with labored breath.
Joe took another sip of his coffee. “You want me to get the vet?”
He wasn’t sure if the sound that came out of her mouth was from discomfort or an equal resentment.
“Why don’t you get Angie too, since you taught her everything,” she snapped.
Wind rushed against the cottage so hard, the walls trembled. Thunder bore down on them.
“At least she was there when your mother was sick,” Joe growled back at Rowan. “You didn’t even come to her funeral.”
She gripped her stomach again. “I’m sorry.”
Joe set his mug down. “No. You don’t get to be sorry. Let’s get it all out on the table now.”
A crack of lightning lit up their whole front window. The house went dark.
Joe felt his way along the walls to the breaker at the back of the hall. He flipped the switches, but nothing worked.
Rowan yelled at him. “You always gave Angie your time, and took your frustrations out on me.”
“She was my best chance at success. I had to do my job.” Where did he put those candles?
“Your job was to be my dad. Where were you whenever I needed you?”
“Where were you when I needed you, Rowan?” He shouted back, managing to catch a glimpse of a box corner in his open bedroom closet when another blast of lightning lit up the house from outside. He opened it up and felt them. Candles, and a box of matches.
He started setting them off as Rowan ranted at him. “Why did Angie get your love? When were you going to give me my best chance?”
He threw down several towels on the couch, then pulled Rowan over to it. “Lie down before you hurt yourself.”
“I think she’s coming,” Rowan hollered.
“We can yell at eachother all you like while we do this. Now push.”
He tried not to think about how awkward this was, and let any notion of instinct, paternal or otherwise, kick in. Rowan yelled plenty, and so did he, until they were both sweating. The storm was bearing down on them, and he counted her pushes to the interval of the thunder.
At last, this squirmy, squalling lanky thing came out. Joe wrapped her up in a towel while Rowan caught her breath. “Brooke,” she gasped.
It was like holding Rowan for the very first time all over again, fresh and new, with every hope and possibility a life could hold. He couldn’t help but soften and smile. “I’m your Poppa.”
***
Present day….
Joe rubbed his knuckles against one another in tight fists. Supposing he did owe Steven a favor. Then what? If she was as talented as they thought, maybe it wouldn’t be hell to work with her.
He sighed as he stood outside the indoor arena. Brooke had said he’d find the kid inside. Maybe Alex would be like her mother. Easy to train. Eager to learn.
Afterall, she rarely missed a morning at the barn.
Joe stared into the shadows, fixing his eyes on a silhouette, then marched forward. He could see it already. He didn’t even need to give himself time for his vision to adjust.
“Stop, stop, stop, before you get bad habits.”
Alex looked over her shoulder to Joe in the open arena doorway.
“See, that. Right there. That thing you’re doing. All wrong.”
“What?”
“You. Looking at me. You never look over your shoulder in a race.”
Apparently she gave him a look that asked why.
“It’s like looking behind you with a bus coming your way. You’ll get mowed down.”
He stooped beside Alex and Speedy, inspecting her foothold in the irons.
“What has she done to you?” he grumbled. Joe grabbed her ankle and yanked it out of the stirrup. “Move your leg forward.”
Alex scowled but did as he asked.
Joe lengthened the leather strap that controlled how long and low the stirrup hung, then moved to the other side and shortened that one. “There.”
The girl looked to either side of her, face bunched up in confusion. Her left leg was nearly straight, and her right one jacked way up. She glared at him. “How am I supposed to ride like this?”
Joe brushed his hands off with a nod. “Properly.”
He whacked her hand away from the strap when she reached to fuss with it. “It’s called acey-deucy, and any rider whose worth his weight knows how to use it.”
Alex wiped her palms on her knees, going a little pale. “But purchase, and foundation, and…”
“Stand up.”
She looked at him warily.
“You gonna sit there, or you gonna ride?” he growled.
Alex frowned, but braced against the irons and rose. Joe pinched her Achilles and shifted her heel down. He noticed her jaw clench.
“Feel that?” he asked. “When you ride this way, you’re forced to get down low and shove against the horse. Your right foot is your balancing pole. You’re in a position to move with the horse, no matter where he goes.”
He watched her steady herself over Speedy, feeling the way her body automatically accounted for the shift, how her right leg in the short stirrup forced her to push more against the left, without pushing her backwards.
“You’ll be more into the horse,” Joe said. “You see?”
He clenched his fists in front of him, like he was holding reins. “You take hold of a horse and push against him like this, and he’ll never outrun ya, never outbreak ya.”
“Outbreak me?”
“You’re dealing with an athletic partner with his own agenda. You don’t think he’ll snap you in half?”
Alex blinked.
