“I miss them,” Jonah says quietly.
Who? The Wilson’s grandparents? Someone else? Why does Jonah know something about Candice that I don’t?
“Me too,” Candice says.
After a heavy moment of silence Jonah mumbles something about going out to his truck to shape a new shoe for Jazz Apple.
“What was that about?” I ask, though I’m pretty certain it was about her grandparents. It would seem Jonah knew them.
“Why are you here?” Candice asks, instead of answering my question. “You’re hovering.”
“I’m interested in everything that concerns the horses here,” I say defensively. “And I want to look at his work before asking him if he can do a new set of shoes for Ballantine.”
Candice rolls her eyes exaggeratedly. “Cool it, Nathan. Jonah is the best farrier around and a longtime family friend. And he gives us a reduced rate because he’s nice, sodon’tpiss him off.”
“Fine,” I say.
I want to tell her that I’ve already sent in two donations to the Star Mountain fundraiser online, and that I’ve got a few more scheduled. It’s petty of me, but I don’t like the idea of another man helping her, in any way, even if he is just a friend. That’s my job.
What? Where the hell did that thought come from?
I need to go for a ride or do something else to clear my head because I’m going insane. My dirty fantasy this morning clearly fucked with my head.
“I’ll, uh, get going then,” I say. “There’s probably a lot that needs doing around here still.”
“Always is,” Candice says, without looking at me.
One step forward, two steps back, I guess.
17
CANDICE
“Now,I know you weren’t there, Maggie, but he was being weird,” I say to my horse, as we slow to a walk. “He wouldn’t leave me alone when I was talking to Jonah, and he still won’t tell me what’s up.”
Maggie lets out a snort in answer, and her breath immediately crystallizes in the frigid air. We’re on a trail ride today, and I’m wearing my chaps to keep warm, along with a quilted jacket and many, many layers. I pull Maggie to a stop, and dismount. I slip her bridle off, switch it out for a rope halter, and tie her up to an old fence. While she noses around in the dying grass for something to eat, I start taking a few photos of her set against the winter landscape.
I’m trying to be consistent with posting, just like Nathan said I should be, and so far it’s paying off. People loved the photos he took of me, though I’m sure the fact that I credited him was part of that. But some of those people definitely donated money, because the barn’s fundraiser is going well, too. We even received an anonymous donation for five hundred dollars. Money is money, and I’m happy to milk Nathan’s celebrity status for as long as possible.
I take a few more photos, including one of my booted feet on the ground, as well as a quick selfie with Maggie. I don’t know if I’ll post it, but I like having plenty of photos with her. She’s not that old, probably only thirteen or fourteen, but she won’t be around forever.
Icy fear grips my heart, like it always does whenever I think of one of the horses dying, or even getting sick. Whenever one of them so much as pulls a muscle I have to force myself to remain calm, and not to overthink things. Sometimes, though, I can’t help it. It reminds me too much of what happened when my grandparents died—how Grammy got sick and then Gramps just wasted away without her. How Beau and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.
It also reminds me of how confused and small I felt when they tried to explain to me that our parents were gone. That they weren’t coming back, ever. I don’t have a ton of memories from that age, but I’ve never forgotten that feeling of confusion.
“Don’t ever leave me, Mags,” I tell my horse, giving her a scratch. I pull out some pellets from my saddle bag and scatter them on the ground for her.
I’m so lost in my thoughts of grief and family that I don’t notice another rider approaching until they’re close by. I hear the clomping of hooves, and when I turn around, I’m relieved to see that it’s Nathan and Ballantine.
“Oh, it’s you,” I say.
“Don’t sound so disappointed,” he drawls, pulling Bally up beside Maggie.
“Well, don’t stop on my account,” I say. “Continue on with your ride.”
He dismounts and ties Ballantine up anyway though, and then takes a step towards me. Sandwiched between the two horses, I have nowhere to go.
“No, I think I’ll take a break,” he says. “I need to take a few photos and post them to my social media accounts anyways. My manager thinks I need to show the world that I’m leading a wholesome life at the moment, and what’s more wholesome than a trail ride?”
