Page 5 of Preacher

“Next up, we got a bay mare. She’s heavy in foal. Looks to be seven to eight months along,” the auctioneer droned. “She’s got herself a bad foot, but there’s still some good meat on her bones.”

I stepped closer to the railing as I asked, “What’s her number?”

“Let me see.” The man beside me squinted down at his clipboard. “Lot ninety-seven.”

I looked at her again and watched as her ears twitched but didn’t lift. She remained still even when the whip cracked behind her. I knew then that she’d already given up. I stepped closer as I whispered, “Hey there, sweet girl. I see you.”

She shifted her weight, and for a moment, I thought she might step toward me. But then the auctioneer barked something, and she froze again. I clenched my jaw. That was enough.

Realizing I was about to make a move, Nikolai groaned, “Come on, Mom. The vet bills alone are going to be a fortune.”

“Two hundred,” someone called.

I didn’t even turn my head when I called out, “Five hundred.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. It was too much for a mare like her, but I didn’t care. She was going to be mine.

“Six,” a voice countered. I knew without looking that it was one of the kill buyers.

I turned, slow and deliberate, and met his gaze. “One thousand.”

His lips pressed into a thin line.

He knew better than to counter.

Seconds later, the hammer fell, and just like that, she was mine.

They moved her out of the ring, and I immediately made my way over to her. I placed my palm on her side as I leaned in and whispered, “You hear that, mama? You and that sweet baby are getting out of here. You’re going home.”

He led her to the back with the others, and Nikolai helped Wyatt, our handler, load the horses onto the trailer. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched my big, strong, tattooed son sweet-talking the brown and white mare. He was the most intense of my three boys, and it was rare to see his softer side. But it was there, and the horses could sense it.

It was one of the reasons I asked him to come with me. I knew I could trust him to be good to the horses and show them the kindness they deserved. The trailer door clanged shut, and the last of our new rescues were secured for the short drive back to the estate.

After one last check, Wyatt patted the side of the rig and called out, “They’re ready to roll.”

I nodded, and then Nikolai and I got in the car. We followed close behind as Wyatt pulled out of the auction yard and started towards home. The drive was short but just long enough for my mind to wander, and I started to think about how good things had been going.

When we moved from New York, we were able to purchase a great deal of land, some on the riverside and some out in the country. The boys had their plans for the riverfront, and I had mine for the country. I wanted the ranch I’d dreamed of since I was a little girl, and I’d finally had the means to get it.

It was two hundred acres of rolling pastures and thick tree lines. It was beautiful, and the barn was state-of-the-art. Not only did it have an entire loft that housed my very own two-bedroom apartment with all the necessities, but it also had over forty, large-scale stalls. Each of them was temperature-controlled and built for comfort and care. Over twenty-five horses already called this place home, and every one of them had their own story.

Magnus, my black Friesian, was one of my favorites. He was all heart and had a gentle soul. He was on death’s door when we brought him home, and all it took was a little time and love for him to find the strength to pull through. Since then, he’d always gone out of his way to thank me for my kindness by giving me a neighing nod or resting his head on my shoulder.

Pearl, my oh-so stubborn Andalusian, also held a special place in my heart. It had been years since I’d brought her home, and she still looked at me like I owed her an apology for rescuing her. But she was good with the younger horses and looked after them like she was a grandmother of sorts.

These new ones—the broken and beaten down—would eventually claim their place here, too. They might not have long, but they’d have a few good years, maybe more, if we were lucky.

The truck came to a stop, and Nikolai and I parked right behind him. I got out and waited as Wyatt opened the trailer door. He shook his head with a wince as he muttered, “Looks like they survived the trip.”

“They certainly did,” I said, then added, “Now, call in the vet, and let’s get them back on their feet.”

He gave a nod and was already pulling out his phone. When Nikolai started unloading, I stepped over and helped him with the pregnant mare. I took hold of her reigns and coaxed her softly as I led her into her stall. She cowered in the corner and watched as I filled her bucket with feed and freshened her water.

Once I was done, I didn’t go over to her. I knew she needed some time to adjust, so I stood at the gate as I told her, “You can rest easy, sweet girl. You’re safe now.”

She studied me for a moment, then lowered her head and stared down at the ground. Hoping that she’d eat once I left, I stepped towards the door and whispered, “The vet will be here soon. We’ll get that foot checked out and see how that baby’s doing.”

I stepped out and closed the stall door.

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