“When are you going?”
“Second week of July.”
“There’s no way I can get a week off from work this time of year,” I said.
“What about the weekend?” he said. “I have to take care of a few things during the week anyway, mostly down in Palo Alto, but maybe if you came down Friday night and left with me Monday morning?”
I chewed my lip, running through the schedule of shows, appointments, lessons, and clinics over the next few weeks. That lesson can probably be rescheduled. They don’t need me to be there for Stetson’s appointment. Susan can handle Xena and Orion for a couple of days.
Connor squeezed my hand gently. “If you don’t, it’s okay, I—”
“No, no, I think it would be fun,” I said. “I need to check with my boss about a few things, but, yeah, if you want me to come with you…”
“I definitely do.” He smiled.
“You sure you wouldn’t get tired of me?”
He laughed, but the fingertips trailing down the side of my face were tender when he whispered, “I don’t think that’s possible, Dani.”
Pretending that didn’t scare the hell out of me, I offered him a playful smile. “So does that mean you haven’t gotten enough of me tonight?”
He put his arms around me and, kissing me deeply, rolled me onto my back. “Not even close.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Gritting my teeth, I led Dante up and down the path beside one of the front pastures, as much to calm the horse as myself. About fifty feet away, the ancient three-horse slant-load trailer stood empty, its door yawning open while Susan, Gina, and Gavin milled around, waiting to try loading Dante again.
Twice we’d tried to get the skittish gelding into the terrifying metal box, and twice our efforts disintegrated into a riled up horse, three frustrated women, and one shouting, cursing man. Gavin insisted that we needed to try again immediately. After all, it was a long trip to Eastern Washington for the show—the show Dante was nowhere near ready for—and they needed to get on the road sooner than later. Once he was in the trailer, Dante would be fine, but he was about as easy to unload as he was to load. None of us relished the idea of getting him out of the trailer in the dark.
“Goddammit, Dani, we don’t have all day,” Gavin barked.
I took a deep breath, patting Dante’s neck. Over my shoulder, I called out, “He’s still too fired up.” Okay, so, the horse was fairly calm by this point. The same could not be said for me.
Voices muttered in the distance, but were just far enough out of earshot to obscure the words. Then gravel crunched and when I turned, Susan was approaching. I stopped under the guise of letting Dante grab a few bites of grass while I let her catch up.
“What do you think we should do?” she asked.
“Besides run Gavin over a few times with the trailer?” I said through my teeth.
She allowed herself a huff of laughter, then glanced over her shoulder. Folding her arms across her chest, she nodded at Dante. “We have to get him in sooner or later.”
“Short of sedating him, I don’t know what else to do. And if he wasn’t going to a show, I’d have done that by now.” I watched Dante graze for a moment. “Though if we can get rid of Gavin for a few minutes, that might help.”
“Hmm.” Susan shifted her weight, chewing her lip. “I think I know how I can get him out of here.” She nodded toward Dante again. “Think you can get him in the trailer by yourself?”
“Yeah. He was getting braver before that asshole scared him again. Maybe if there’s no one around to make him nervous, he’ll load.” I tugged Dante’s lead rope to bring his head up so I could lead him back to the trailer. “He’s gone in without too much trouble when Gavin isn’t around.”
“Let’s do it, then.”
Together, we walked back, Dante plodding calmly between us as if nothing had traumatized him earlier. I led him to the trailer and let him investigate it. Just as I’d hoped, he was quieter now, sniffing around the edges and finding a few stray hay crumbs. As the trailer became a place to find little morsels of food instead of a big scary box, he visibly relaxed. All I needed was a few more minutes of this, and getting him into the trailer without a fight might be possible.
Susan and I exchanged nods.
“Gavin, can I borrow you in the barn?” she asked.
“Not right now, Susan,” he snapped. “We need to get this fucking horse loaded.”
“I can handle him.” I stroked Dante’s neck. “He’s calming down now. I’ll be fine.”
