by Keary Taylor
“Dr. Wyze,” he answers groggily after four rings.
“Jesse, it’s Riley,” I say in a rush. “One of our horses got spooked with the thunder, and he’s hurt. Bad. His entire chest is hanging open.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he says, his voice suddenly alert. I hear him hastily getting ready as I describe his injuries, and he gives me instructions until he arrives. I’m running for the house as we hang up.
I grab towels from the hall next to the bathroom and dart back outside. Another roll of thunder sounds through the air, and I pray that Trooper will stay calm.
I breathe a small sigh of relief when I step back into the barn. Lake is gently stroking Trooper’s neck, the two of them in the stall. It doesn’t look as if the storm frightened him again.
“Help me hold these to the wound,” I say, my voice high and panicked. I toss Lake a towel. My stomach rolls again as I watch him, with no hesitation, push the two flapping pieces of flesh together, and then press the towel into the wound.
Trooper whinnies loudly, his nostrils flaring wide, his eyes panicked. I stroke his neck, trying to keep him calm, but even more so, trying to keep myself from melting down.
We’ve had injuries here at James Ranch before. They’re inevitable when dealing with so many animals after so many years. We’ve had scraped up legs, had horses beat on each other for dominance, eye infections, twisted intestines.
But nothing like this.
“You okay?” Lake asks as he looks up at me. He looks concerned.
My words don’t seem to want to work, so I simply nod my head. I’m sure I’m stark white.
His eyes stay on me for a moment. He doesn’t offer comfort, he doesn’t say it’s going to be okay. After everything he’s seen, how could he ever feel he could honestly say that?
I hear Chico barking at the back door of the house and then three sets of footsteps splashing across the driveway. Mom, Bear, and Chico burst inside.
“What’s going on?” Mom asks and I hear her approaching.
“Don’t come in—” I try to stop her. But it’s too late.
Mom rounds the corner, her eyes instantly going to all the blood seeping through the towel and dripping onto the floor. All the blood covering Lake’s hands and the blood and mud that’s smeared across my entire body.
“What…” she stutters. All the color drains from her face. “What happ—”
Her knees give out, and I dart toward her and catch her just as she goes down. I ease her to the ground, and Chico starts licking her face. Bear paces around her, worry on his hairy face.
“What’s wrong with her?” Lake asks. I look over my shoulder to see his concerned expression. He looks torn, unsure if he should stay by the horse, or help me.
“Mom does not handle the sight of blood. Especially so much,” I say as I ease her head to the ground. “I should have told her to stay inside.”
I stand and cross back over to Trooper. I grab a fresh towel. “Trade me. I’ll hold him together. You take Mom inside. Lay her on the couch.”
Lake nods, and I press a fresh towel over the soaked one as he removes his hands. Trooper whinnies again and stomps his hooves. I look over my shoulder and watch as Lake picks Mom up with no effort at all and heads out of the barn. The dogs follow him.
I look back at Trooper and the back of my eyes sting. This is bad. He uses all those muscles to walk. Horses have to be put down sometimes for injuries that prevent them from walking.
Just as I hear tires screech against pavement outside the barn, I try to tell myself that it could have been worse. The post could have gone through his ribs. It could have punctured a lung, or his heart. It could have killed him instantly.
Jesse dashes inside, a huge medical bag in hand. And as soon as I see him, my eyes well heavy and my insides quiver. He kneels next to me and does a double take when he sees the tears spill out onto my cheek.
“It’s okay,” he says, eyes darting back and forth between my face and his bag as he pulls supplies out. “I’m here, and I’ll take care of him, okay?”
I bite my lower lip and nod.
“He’s in a lot of pain right now, and he’s going to be in more when I start cleaning him out,” Jesse says as he pulls out a huge syringe. “I’m going to sedate him, otherwise he’ll freak and hurt himself more.”
“Okay,” I say with a shaky breath.
I’m pissed at myself for breaking down like this. My insides are a quivering mess, more tears are threatening to fall. I’m tired, and this is a client’s horse. And everything has just been all out of whack lately.
