Page 32 of The Black Trilogy

“Now who’s being judgmental?” I asked, thinking back to his earlier comment on women.

“Touché. It’s just I’ve met other women who’ve suffered through what you have, and they’ve all been bitter shrews. I guess it surprises me that you’re not.”

If only he knew the half of it.

“As Victor Frankl said, it’s ‘the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.’”

Before, I’d always been a fighter and nobody could bring me down. A madman took me to my knees, but he didn’t knock me out. Big mistake, because I was slowly getting back to my feet. Today, a shard of the old me had made an appearance. Not quite Diamond, but perhaps cubic zirconia.

“Now, that’s the attitude. And it brings me back to my first point. It’s not often you find a stable girl who quotes Frankl.”

He held the door open for me, and outside, the wind had stepped up a gear to biting. My donated jacket may have been quilted, but it sure wasn’t up to withstanding a vicious British winter. Another item to add to my shopping list when I next went into town.

“Cold?” Luke asked.

“Mmm hmm. I need a better jacket.”

“Want to borrow mine?”

“Nah, I’ll live. Thanks for the offer, but it’s too cold for you to be without.”

“In that case, come here.”

I took a step closer, stiffening as Luke put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into him. While my husband hadn’t been affectionate, I’d limited contact like that to a few close friends.

But Luke wasn’t to know that. I didn’t want to create a scene, nor did I want to delve into my life history, so I forced myself to relax. He was just being nice. A gentleman.

And besides, he did make a good windbreak.

As we strode into the car park at the vet’s, a young girl ahead tugged a pony towards a trailer. Her father stood idly by, dressed in a totally unsuitable suit.

“Will you just walk!”

When the pony refused to budge, she walloped it with a riding crop then burst into tears.

“Just give me a minute, would you?” I muttered to Luke.

The girl and pony were in a standoff when I gently removed the stick from her hand.

“That won’t help anything. Get me a bucket of food, and I’ll have a go.”

“Really?”

“Get the food.”

She practically threw the reins at me, and over the next fifteen minutes, I coaxed the beast up the ramp one step at a time. A final shake of the bucket got the gelding inside, and I tied him up before returning to Luke.

“Sorry for the delay. I can’t stand anyone hitting an animal.”

He held up his phone, and even as he did so, it vibrated again. “No rest for the wicked. It’s good you cared enough to help.”

We had to wait a few minutes for the vet to come out, so I got a cup of terrible coffee from the vending machine while Luke made a phone call. When the vet finally did appear, his expression didn’t give much away.

“It’s her suspensory ligament, as I suspected. She needs a month of box rest.”

Samara wasn’t going to enjoy being confined to barracks. “What’s the long-term prognosis?”

“She should make a full recovery as long as you don’t try to rush her back into work.”

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