“I just need a hand with one of the yearlings,” Susan said.
Gavin looked at me, then at her. Irritation thinned his lips into a bleached line. Cursing under his breath, he threw the lead rope in his hand and started toward the barn. The metal clip on the lead rope clanged against the trailer and Dante flew backwards, snorting and half-rearing.
“Easy, Dante.” I tugged his rope to get his attention. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” It took every bit of effort I had to keep my voice gentle and even, because I wanted to strangle my damned boss just then. Twenty minutes of walking to quiet the horse, and in mere seconds, Gavin managed to send us right back to square one.
After a few more minutes of soothing pats on the neck and gentle words, Dante was calm and willing to approach it again. He took one step, then another, snorting at the echo of his own steps inside the trailer. Three times he backed all the way out, but the fourth time, he finally got in.
I coaxed him to the front of the trailer, showing him to the treasure trove of hay that awaited him. He wasn’t stupid; he stood back as far as he could so he could reach the hay without getting close enough for me to secure him. Minute by minute, though, he forgot his apprehension and crept closer.
Stomping footsteps on the gravel made my breath catch. Gavin. Shit.
Dante tensed. He stopped chewing and the whites of his eyes showed.
“Easy, buddy,” I whispered. “It’s okay. Look, there’s food.” I rustled the hay to draw his attention back to it, and fortunately, it worked. He grabbed another mouthful and happily chomped away.
“I don’t know why the hell I pay you two if you can’t do simple bullshit things like that,” Gavin barked outside. Dante tensed again, but I tried to keep him calm. I also urged him forward. He still needed to be a little closer before I could secure him, and I didn’t like the idea of being in the trailer with an unpredictable horse while Gavin was close by. Especially since this was one of the older model trailers that lacked an escape door. My only way out was also Dante’s only way out.
I pushed the hay just beyond Dante’s reach, and he followed. He was right where I needed him to be, so I looped his lead rope through the metal ring, being careful not to make any sudden movements. The voices outside were terse, and it was escalating. My heart pounded, but I kept myself calm to keep Dante from picking up on my nervousness.
Don’t scare him, Gavin, please don’t scare him. Not now.
While I secured the lead rope, Gavin’s furious voice sent a chill down my spine.
“Oh now what the fuck is this? Damn it!”
Dante stiffened, the whites of his eyes showing again.
I reached for him, ready to calm him with a gentle touch.
Something solid—Metal? Plastic?—hit the side of the trailer. My heart had time for one oh shit beat before the world inside the trailer erupted into chaos. Panicked grunts and snorts. A body much larger than my own flailing back and forth in a desperate attempt to escape. Shouts from outside added to the confusion, but were mostly lost beneath the thunder of scrambling hooves. I couldn’t get past Dante, nor did I bother trying to calm him; it was too late for that. Instead I reached for the quick-release on his lead rope, trying to grab it even while he threw himself from side to side. If I got him loose, he could back out of the trailer. Dangerous, but less so than trapping both of us in here like this.
In his blind panic, Dante stumbled, going down to one knee before throwing h
imself upright, but he lost his balance again and slammed into me, his shoulder pinning me against the wall. For a split second, he was off me, only to crash into me again with even more force. My vision clouded and everything became a blur of pain and motion.
The quick-release must have finally given, because I was suddenly alone. I sank to my knees, only vaguely aware of my kneecaps cracking against the hard rubber mats. I fell forward and caught myself on one arm, holding the other across my chest. There was pain somewhere, so distant it registered much like a memory of past pain. Or a promise of future pain once this more immediate and more terrifying concern passed:
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.
My lungs became leaden slabs that could neither inhale nor exhale. I tried to cough. Again. Nothing.
Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.
Movement around me. Voices. Something touching me. Panic inside. Panic outside. Panic.
Can’t. Breathe.
