Page 62 of Rolling Thunder

“Will you meet me for dinner at the Barnyard Saturday night?” Jake asked.

Even shook his head a little, confused. “I guess. Why?” Going out to dinner with his brother didn’t seem like a priority right now, but he didn’t think Jake would have asked if there wasn’t a good reason.

“Just trust me.”

That was a tall order. Some things might never be repaired between them. Despite it all, Jake was the one person Evan would trust with Kayla’s safety and secrets, and his own. But a mysterious dinner meeting? That could be anything. It seemed like Jake was usually up to something, and this was it.

“We need to find out what’s going on with Trent first. He’s not getting bail, but he might have thugs he can send after her anyway.”

“Her mom would know. I’ll call Kayla and see if Bill can come with us.”

CHAPTER 26

Instead of taking in horses for training, Kayla started booking more trail rides. It was mindless, easy work, and it kept the horses in shape. Riding in the orange grove calmed her nerves slightly. In the barn, she cross-tied Bonnie and Clyde and groomed them in preparation for the ride. She needed a horse to ride to guide the group. As she considered her options, Joey’s face popped out over the stall door, his mismatched eyes bright as he stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth as he’d always done to try to make her laugh. He reached down and grabbed his halter off the door and flipped it into the air, tossing it into the dirt.

If these weren’t his regular antics, she’d think he was trying to tell her something. But if he had the energy to make faces and throw things, maybe he was ready to go on a trail ride.

She haltered him and pulled him out, inspecting him with new eyes. He’d filled out nicely. He was shiny and healthy looking, a far cry from when she first brought him back from the auction. Bill trotted him the other day and reported that despite some age-related stiffness, he looked fairly sound. Miraculously, he wasn’t foundered or lame with navicular disease, common afflictions in horses dumped at auction. She had to ride him herself before she dared put a greenhorn on him, so she saddled him with the rest and tied him under a shade tree to wait while she helped the tourists get astride their mounts.

Her chosen trail horses stood patiently, dozing despite the excited passengers in their saddles. She smiled a little to herself. They were such good horses. They would walk nose to tail and follow her, no matter what their riders tried to get them to do. They knew their job, which was to bring the foolish people back in one piece.

Joey, on the other hand, had never been especially obedient. He liked doing things his own way, and his sense of humor wasn’t often appreciated by the person on his back. Like walking slowly under low-hanging branches, forcing his rider to frantically lie down on his neck or be scraped off. Instead of walking placidly through water, he would sometimes decide to lie down and roll in it, dumping his rider in the process. Yeah, she definitely had to be the guinea pig for him and see if he had grown out of those shenanigans. She suspected that he hadn’t.

“Is everyone ready?” she asked her guest riders. A twelve-year-old girl nodded excitedly, gripping her reins in clumsy fists. Her mom, on the other horse, looked decidedly less excited. The mom, with her long, fake nails and designer jeans, looked quite offended at everything happening so far on the farm.

Kayla lifted her foot into the stirrup and hopped in preparation, then swung aboard Joey. He stood deceptively still, but she saw him glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She knew that look.

“All right, follow me.” Kayla nudged Joey forward. He walked off easily enough, but as she let them into the back pasture, he trotted a few strides and hopped out a little buck. It was a small enough buck that it felt more like a bump in the road to Kayla, but Designer-Jeans Mom gasped.

“Are these horses tame?” she demanded.

“Yes, ma’am, this one just hasn’t been ridden in a while. You’ll be fine,” Kayla replied, laughing at Joey. She rode ahead to open the gate that led to a small greenbelt that led to the orange grove.

“Come on, Joey, can you just pretend to behave?” she muttered for only him to hear. He flipped his head a little, and she could swear he looked like he was laughing at her. “I just know you’re plotting some way to embarrass me right now.”

They had to cross a stream that was up to the horse’s knees. As they reached its edge, Joey pawed at the water with one front leg.

“Don’t you dare dump me in this water, Joey,” she threatened, giving him a firm nudge with her legs to keep him moving. It had been an unseasonably dry May, and now it was June. The afternoon thunderstorms had just begun. Soon, the waterway between her farm and the orange grove would be chest-deep on the horses and possibly harboring big, aggressive gators in rut. She had to get the last few trail rides in while she could, because during fucking-hot summer, when the rains came, everything she tried to do would be at the mercy of Mother Nature.

Joey walked placidly across the stream, and she scratched his neck lightly in thanks. As he walked along the rows of trees, the stiffness in his gait felt like it improved with exercise. This could actually be good for him. He looked this way and that as he walked, as if he too were enjoying the view. Did he know he had a new lease on life? She thought that he did. And for once, she could feel that if Gram Kay was looking down, she’d be pleased.

After the trail ride, Joey was tired. Just walking a few miles through the groves had been enough for him at his age, apparently. Still, he seemed peaceful and content.

Kayla, on the other hand, felt jittery and lost. Now that she was sober—she was embarrassed to realize that she’d subconsciously planned her days around when she could start drinking. She wouldn’t drive drunk or lead trail rides drunk. Not when other people’s safety depended on her. But she always had a ticker in the back of her mind counting down to the point when no great responsibility was on her shoulders and she could start in on the bottle in her freezer. Without that timekeeper, she felt adrift.

“You all right?” a voice interrupted, and she jumped half out of her skin, whirling around to face Canyon Bill.

“Fine,” she blurted, obviously not fine. His eyes said he knew differently. The truth was, she was a bundle of nerves and raw emotion. The only coping mechanism she’d was to get drunk, and now that was gone.

“I’m gonna go to a meeting. You want to ride along?”

“How long are you planning to hang around, Bill?” It was a jab, and as soon as she spat it out, she wished she could take it back. Those wise old eyes just kept watching her.

“Till you run me off like you well and truly mean it, fire ant. You comin’?”

He didn’t take the bait. He never took the bait. And he didn’t promise her he wouldn’t abandon her again. Which meant he might, at basically any moment. She’d reach out for something and the person she needed wouldn’t be there. The hot desperation rose up in her throat, making her eyes water.

She turned away from him, scrubbing her face, trying to get herself together. He mercifully walked away in a combination of his old swagger and the beginning of the shuffle of an old man wearing at the edges. A few minutes later, she heard his motorcycle rumble around the driveway loop and pause at an idle. Puttah-putt, puttah-putt, puttah-putt. She loved the sound of Bill’s old bike. He said nothing, didn’t even look her way. Just waited.

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