Jesse sinks the needle into Trooper’s skin. Not ten seconds later, his head drops, and his eyes have trouble staying open. He shifts his weight from one wobbly leg to the other.
“I can’t fully knock him out,” Jesse explains as he continues going through supplies. “If he lays down, I won’t be able to access the injury. But he won’t be feeling anything. Can you hold his head up for me?”
I slip my shoulder under Trooper’s neck, settling his huge jaw bone onto it. I lean my cheek against his and pat his neck. Just then, Lake walks back into the barn, Chico at his feet.
“She seems okay,” Lake says, watching Jesse as he starts cleaning the wound out. Chico paces impatiently around us all. “Bear seemed to want to stay with her, so…”
“Good,” I say with a nod. I look back at what Jesse is doing. He’s flushed the wound out and is now applying this orange-brown goop everywhere.
“This will kill any bacteria,” he says, swabbing more onto the live tissue. “He needs to have this on at all times. I’ll come out each morning and check on it for a few weeks, but you’re going to have to put a fresh coat on every evening.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, my brows furrowing together. “Aren’t you just going to stitch him up?”
He shakes his head as he continues working. “The stitches would tear right through,” he says. “Every time he takes a step, those muscles contract and flex. The skin stretches with it. He would rip right through it every time he took a step.”
“So we have to just leave him open like that ‘til it heals?” The thought is horrifying.
“Afraid so,” he says. “It’ll take a few months, but it will close up eventually. Believe it or not, I’ve seen this before.”
“And the horse made a full recovery?” Lake interjects from behind.
Jesse nods, his eyes never leaving the injury. “She had a nice scar, but yeah, she was just fine.”
“Shit,” I say when a thought comes to me. “What am I going to tell the owners? They’re going to be pissed.”
“You tell them,” Jesse says, “that animals are animals and that accidents happen. You tell them that you did everything you could and that you’ll continue working with him when he gets better.”
“They’re not going to like that,” I say with a shake of my head.
“Not much more to be done about it,” Lake says. I look back at him. Once again, his eyes are impassive.
“You know what?” I say, my blood getting hot with the stress of the situation. “Why don’t you go wait inside? Those of us who know what to do with a horse will stay out here and take care of him.”
He looks at me for a long moment, not an emotion to be derived from his expression. And then he turns and leaves, Chico in his wake.
“I take it the two of you aren’t getting along so well?” Jesse says as he finishes swabbing Troopers chest.
“It’s been a bad day,” I say.
“Hmm.”
Jesse spends another hour fussing over Trooper. His hands are careful and gentle. He’s efficient. He’s good at his job.
The rain continues to pour outside as the hour stretches to a more diurnal one. My stomach growls from hunger. But I don’t leave. I stay in the barn.
Finally, Jesse sits back, pulls his gloves off and looks at me.
“That’s all I can do for now,” he says. “The shots I gave him should help
him fight off any infection. Keep the wound clean and keep him in his stall. Try to restrict his movement as much as possible for the next week, at least. And I’ll come by every morning to clean it and check on him.”
I bite my lower lip as the back of my eyes sting once more. “Jesse, we can’t afford to pay you for daily visits.”
“Hey,” he says, putting his hands on my upper arms and pulling me just a bit closer to him. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll just say I’m a friend visiting a friend and checking on one of her horses as a favor.”
I gnaw on my lip again and my eyes drop away from his. I don’t like accepting anyone’s charity, but when you don’t have the money, you don’t have much of a choice.
“Come here,” he says, pulling me closer and wrapping his arms around me. “Trooper is going to be just fine. You’ll get through this. You’re one of the toughest, most bad ass chicks I know.”
I chuckle, my cheek pressed to his chest. Something in my stomach loosens up a bit. I sniff and wipe under my eyes just to be sure there’s nothing that’s escaped and betrayed me.
“I haven’t felt like a bad ass in a long while now.”
“Trust me, you haven’t stopped being one,” he says, squeezing me tight for a moment. “We all stumble every once in a while.”