“I suppose Brooke told you some wishy-washy nonsense about being one with the horse.” He shook his head. “She’s right.” He said it almost under his breath; he didn’t like to admit it. “But what she’s missing is how to get under their skin, how to get into their head. She doesn’t know what I know.”
Alex tipped her head. “And what do you know, old man?”
“How to break you, kid. How to break you.” He gave her a hard stare that made her shiver. He knew she’d been broken in the past. H
er gaze shifted away.
“Break you,” he breathed, “so I can mold you into something better.”
“Is this because you blabbed about my mom? He wants you to ‘mold’ me.” She did the thing with the quotey fingers.
“North may not have said it like that, but it’s what he’s asked me to do.” He brushed off his hands.
“When do I get on a real horse?”
Joe straightened, with one eye all squinty. He leaned into laughter. “Ha. Haha. Hahahaha.” He shook his head, walking out of the arena. “Get on a real horse.” He glanced back at her. “That’s a good one.”
DOLLAR CONSPIRACY
“And then he laughed at me.”
Carol covered her mouth, turning pink just beneath her violet-blue eyes. Alex squinted at her. Wasn’t her best friend supposed to be on her side?
“I’m sorry,” Carol giggled. “But it’s kinda funny when you put it like that.”
Alex folded her arms. “Not even a little bit.”
Carol raised an eyebrow.
“What?” Alex asked.
“You know, a mutual friend of ours probably went through the same thing you did. Maybe you should cut him some slack.”
Alex looked over her shoulder to see where Carol’s gaze focused. Dejado waved at them from a few stalls down, then went back into the stall to shovel muck. Alex looked back to Carol. “That guy?”
“Yeah.” Carol smiled. “That guy.”
Alex rolled her eyes. Not him again.
“I wonder if he really gets on with Joe like you say he does, or if there’s more to their relationship behind the scenes.”
Now it was Alex’s turn to raise her brow. What was she getting at?
“Don’t you think Joe is mean to everybody?” Carol suggested.
“How would I know?”
“I’m just saying that nobody gets there overnight. Maybe Joe’s standards are different than yours. Everyone has their own opinion of good.”
From all the pictures Alex had seen of her mother in North’s office, and around the farm, she would at least be born with some measure of good. How much more would it take?
“Think about it,” Carol said. “Even the greats had to work at it.”
And again Alex was reminded how little she knew.
Carol turned. “I’m going to see Thorne. Maybe you’ll come?”
Alex picked at the loose skin around her cuticles. “Maybe.”
But when Carol left, Alex headed in the opposite direction. She realized it was a bad decision when Dejado popped out of one of the stalls.
“Ishmael?”
He was a sad looking thing; dusty, and sweaty, with straw clinging to his navy blue t-shirt. But maybe other girls dug that?
He rubbed the back of his neck, almost shyly. “Do you… you know… ever…”
“What?”
“Think about me?” he asked tentatively.
Alex rolled her eyes. “Please. If I had a dollar every time I thought about you, I’d have a dollar.”
Dejado’s face was blank for a moment, then came to life as he hurriedly dug into his pocket. He pulled out a black wallet, and rifled through the folds. “Ooh, ooh!”
He ripped out a crumpled dollar and shoved it into her hands. “Rules though.”
Alex stared at the money, then looked up at him in all of his enthusiasm.
“You can’t spend it,” he said. “You have to put it on your nightstand where you’ll see it every day. And you can’t give it away either.”
Alex cocked an eyebrow. “Desperate much?”
Dejado grinned, leaning on the pitchfork handle. He had such a giant puppy dog thing about him, Alex couldn’t say no.
“Fiiiiiine,” she huffed, stuffing the dollar into her pocket. “It’s not going to work though. I have better things to think about.”
He went back to mucking the stall, seeming particularly pleased with himself. “I think you’ll find, my dear Ishmael, that I can be particularly surprising.”
Alex tucked her lip, squinting at him. Her mind raced. “Yeah, well.” She kicked at a piece of soiled bedding that missed the wheelbarrow. “You talk funny.”
Kicking the debris instantly turned into wanting to kick herself. That was the best she could do? Really?
“I’m leaving,” she stated bluntly. “For real.”
Alex pulled the dollar from her pocket, waving it as she walked backwards. “I just want you to know that this doesn’t change anything.”
Dejado whistled cheerily, like he hadn’t heard a thing she said.
***
Alex tried to listen to Joe from then on, but sometimes it felt like they were just fire and gasoline together. He worked her so hard every day that Speedy was falling apart.
Maybe it was the poky tufts scratching her up, or maybe it was Joe barking at her like a Doberman, but Alex couldn’t take it much longer. She wanted nothing more than to yell back at him, louder than her sore muscles were screaming at her.