At last, a cough broke through and the paralysis snapped. I gulped in a few deep breaths, each more painful than the last as my ribs protested, but I could breathe. Mentally, I did my usual post-fall body part inventory: Fingers moved. Toes moved. Head turned. Nothing numb. No head injury. No neck injury.
But pain. Dear sweet Jesus, pain.
Susan’s voice broke through the red haze. “Dani, talk to me.” She squeezed my shoulders and I wondered how long she’d been holding them. “Dani?”
“I’m okay.” I coughed, tears blurring my vision and fire searing every inch of my ribcage.
“Gavin, call the paramedics,” Susan said.
“Is she all right?” he asked, his voice adding a layer of teeth-grinding rage to the pain.
“Yes, she’s just fine, that’s why she needs a fucking ambulance,” Susan snapped. A moment later, she said to me, “Can you sit up?”
With her hands steadying me, I sat back, still protectively holding my chest with one arm. She eased me back against the side of the trailer, the support offering both relief and fresh pain when metal nudged bruises. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the wall, breathing as deeply as the pain would allow.
“Where’s Dante?” My voice sounded like it came from somewhere else.
“Gina’s got him,” she said. “She took him back to the barn.”
“Is he okay?”
“He’s fine,” she said. “Scraped his leg a little on the way out, but he’s fine. You don’t need to worry about him, though. Now look at me.”
I opened my eyes. She ran through a few drills to make sure I didn’t have a head injury or nerve damage: Making my eyes track her finger, having me squeeze her hands, wiggling my toes. Though I had already done the same and was certain my head and neck were fine, I couldn’t deny the sense of relief every time a limb or digit did what it was supposed to do.
“Can you take a deep breath?” she asked.
“I can,” I said. “But I really don’t want to.”
“How bad is the pain?”
“Bad.”
“How bad?”
I took a semi-deep breath and closed my eyes against the resulting fire. “Bad enough I’d fuck Gavin if it made it stop hurting.”
Susan snorted with laughter. “That bad?”
“That bad.”
“Yeah, I think you need to go to the hospital,” she said, only half-joking. “You might have some busted ribs.”
“Just what I need.”
Susan let out a sharp huff of breath. “I’m going to have a serious talk with Leslie tonight. Gavin’s lucky he didn’t get you killed.”
“No shit,” I said. “There’s no way I’m loading another horse with him around. And I swear to God, Dante panics just hearing that man’s voice.”
“I don’t blame him,” she muttered. “Damn it, we’re never going to get that horse to load calmly again.”
“We will, it’ll just take some time and patience.” I glared in the direction Gavin had gone earlier. “As long as someone isn’t within earshot.”
“Yeah, good luck with that,” Susan said. “But I’ll talk to Leslie. This is getting ridiculous.”
I shifted slightly and winced. “It’s gone well past ridiculous.”
About ten minutes later, a diesel engine rumbled in the distance, drawing closer, following the familiar curve of the farm’s driveway.
“That would be your limousine,” Susan said. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”
“Not moving.”
She got up and stepped out of the trailer. Gravel crunched under tires, then stopped. The diesel engine idled while doors slammed and unfamiliar voices asked questions, which Susan answered. A moment later, two EMTs stepped into the trailer.
They asked questions about the incident, quizzed me to make sure I had no problems with short or long-term memory, poked and prodded, and ran me through the same drills Susan had already done. Several times they offered me oxygen, but I could breathe well enough. I had plenty of discomfort without a plastic tube blasting cold air up my nose.
They recommended a cervical collar and backboard as a precaution, but I refused that too. My neck was fine, there was no sign of spinal trauma, and immobility would only give my muscles a chance to seize up, which would mean more pain later. For the same reason, I refused the stretcher, insisting I could—and needed to—walk. At least that would reassure me I wasn’t badly hurt. One thing I’d learned from countless spills off horses: if I could walk, I was probably okay.
“Can you stand?” one of the medics asked.
“Probably.”
