Page 12 of Windlass

“That’s a hike,” said Stevie. She remembered what horse fever felt like. It wasn’t until Morgan’s mother allowed her to help out at the Donovan farm that she’d been able to be near them consistently. Her family couldn’t afford riding lessons or horse camp or 4-H or any of the other equine activities other kids in her class participated in. Mrs. Donovan had taught Stevie how to ride and care for horses—and sheep, goats, and chickens. Without Mrs. Donovan’s kindness, Stevie’s life would look very different.

Fuuuuuuuck. She drew out the curse in her head. This was one of those horrible “pay it forward” moments that tested a person’s character. Here was her chance to offer someone else the opportunity that had changed her own life. Was she really going to pass it up? She rubbed her forehead to soothe the throbbing headache.

“I mean, I suppose we could use a little help.” She looked to Ivy for assistance.

“Freddie could always use more TLC.” Ivy patted his neck. “This is Freddie. The lump—”

“She’s a beautiful lump.”

“—in the pasture is Olive. And yes, she’s beautiful. I’m Ivy.”

Jaq, who had turned bright pink under Ivy’s attention, nodded mutely.

Stevie discovered over the course of the ensuing conversation Ivy carried out with Jaq as the two of them untacked and groomed Freddie, Ivy walking Jaq through her routine, that Jaq was fourteen, lived up the road, had two siblings, didn’t care much for school, had a dog, had done a little riding but not much, and mostly just really, really, really wanted to be around horses.

Stevie retrieved Olive for an evening groom while they worked. The rhythm of the curry comb passing over Olive’s familiar frame calmed her mind, and she nearly jumped when Jaq turned up beside her. Stevie passed her a hard brush.

“How did you get Olive?”

“She was a client’s horse, actually. I work for a veterinarian—did Ivy tell you that? She’s a vet too. Anyway, Morgan—Dr. Donovan—and I got a call about a downed horse. When we got there the woman said the horse was her niece’s, but the niece didn’t want her because she couldn’t barrel race.”

“She wanted to barrel race a draft horse?” Jaq’s doubtful tone warmed Stevie to her despite her foul mood.

“Exactly. Idiot, right? She didn’t want to pay for the surgery Olive needed, and the farmer couldn’t afford it, so it was put her down or . . .”

“You saved her.” Jaq stroked Olive’s nose and looked into the horse’s eyes, her young face taut with sympathy and something like pain. Stevie glanced away. Her own pain was plenty. She didn’t need to burden herself with this kid’s, too.

Even as she thought the words she sensed the lie in them. Twenty minutes in this kid’s quiet company and Stevie was ready to go to war against anyone who hurt her.

“Yeah, I guess I did.” She wasn’t sure what else to say. She had saved Olive, but there were so many other animals she hadn’t been able to save, and it seemed inappropriate to accept the credit Jaq seemed eager to give her. Sarcastically she added, “Figured I needed a barrel racing prospect.”

Jaq smiled, still looking at Olive. “What do you do with her?”

“Mostly trail rides.” Stevie patted Olive’s warm shoulder. “Mounted archery, too, because I’m a nerd.”

“That’s nerdy?”

“I mean . . .” Was it these days? She’d just said it for the hell of it, unsure how to explain her interest. “I read a lot of fantasy.”

“That’s cool.”

Something was wrong with today’s youth—or mayberight. Reading fantasy had been the opposite of cool when she was younger. She eyed Jaq to see if she was being sarcastic. The kid had moved on to scratching Olive’s jaw, which the horse loved; her lower lip drooped in appreciation.

“Does Ivy shoot, too?”

“Nah, she’s normal. Three-day eventing or something. She’s really good, though. Look her up sometime. She’ll be a good teacher.”

Ivy met Stevie’s eyes over the horses’ backs and gave an appreciative nod.

Jaq busied herself brushing Olive, leaving Stevie to return to her dark thoughts. The effort of keeping her bad mood to herself was taxing, even with Jaq’s admittedly pleasant presence. Eventually Stevie sighed, leaning an arm across Olive’s withers, and rested her face in Olive’s flaxen mane. Maybe that was all she could hope for in terms of happiness in love: the constancy of animals. That could be enough, right? She didn’t need to be yanked around—

Angie wasn’t yanking her around, she reminded herself. Angie owed her nothing except friendship. If anything, Stevie was being the asshole by expecting something from Angie that Angie wasn’t able to give. She still wanted Lana to fall in a bear trap, preferably one filled with rusty spikes.

Olive twitched her skin, indicating she’d had enough of Stevie’s melodrama. She straightened. If Jaq had noticed her strange collapse, she didn’t say anything, earning her another point in Stevie’s estimation.

The soft knock on the barn door separating Angie’s work from the horse stalls interrupted the snow of horsehair falling on the barn floor.

“You can come in,” she said, not turning around. Her chest gave an unhealthy spasm. She knew that knock. She saw Jaq and Ivy look up out of the corner of her eye, wave, pause, and then Ivy murmured something about taking Freddie and Jaq for a walk around the pasture.

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