She took a deep breath, and sat back in the tiny saddle, squeezing her eyes shut. She blocked out the arena and Joe, and just hunkered into the quietest corner of her mind for a moment where she boxed up all her other feelings.
“Tell me about Angelina,” she said evenly.
“Whaddya wanna know ‘bout her for?”
Alex opened her eyes and settled her gaze on him. “North won’t give me the answers I want. Hillary’s told me what she knows. You’re the missing piece.”
She could tell she caught him off guard by the way his expression softened for a split second. He rubbed his chin whiskers in that way he did.
“What made her so great, huh?” Alex asked. “I can’t tell if I’m living under a rock, or a shadow. You must have thought highly of her.”
Joe rocked back on his heels. He was quiet for a while. Alex wasn’t sure he’d ever talk again. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought it up. But she waited.
“You know,” he started slowly. “We had a bet. She and I. That whoever got their goggles dirty first would take the other to the Kentucky Derby.” He shook his head.
“Dammit all if she didn’t have me from day one. I thought I was the master. But I’d gotten my goggles dirty a long time before she did.”
“How did she keep hers clean?”
“There’s more than one way to get dirty, kid. Get up and ride. Maybe I’ll take you for a spin yet.”
Alex sighed. She pulled herself up into racing stance again, gritting her teeth against her tired quads. She took a deep breath and turned her head side to side, trying to relax. “Did you ever get there? To the Derby?” She glanced to him.
Joe actually smiled. “More times than you know.”
THE CUP
“Your school supply list has been posted,” Hillary said. “We’re going shopping.”
Laura threw her hands up in the air, shouting her hallelujahs the exact same time as Alex groaned, “Noooooooo.”
“C’mon, Al. It will be great,” Laura insisted.
“That’s what you said at Christmas.” Alex glared at her. “Do you remember what happened? We nearly died!”
“You mean when I became a genius? That was a Christmas miracle.”
“You’re both being dramatic. It’s pay day. We’re getting your school things, and we’re going to lunch. Girls day out.”
“This day keeps getting better and better,” Laura whispered.
Alex buried her face in her hands, groaning again.
She dragged herself back to her bedroom to change into something that would be easy to switch in and out of, so she could get through shopping as quickly as possible. Even though it probably didn’t matter, because Laura always took her sweet, freaking time.
A tank and some old, tattered shorts did the trick. At least she’d look the part of a kid needing new clothes. She leaned forward on her dresser, gazing into her vanity mirror. Summer had marked her with a farmer’s tan, and her shoulders weren’t as bony anymore, but starting to gain some
shape from all the work around the farm.
She tucked her hair behind her ears and went downstairs, pulling her shoes on without any socks. Function over form. Who cared, right?
At least Hillary drove, even though Laura had her license.
Alex chewed the nubs of her nails as the landscape blurred by. She should have the ride to Murray memorized by now, but she was too preoccupied with the potential crowds. Why wasn’t being swarmed by horses and grooms in the morning a big deal, and leaving the farm for normal-people activities was? It seemed backwards.
But there was lunch, she told herself, and she’d be safely tucked into a booth with the crazy blonde and the woman trying to be their mother. No one would see her. She wouldn’t have to deal with anyone but the waitress.
They pulled into a store parking lot and headed in. Alex gulped as Hillary grabbed a big, red cart. For some reason, she thought of the night she and Cade watched Indiana Jones.
Crowds.
Why’d it haveta be crowds?
People swarmed through the aisles. Registers beeped and dinged. The smell of coffee and popcorn overwhelmed her. Alex wanted to run and hide in the bathroom. Her plan was instantly two-fold: to puke, and hopefully no one would come in until Hillary and Laura were done with this exercise in torturing her.
Alex’s breath hitched when she felt a hand on hers. Laura smiled and lifted it to the edge of the cart. “Just hang on.”
She reached for the back of Alex’s neck and squeezed it lovingly. For a moment, Alex super resented hanging on to a cart like some toddler who would wander off, but after a few minutes it became something reassuring. Having something to grip grounded her. All the smells, and lights, and colors settled into actual shapes and eventually… stuff.
A giant room full of stuff.
And people.
Her skin prickled.
Why’d it haveta be people?
She pictured them all with Archie McPhee horse head masks, and then the pieces started falling into place. But the store still didn’t smell as nice as molasses, apple-y fly spray, and good oiled leather.
Laura and Hillary’s presentation of clothes to her fell on deaf ears.
“How bout this one?”
“Do you like this?”
They stood there waiting for her to even realize that they were holding things up.