He put a hand under my elbow and Susan did the same on the other side. With their help, I stood, wincing as every movement made my back and ribs hurt that much more. I took a few tentative steps, pausing when the pain made me dizzy. I doubted I was seriously hurt, but it definitely wasn’t comfortable.
Stepping down from the trailer was absolute agony. Without the presence of a ramp, I had to take the step all at once but as slowly as humanly possible, which required more bending and twisting than my body wanted to accommodate at the moment. When both feet were on the ground, I clung to the side of the trailer and the medic’s arm until the fire receded. Gritting my teeth and taking slow, deep breaths, I started the long trek to the ambulance, which was about fifteen feet away.
I caught a glimpse of Gavin, standing off to the side with his arms across his chest and a scowl on his face. He didn’t speak. He probably didn’t dare.
Entering the ambulance required the opposite of exiting the trailer: a step up.
“Can you make it okay?” the medic asked, adjusting his grip on my arm when a wave of dizziness made me falter.
I nodded, and I was right. I made it. By the time I did, though, the pain was almost unbearable and I finally gave in to the suggestion of a stretcher. At least that made the ambulance ride marginally less painful.
In the emergency room, there was no getting comfortable on the rock hard bed, but it beat the hell out of the X-ray table. Fortunately, I only had to spend a few minutes on the latter. And, since the ER wasn’t terribly crowded, I didn’t have to spend an eternity on the former either. Plus I had Susan to keep me company, which didn’t do much for the pain, but it passed the time.
About three hours after I arrived, after I’d been poked, prodded, and X-rayed, the doctor finally came in with my prognosis.
“The good news is nothing’s broken. The bad news is, it’s still going to hurt for a few days.” A grin played at the corner of his mouth, suggesting he expected me to find some humor in that, but I knew what was in store for me for the next week or so and didn’t find it especially funny.
“I figured it would,” I said dryly.
“I’m going to recommend at least a week off from your job,” he said. “After that, it’s at your discretion, but don’t push yourself or you’re going to be in a hell of a lot more pain.”
I tried not to roll my eyes while he prattled on about rest
, relaxation, and all of the common sense protocols I’d heard every time a horse put me in the emergency room. Heat not ice. Don’t lift more than twenty pounds. Call if this or that symptom arises. Same shit, different injury.
“I’m also going to write a prescription for Vicodin,” he said. “That should help for the next few days.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“I’ll be back with your discharge paperwork and you can be on your way,” he said.
After I was discharged, I shuffled out to the parking lot with Susan and gingerly sank into the passenger seat of her car.
“Do you want me to stay with you tonight?” She started the car. “In case you’re all doped up or need to go back to the ER?”
“Aren’t you heading to Wenatchee?”
She shook her head, then looked over her shoulder while she backed out of the parking space. “Gina scratched Dante from the show. She wants to wait a few days before we try putting him in a trailer again. Besides, you’re out of commission now and I’m sure as hell not showing him.”
I sighed and rubbed my forehead with two fingers. “Well, give me a week or so to recover and we can work on him.” I sighed again. “Christ, this is going to set me back for days with all the other horses.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll make sure they’re all worked. You just worry about you.” Then she laughed softly. “Poor Connor, he’s—”
“Oh shit!” I said. “I completely forgot. I’m supposed to get together with him tonight, and—” I looked at the clock on the dash. “Oh Jesus, I’m supposed to meet him in half an hour.”
Susan snickered. “You might want to cancel. I don’t think the good doctor recommends any bedroom rodeo activities in your fragile state.”
“Shut up.” I laughed and pulled my phone out of my purse. “That’s the last thing I’m doing with anyone anytime soon.”
“You said earlier you’d fuck Gavin—”
“Yeah, if it would make the pain go away, and until I see a double-blind study showing that sex with Gavin cures pain from bruised ribs, I’m not touching him.” I brought Connor’s number up. “You don’t mind if I call him, do you?”
World Enough and Time Page 14
