“You’re a tough cookie, Candice, you know that?” My brother sighs and looks a bit beaten down for a moment.
I feel guilty for about the third time in this conversation and promise myself that I’ll be nicer to Beau. He’ll go head-to-head with me when need be, but he doesn’t like to. Despite his grumpy exterior, he’s actually kind and patient when he needs to be.
Unlike me.
“A hissing viper” is what Nathan called me the first time I met him, and the look Beau is giving me right now says that he’d agree with that assessment.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “But something about Nathan just pisses me off, okay? You know I’m not a rodeo gal. If he’s staying in the house with us, I’ll end up killing him. And besides, he’ll need to learn how to work well with Tomás. Being in the bunkhouse will help with that.”
The bunkhouse is where we house stable hands and volunteers who need somewhere to stay. We only have a few permanent members of staff, and usually operate with a revolving door of volunteers helping us out. People come from all over to do community service at our rescue, and I’ve been known to take in a few strays here and there.
Jenny, who helps out in the office and with the goats, came to us a few years ago after getting out of jail, and never left. Her ex-husband accused her of abuse, even though she was only defending herself from him. Star Mountain gave her safety, and a second chance at life. Tomás, our one permanent stable hand, did community service here for a while too, and then stayed on for good.
Thankfully, neither of them cares that I can only pay them pennies. At least room and board is included.
“You’re right,” Beau says. “The bunkhouse will be fine.”
“Can he handle it?” I ask. “Is he able to work well with others?”
“Yes, Candice, he can work well with others. Just not with you, apparently.”
I cross my arms again. “And what about the digs? Will he be annoyed at how rustic everything is?” Rustic is a nice word for the bunkhouse, frankly.
“The man grew up on a cattle ranch for Christ’s sake. He’ll be fine.”
“As if he’d ever let anyone forget that fact,” I shoot back.
“What the hell does that mean?” Beau is scowling now, and I can tell that my brother is just about done with this conversation.
“Oh you know, every single interview the man gives begins with some story about what it was like on daddy’s ranch out there under the stars.” I wave my hand and scrunch up my nose.
Beau snorts. “Didn’t know you watched his interviews so intently.”
Damn it. I’ll never admit it to Beau, but sometimes I watch Nathan’s interviews just to rile myself up and make up arguments I could be having with him in my head. The thing is, at one point, Nathan and I might have been friends: we’re both from Montana, we both grew up with horses, and we both love working with animals more than anything else. But he’s miles away from the country boy he once was. The buckles and sponsorships saw to that.
“It’s hard to escape them,” I say vaguely. “I’m going to see how Brown Sugar is settling in,” I continue, referring to the anxious horse who arrived at the rescue yesterday.
“I checked on her earlier,” Beau says. “She’s doing fine.”
“I know, but still. I want her to get used to me.”
Beau nods, but his eyes are sharp, and I can tell that he knows I’m using our new patient as an excuse to stop talking about Nathan.
“He arrives tomorrow, by the way,” Beau says.
“That’s fine.” It’s not, but I need to get used to the idea of Nathan being here and I might as well start now.
I head out of the barn office and into the stable. The smell of horses welcomes me, comforting me instantly with its familiarity. The stable at Star Mountain Horse Rescue is the best maintained building on the property, though still run down, and has two long aisles of stalls, each big enough for a horse to lay down in. As I walk down one aisle, a few familiar faces poke their heads over stall doors to greet me.
“Hey Mags,” I say, stopping to scratch my mare under the chin. She whickers softly at me, and swings her head into my shoulder, pressing into me. She’s inside having her evening meal, and I’ll be taking her out again later.
“I know,” I say. “I haven’t had time today to see you. But we’ve got a newbie here who I have to look after.” Maggie nudges me in response. “You’ll like her, I promise.”
Maggie plays hard to get, but she’s like a mother hen for the whole barn and is a constant presence beside me when I work with nervous horses. Horses are herd animals, and they need the type of calm reassurance that Maggie projects. I give her a kiss on her forehead, and head to quarantine stalls where Brown Sugar is being housed for a few more days.
She’s munching away on some hay and doesn’t immediately look up at me. When she does, she backs up a bit and her nostrils flare slightly.
“Hey, Brownie girl,” I say softly, keeping my voice as calm as possible. “It’s okay. It’s just me. We met yesterday. You can get back to your hay, I’m not going to bother you.” I reach into my pocket and pull out a few rounds of carrot. I place one on the top of the stall, and take a step back.
