Slamming the partition into place, Seth loaded and tied Scout in the far back, giving the nervous horses ample room to settle in. He dug in his pocket for his cell phone and swiped it open, then punched a quick text to Bridgette to let her know he was on his way with her newest residents. So far, so good.
When he slowed up to the sanctuary less than a half hour later, he composed another text. His first one had gone unanswered, which wasn’t unusual given Bridgette’s entire operation was volunteer run and she was the “Head Mare in Charge.”
Seth was about to place his phone onto the console of his truck when it buzzed in his palm with a message that she would meet him out on the street in a minute. He unclicked the strap of his seatbelt and had his hand on the door handle when his ex appeared at his driver’s side window, out of breath and wearing a grimace that flipped her entire mouth upside-down.
“I can’t take them, Seth,” she said in a tone that was the same as a period at the end of a sentence. “I’ve got the vet here and a horse who was just diagnosed with strangles. We’re under complete quarantine.”
Well, if that wasn’t a sucker punch to the high he’d been riding after the morning’s successful roundup. “What am I going to do with five scared and starved horses?”
“You’ll have to take them to your ranch. You’ve got the old milking barn you can put them up in for now. It’ll do. I’ll be by later in the week with Dr. Cranford to check them out, but for today, that’s the best I can offer.”
It didn’t feel like much of an offer at all, but Seth knew Bridgette was doing the best she could with what she had. His day set aside for rotating his herd to a new pasture had been completely shot, but that had little to do with Bridgette’s current situation. Nonetheless, there was an inevitable interconnectedness. And this news just flipped his whole plan on its head.
“Give Jo Friar a call.” Bridgette slipped a business card through the rolled down window before backing away. “If the horses are as bad as you say they are, you’ll eventually need a shoer who knows how to handle them. This one is the best.”
2
Josie
There was a very real possibility Josie Friar’s truck was still moving, even with her no longer at the helm. She tore out of the driver’s seat in a surge of panic, hoping she’d put the truck in park out of habit. She didn’t even bother to look over her shoulder to confirm that the vehicle wasn’t, in fact, gliding down the country road on its own accord. Honestly, the truck could crash, for all she cared. Everything else around her already had.
“Foreclosure?” With another swing of his hammer, the stranger nailed the sign into place. It felt like a backhand across Josie’s future and she couldn’t help but wince as metal struck metal. “There’s gotta be a mistake.”
“Yep,” the older man spoke around a long nail bit between his front teeth. He huffed a laugh that sounded like it was full of gravel. “A big mistake. As in, the owners forgot to pay their mortgage.”
Josie shook her head. She knew Marcie and Marty had fallen on tough times. They all had. Everyone felt the unavoidable strains of a struggling economy. But the Stephens’ farm had been a generational asset. She’d assumed it had been paid off long before it was ever placed in Marcie and Marty’s name.
Apparently she’d been wrong.
“Where are they going to go?” Josie mused under her breath, unaware her thoughts had formed audible words.
“The owners? I’m sure they’ve already figured that out. It’s not like they didn’t know this was coming.” Like he hadn’t just delivered news that did a complete one-eighty on the trajectory of Josie’s life, he added, “Have a good day,” before slipping into his silver hatchback and speeding down the two lane road.
Josie watched the rooster tail of dust spray from his tires and felt a growing tightness weave through her ribcage. With a balled up fist, she thrust firmly against her chest, releasing a choked cough. Her eyes burned like they hadn’t been shut in days. Stinging and dry, she fought the tears that begged to moisten them.
She was not going to cry about this. That wasn’t her style.
But seriously, what next?
First the broken arm. Then the loss of half her clientele due to said arm break. And now here she was, for all intents and purposes, effectively homeless.
Sure, she still had her trailer, but the land it rested on had been pulled out from under her like a tablecloth magic trick gone wrong.
Ballooning her cheeks with a massive inhale, she sputtered a breath that lifted the sweat-laden hair from her face. Then she let out a strangled grunt of pure frustration that sounded almost animalistic. This was just her luck.
At least the truck was still in place and hadn’t barreled down the road without her. She’d have to dig deep for silver-linings today. She walked back to it and once inside, slammed the driver’s side door, then yanked her seatbelt across her lap with more force than usual. She didn’t know who to be angry with, but at the moment, an inanimate object was probably her safest option. If Marcie or Marty had been there to greet her upon her arrival, she wasn’t so sure she’d be able to keep her cool.
“This is not the end of the world,” Josie murmured to herself as she drove onto the property. Her truck bounced and jostled with the changing landscape beneath it. With her good hand, she gripped the wheel and spun it around to angle down the dirt toward her fifth wheel. “Things will be okay.”
The lies didn’t suddenly ring true once she spoke them out loud, but she had to try.
Even though her home was on wheels, she’d created a solid foundation for her life during her year-long stay on the ranch. She cherished each morning spent plunked down in her folding chair, mug of coffee in hand as she watched the sun crest over the foothills. The clinking of her homemade cowbell and horseshoe wind chime was a fitting musical score for this stretch of land and this phase in her life. Sure, the trio of half-alive potted plants at her door didn’t have a proper porch to rest upon, but luxuries like that never mattered to Josie. What mattered was that this small, rented map dot was a place to call her own.
Well, it was her place until about ten minutes ago.
This time she intentionally switched the truck into park and just as she was about to hop down from the vehicle, her phone buzzed in the front pocket of her canvas jacket. Wrestling it out, she glanced down at the screen and the unfamiliar number.
Looking for a farrier. Was referred to you, was all the message entailed.
Short and to the point, which was just fine with Josie. With equal brevity, she typed her reply.
Broken arm. Not shoeing at the moment. Sorry.
That should button things up, she figured. She slid the phone into the back pocket of her jeans and took the straps of her reusable grocery bag into her grip. With her hip, she bumped the truck door closed and paced toward her trailer. Gravel crunched below the tread of her work boots, and, like the ringing of Pavlov’s bell, her calico cat, Cowboy, came charging out from underneath a wheel well at the sound. Weaving perfect figure eights, he did his level best to trip Josie up.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t forget your turkey,” she assured.