Page 8 of My Queendom for a Horse

That’s exactly how I feel right now. Angry. Confused. Maybe a little scared. And I need to be just as firm as he looks. “No dates,” I say. “You dumped me, remember?” I clench my hands at my sides. “Please, Sean. Please leave me alone.”

His eyes are hurt. His body stiffens.

Guilt rolls through me, but I hold the line. What else can I do?

I walk away from Sean and toward Obsidian Devil, trying not to watch as Sean stuffs his hands in his pockets and spins around. I’m not quite as unconcerned with his departure as I wish I was, because if I were paying more attention, I’d never run right into Alfie Rickets, knocking his perfect top hat off his head and into a mud puddle.

A top hat? Really? Some people take the retro look a little too far. Does he think he’s Charles Dickens? I ought to choke out an apology and pick up his hat. As a matter of common courtesy, I ought to at least try to brush it off. But when I think about how he’s treated my dad, I can’t bring myself to do it.

Now that I’m a little closer, I can see that, while Obsidian Devil is standing relatively calmly, he must not have been recently. Four men are holding onto ropes that are wrapped around various parts of him. The one around his face is already strung with a stallion chain, for all the good it’s doing them.

Obsidian tosses his head and whinnies loudly, as if he’s calling me over.

I really need to get the bank paid so I relax. I need to stop seeing things that can’t possibly be real.

“Come on,” the man at the front says. “Let’s go, you tosser.”

But Obsidian Devil isn’t going anywhere, apparently. He sets his legs and throws his head, flinging the guy who just yelled at him two feet forward. The man almost drops the rope.

They’re clearly having a hard time shoving him into a trailer. One rope’s attached to his halter, and the other three are looped around his legs. A fifth man wearing a blue coat’s approaching with a tranquilizer gun.

Was he even properly cooled down? He looks sweaty and winded. Surely Finn would have seen to that much, right?

“What’s going on with him?” I turn toward Rickets. “Why would you bring a horse you can’t handle?”

He scowls.

“You should have given him Ace long before it got to this point.”

“It’s none of your business.”

Instead of the apology I should really be making for running into him, for butting into his business, and for being absurdly rude, I find myself jabbing Dad’s nemesis in the chest. “Mister Rickets.”

“You have nothing to do with any of this.” Alfred Rickets raises one eyebrow and glances down at his hat, which is still soaking up mud in a puddle on the ground.

The man in the blue jacket’s still walking closer, holding the tranquilizer.

“Have you already sedated him?” I ask, playing a hunch.

“Butt out,” Rickets says.

But at the same time, the man with the gun says, “Two doses. Bastard’s still kicking.”

Two doses? His head should be low, almost hanging. Giving him any more than he’s had isn’t safe. “You can’t give him more,” I say. “His heart could stop. At a baseline, he won’t be able to respond to starts and stops. He could get injured.”

“He’s not yours,” Rickets says. “The last thing I need is the advice of a hack.”

“I’m a licensed veterinarian,” I say. “At least let me try to load him for you before sedating him again.”

Alfred Rickets scowls. “I’ll repeat myself because I know your intelligence level is quite low. He’s not yours, so toss off.”

I take a step back. Toss off? “When you resort to name calling, you’ve already lost the argument.”

He finally leans over to pick up his hat.

I can’t quite help my smile when muddy water runs over his hand and splashes on the front of his pristine khaki trousers. “I don’t believe an argument ever took place, and stating facts isn’t the same as calling names.” He sighs. “You poor girl. You seem to have taken after your father instead of your mother. A real shame.”

I want to punch him. Instead, I simply repeat, “Let me offer you my services one more time. It’s clear you can’t handle your own horse.”

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