I let go of Jesse, and he takes his cue and does too. I give him a little smile and take a step back. “Thanks. For a lot of things.”
He looks at me for a long moment, and I can see it all there in his eyes. It’s just all so complicated. “Of course.”
I help him gather up his things and look over my shoulder one more time at Trooper. We helped him to lay down about twenty minutes ago when he got too wobbly to stand. He’s still sleeping, and it sounds like he will be for a few more hours. I follow Jesse out into the rain. He stashes his things in the backseat of his truck. It’s a big rig, and behind it, he has his horse trailer.
Which means he wasn’t sure how bad it was going to be, if he was going to have to haul Trooper off to his office, or maybe off to be disposed of.
“I’ll be back again tonight,” Jesse says loudly through the rain. He waves goodbye and disappears into the truck. I watch him turn around and disappear down the driveway.
Once again, I’m completely soaked through. I’m still covered in mud and blood. And I’m being drowned by the torrential rain.
I turn, taking stock of the condition of the ranch.
Small rivers run everywhere and huge puddles are forming all over the place. But I’m surprised to find a fortress of sandbags set up around the house and the barn. I hadn’t even noticed when I came out of the barn.
I look toward the garage and see Lake just finishing the barrier around the garage.
He looks up at me, and we hold one another’s gaze. His brows are furrowed, his eyes serious and dark. My insides are a mix of feelings.
I can’t deal with an apology right now though. This morning’s events were too taxing and I just can’t.
So I turn and walk inside to take a shower.
CHAPTER FIVE
“I’m sorry I can’t be more help with this,” Mom says for the eighth time. She puts the cheese into the pot and stirs it, looking out the window at the rain.
“Mom, just stop,” I say, rubbing my eyes. I’m exhausted since I only got a few hours of sleep last night, and the events of the day have sapped the energy out of me. And it’s going to be another long night. I pulled out a cot and sleeping bag. I’ll be sleeping in the barn with Trooper. “It was pretty gross. I nearly lost it myself.”
“Well, I’m glad Jesse could get here so fast.” She continues to stare out the window. The rain has slowed a bit, but it’s been coming down solidly all day. “Would you go tell Lake that dinner will be done in a few minutes?”
I sigh, leaning back in my seat and stuff my hands in my pockets. “I’d rather not.”
“Why’s that?” Mom asks, looking over her shoulder at me with a quizzical expression.
I try not to roll my eyes as I look away. “I kind of yelled at him earlier.”
“Riley James,” Mom scolds, just as I knew she would. “Lake McCain may be an employee, but he is also a guest at all times. You need to treat that man with respect and remember what he did for our country.”
“I know,” I say, folding my arms over my chest. “I was a bit…emotional,” I confess.
“Hmm,” Mom grunts as she stirs the soup she’s working on. “Alright, you keep an eye on this for a minute, and I’ll go tell him.”
I climb to my feet and take the giant wooden spoon from her. She slips on her rain boots and goes out the back door.
It takes a whole lot longer than it feels it should for Mom and Lake to come back in the house. A solid fifteen minutes later, they both finally walk in through the back door.
“Remember that roofer we paid two years ago to fix the leak in the apartment?” Mom asks. There’s venom and annoyance in her voice. “Apparently he didn’t get the job done half as well as he should have. Roof sprung a leak right over poor Lake’s bed. Soaked everything.”
“Oh,” is all I say as I stir the soup. The timer went off five minutes ago, and I took the bread bowls out of the oven.
“So Lake is sleeping on the couch tonight,” she says as she starts cutting the tops of the bread off and pulling the insides out.
“I’m sorry to be an inconvenience,” he says, standing there awkwardly by the back door like he isn’t sure what to do with himself.
“Don’t even start,” Mom says with a chuckle and shakes her head. “It’s not like you made that leak. Just God and termites.”
“I can go down to the hardware store tomorrow and get some new shingles,” he says. “I’m pretty sure I can fix it myself. I’ve helped my dad with a lot of stuff over the years, and I was pretty handy in the Corps.”
