Page 30 of A Photo Finish
I start with a big rubber currycomb at the top of her neck, brushing in tight circles and watching all the dust and loose hair come up to the surface as I work my way down to her shoulder. When I get to her withers, she sighs and lets her eyes fall shut. Like she’s getting the best massage. I continue, getting lost in the rhythm of the circular motion and working my way around her body.
By the time I get to the other side of her, she’s so relaxed she has one hoof tipped and resting on the ground casually. She islovingthis. And so am I. I’m completely blissed-out. Zoned out.
Which is why I jump when I hear a car pull up. I turn to see the old blue truck, the one Hank got from Dermot and has kept running. It always warms my heart the way this place has stayed in the family. The way Dermot and Ada’s legacy has tied everyone together—even when things got turbulent.
“Hey, Vi!” he hollers as he steps out, looking a little stiff. “How do you like your present?” His grin is infectious, all the lines on his face deepening around twinkling green eyes. Hank is wise, and kind, and comforting, and I’ve come to love him over the last couple years we’ve spent working together. He’s been a surrogate father to Billie since she was a teenager, but I feel as though he’s taken that role over with the rest of us at the farm as well.
“Like? I don’t like my present. Iloveher!” I beam back so wide that it almost hurts my cheeks.
He reaches back into the truck and pulls out a bouquet of pink tulips before marching over and holding them out to me over the fence. “Sorry I haven’t checked in on you since your accident. I’ve been getting regular updates from everyone else but didn’t want to crowd you.”
Taking the flowers from him, I hold them up to my nose and inhale that fresh grassy smell, the hint of honey. “Thank you for the flowers. And don’t worry about it. I haven’t been the best company.”
Pippy does the same, running her nose over the soft petals curiously.
Hank doesn’t push the subject; instead, he just chuckles and reaches a firm hand out to pat the filly. “She’s a funny little thing, isn’t she? So curious about the world. I’m quite fond of her myself.”
I sigh contentedly before looking back up at the man. “Me too. I think we’re going to get along well.”
Hank nods as he presses his elbows into the fence. He looks over at the blue farmhouse, a flash of sadness streaking across his features. “How are you getting along with Cole?”
How am I getting along with Cole? We communicate mostly in grunts and glares. We ignore the awkward vibe between us. I try not to stare at his body as if it’s a cold drink on a hot day. It’s basically torture. So, I just settle on, “He’s no Pippy.”
Hank barks out a laugh. His head tips back, and his chest rumbles. “That he’s not. He reminds me of Dermot. The kind of man who would do almost anything for the people he loves. But hard to get to know. Strong. Silent. Sensitive.”
Sensitive?I almost laugh. If we’re going with s-words, I pick surly. But my dad always told me that if I have nothing nice to say, it’s best not to say anything at all. So that’s what I do. I say nothing and just give Hank a small smile.
But I’m not fooling him. I can tell by the look on his face.
He tips his head back toward the house. “You know his dad grew up in that house?”
I look at it too. I know his dad died in a tragic racing accident, but not much else. “I didn’t know that, no.”
Hank nods. “I think it might be hard for him to be out here, even though he’d never admit it. I’m sad about your leg, but I’m glad he’s not alone. It’s hard not to worry about all you kids.” He chuckles good-naturedly. “May not have had any of my own, but I feel like you’re all mine anyway.”
My chest pinches at the thought of the ghosts Cole might live with, and my eyes sting thinking he could be as sensitive as Hank is saying. Maybe I’ve been misinterpreting him this entire time? I blink and change the subject, trying to keep my mind from focusing on the puzzle that is Cole Harding. “Didn’t want any kids?”
He smiles sadly. “I’d have loved to have kids. Guess it just wasn’t in the cards.”
“Good thing we’re all here to fill in for you then,” I say with a wink, trying to lighten the mood.
Hank gives my shoulder a quick squeeze. “I’m lucky to have you all. But I won’t bother ya. Just wanted to drop the flowers off and see your smiling face. If you need me, you’ve got my number. Take care of the boy, will ya?”
I smile and roll my eyes. Theboycan take care of himself. “Thank you for the flowers, Hank.” I limp out through the gate, wrap my free arm around his torso, and give him a quick squeeze. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“Deal,” he says as he strides off with his signature wink and grin, firing up the old truck. I wave back at him as I enter the house to get the flowers in a vase of water. I set them on the counter. They really are pretty, and they bring some much-needed life to the place. And then I head back outside and get back to brushing Pippy’s fuzzy coat.
I feel more than hear Cole arrive back from his run, like a low-pressure weather system blowing in. I only peek at him before I realize it’s not a good idea. His shirt is damp with sweat, clinging to his body in an almost erotic way, and his cheeks are flushed pink, making him look younger than I now know he is. It’s probably too warm to be running in sweatpants, but that’s not my business. He has a mom. And every other thought I have about the man is distinctly un-mom-like.
I bite down on my bottom lip to distract myself. Our eyes meet briefly before I turn back to Pipsqueak, focusing on using a soft bristle brush now to sweep all that dirt and dander away. Cole and I say nothing to each other, and that’s fine by me. He’s probably still mad about my big mouth—and I can’t blame him for that. I betrayed what little trust I owed him. Something I feel bad about but have no idea how to fix.
I can only fix what’s right in front of me. So, I focus on the ratty looking little filly and promise myself I’ll clean her up as best I can. My arm aches with the elbow grease I put into her, but by the time I’m done, she looks . . . better.
Standing back to admire my handiwork, I prop my hands on my hips. Maybe she’s not shiny yet, but I thinned out her light bay winter coat, and I’m sure it will glow bronze once I get her on a better feeding regimen. Her four white socks are actually white now rather than gray, and her hooves are shining with the moisturizing oil I’ve applied. She’s going to be a work in progress—after all, she just got pulled out of a back field—but I feel accomplished. Hopeful.
And for the first time in the last week, I don’t feel quite so sorry for myself.
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