Page 21 of Home to the Hollow

Could those dates line up with ones my mom went on college recruiting jaunts? I can’t remember, and that makes me scream in irritation. My brain has the capacity for infinite amounts of bull crap, butnotmemories of my childhood. It’s absolutely baffling.

I finally give in and leave the bags of astounding garments for further perusal later. I won’t remember anything right now, and I’m wasting daylight while I stand here and struggle. With the clothes finished, I head for the spare bedroom to work off my frustration on whatever is lying in wait in that mess. I don’t think it will hold many secrets, but the office will be last and that I’m banking on holding the keys to the kingdom.

Making Bad Decisions

Itake back what I said yesterday.

The spare bedroom led to finding what I can only describe as a drool-worthy collection of shoes and a bunch of junk that ended up in the trash stacks. The office was a total bust, and I couldn’t be more disappointed by the lack of… anything… that seemed important or mysterious. My only saving grace was that I stored all the documents for later and created a stack of questions for when I have Jackson come down and catch me up on the all the estate shit.

Looking at the computer screen, I sigh. I’ve been putting off heading towards the farm by spending the last couple of hours ordering furniture, bedding, and all the house shit I’m going to need to make this place mine. Jekyll and Hyde went out in the back for a bit while I did so, hopefully getting out the abundance of energy they woke up with.

According to the internet, it’s not uncommon for cats to be lazy as hell and then full of energy, especially a designer breed like those two.

Cleaning up the breakfast mess I’d left, I poke my head out the back door to see them bounding around. I ordered the glasses and about a hundred other idiotic pet owner things for them, but I need to order collars and sensors for a cat door. I’m sure that I can get Gene to install it if I get whatever new-fangled what-sit I find on the ‘Zon. I’d like them to have independence. They look at me as if I’ve called their names before they go back to terrorizing the birds in the landscaping.

I guess it’s okay to leave them to their frolicking while I go get ready for this… date.

Jesus. I don’t remember the last time I had anything besides an escort to an event or a one-night stand. It’s not like I usually have men in my home… My cheeks burn bright red as I remember the other night, and I shake my head to clear it. Edgar was a mistake with a capital ‘M’ and I’m not going to let that ever happen again. Aggravated and embarrassed, I stride upstairs to throw on clothes suitable for riding horses, vowing to ignore the hot young vet while I get the lay of the land at the Cantwell’s farm.

I dig through the boxes stacked in the master, finding the one marked equestrian and pull out what I need. After I lay out my clothes and boots, I head into the bathroom. I refuse to get too dolled up because I’m only going to see the animals. A few swipes with mascara and shadow and a high ponytail later, I feel like I’ve done enough to appear acceptable if any of the Cantwells are lurking about.

Tugging on a totally unsexy pair of undies that won’t chafe, I grin a little. At least I won’t get tempted by undergarments while I’m trying not to stare at the smoking hot genius. Boot socks come next, then breeches, dress boots, and finally a tight short-sleeved shirt. I grab my favorite pair of gloves, looking around to make certain I didn’t forget anything. Once satisfied, I head downstairs, whistling to call the boys in.

Jekyll and Hyde zoom inside, looking happy and ready to rock. I stuff my gloves into my messenger bag and frown as I put on my sunglasses. Everywhere in town has been accommodating about my shadows coming with me, so I’m going to assume that the Cantwells ranch will be the same. If nothing else, they can run in one field as long as they stay out of hoof range.

“Okay, boys. We’re going for a ride. Promise to behave and for the love of everything that’s holy,don’tlet me do anythingstupidthis time.”

They look at one another, then at me, and if cats could shrug, I’m fairly sure that’s what they’d be doing.

Great. Some protectors they are.

* * *

I pullup to the sprawling horse farm with music streaming from my open windows. My companions are pulling their hyena trick again, and the workers we pass point at them as I slide into a spot in the employee lot. I’m not an employee, obviously, but I plan on helping to exercise the horses, so you could call me a future employee.

That’s close enough, right?

Looking at the servals, I put on a stern expression. “So, for real, my dudes. You can get out and roam. People might even feed you—that’s all good. All I need you to promise is that you won’t kill any of their animals or plants and you won’t scare anyone unless they’re threatening me. And this gorgeous young vet guy is gonna want to look at you for a few, so let him do it.”

They look at me with wide eyes before dipping their heads and letting out a resounding, “Mow!”

“Cool. Just be cool and I’ll get you nice, thick steaks tonight instead of meatballs. Also…don’tlet me do anything stupid? Please?”

I can’t believe I’m asking my erstwhile, uninvited pets to babysit me, but this week has taught me I’m feral and Idoneed watching until I re-integrate into society.

“Mrrrp?” Hyde asks, tilting his head as if that’s a silly request.

He’s right.

“Yeah, barge in and be cute or something if I’m fucking up. I don’t care. Just stop me.” Heads bob again, and I sigh, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “Let’s rock.” Rolling out of the Impala, I adjust my shades and look around.

They filled the entrance to the farm with all the Southern finery of a big house, apple trees, and landscaping—a tour set up, I’d guess. Horse racing is big business in this state, and people come from far and wide near Derby and Keeneland season. They love to tour the Bourbon Trail and the horse farms to get the ‘flavor’ of the area. I saw the visitor trails, picture perfect fountains and statuary, and the steeples from the road.

However, the employee side of the farm is buzzing with activity. Grooms walking foals, mares, and studs along paths slowly have their heads down as they watch to make sure the expensive horses don’t catch their hooves. Stables the size of small houses where they house their prize-winning thoroughbreds and brood stock. On-site housing for trainers, jockeys, grooms, and other staff litters the horizon in the east.

Training circles and huge, open fields sprawl for miles to the west. I see a building that looks like it contains the business office and decide it’s probably where I should check in. I could go to the stable and ask for directions because I speak a smattering of languages, but that might get me in trouble with the security that is invisible but certainly there.

I whistle at the boys and start towards that building, nodding at the employees I pass. When I open the door, an alarm beeps, causing the svelte woman at the desk to peer over her glasses at me. Squinting, I frown as I work to place her. She’s young—about the doc’s age—and dressed in what must be a tailor-made uniform of chic designer jeans, a sharp blouse with the farm’s name embroidered on it and perfect hair and makeup. She looks vaguely familiar, but given her age, I know I didn’t go to school with her.

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