Mom looks back at him, something like uncertain admiration in her eyes. “If you want.”
“I’d be happy to,” he says.
I’m pretty sure Mom has no idea that he already fixed the roof of the coop. She didn’t ask him to and neither did I. And I haven’t said anything about it.
We eat dinner quietly with very minimal conversation. By the time we finish, it’s eight o’clock. Mom makes up a bed for Lake on the couch and dismisses herself to take a shower and read in bed for a while.
I go upstairs, avoiding any alone time with Lake. I change into some sweatpants and thermals. I pull a hoodie over my head and grab my pillow.
Without even looking in his direction, I grab the sleeping bag and cot and head out to the barn.
It certainly isn’t the first time I’ve slept out here. The first summer we lived here, I slept out here more than I slept in the house. Another time we were having problems with neighbors’ dogs getting into the chickens. Another, I simply needed to not be around people who knew the mistakes I’d made.
The air is heavy with moisture and the scent of horses and hay is comforting. I drop my stuff beside Trooper’s stall and open the gate.
He’s still lying in the far corner of his stall. His chest is a big sticky, orange-brown mess. His eyes are still droopy and hazy from the sedation Jesse gave him. His head keeps bobbing up and down every once in a while, like he’s trying to wake up, but keeps getting dragged back into the fog.
“Hey, buddy,” I say as I squat in front of him. I place a hand between his eyes and slowly run my hand down his face. It’s hard to believe that just a week and a half ago Trooper wouldn’t let me touch him. Now he seems comforted by me being around. Guess I should count my small blessings.
I pet him for a while, talking low and quiet to him. His head eventually rests on the straw beneath him, but he looks at me, as focused as he’s capable of in this state.
“I’m sorry this happened to you,” I say, talking absentmindedly to him. “And I’m really sorry Jesse couldn’t sew you up. I’m going to do my best to keep everything clean and to keep the flies out of here. We’ll have you back t
o normal in no time.”
I haven’t called his owners yet. I’m dreading the conversation, and I want to watch how he does overnight and see what Jesse says in the morning. He didn’t seem concerned when he came back just before dinner.
As Trooper’s eyes slide closed, I stand and walk back out of his stall. Grabbing the cot that I’m pretty sure came from the Corps before Dad retired, I fold it out in front of his stall. The sleeping bag looks warm and cozy when I unroll it, but I’m too stressed out to sleep yet. I set my pillow against the wall and sit with my back propped up against it, watching the injured horse.
Chico and Bear trot into the barn and rush up to me. I barely get a hand out and say the command of “down” before Chico tries to launch himself and his muddy paws onto my bed. He stands at the edge, wagging his butt as fast as he can. Bear’s tongue lolls out of his mouth and he pants loudly. He looks like he’s smiling.
My eyes jump up when someone walks into the barn. Lake stops just inside the entrance. He’s wearing a pair of jeans, his usual work boots, a green military jacket, and a Seahawks baseball cap.
“Looks like you’re settling in for the night,” he observes. He leans a shoulder against the wall and crosses his ankles.
“Looks like,” I respond. I feel stiff and awkward. I’m not necessarily a proud person, but I’m having a hard time forming an apology for being so rude earlier.
“I hope it’s not because of me being in the house. I can sleep on the couch upstairs. Raelynn just insisted I come into the house.”
“No,” I say, closing my eyes slowly and shaking my head. “It’s not you. I just thought I’d better keep an eye on him. You know, in case we need Jesse or anything.”
“Right,” he says.
He stands there. There’s something that always seems unsettled about Lake, like he can’t relax, or he isn’t comfortable in his own skin, and I can’t help but pity him for a minute. Was he always like this, or was this the doing of war?
“Why don’t you sit down for a minute?” I offer.
He stands straight and walks over, relaxed and stiff at the same time. Like he’s calculating each and every move he makes, every breath. He sits on the cot, his back leaning against the wall, his right foot stretched out in front of him.
