“Maple Drive in Thornburn. Uh-huh. Back paddock. Close to the windmill. Last property on the street. Okay. Oh, you have everything we need to secure the horse? That’s great. I’ll be right there.”
He ends the call. “Escaped horse,” he tells me, striding to the parking lot.
“I’m coming with you.”
He slows down a fraction. “Haven’t you quit?”
“It’s Friday. My quitting is effective as of Monday.”
A soft breath slips past his lips. “Thanks, Jackson.”
19
Maverick
Thornburn is a small town, about a twenty-minute drive from the sanctuary. We found the street, found the last house on the street, and found the back paddock. The only thing still missing is the horse.
We expanded our search and have been driving in concentrated silence for over an hour, and still no sign of the creature.
“Try calling the number again,” I suggest, swinging back onto Maple Drive for yet another drive-by.
“Fine.” Jackson sighs. “But if she hasn’t picked up the first four times, I doubt she will now.”
He’s probably right, but at least it feels like we’re doing something. Truth be told, I’m grateful Jackson tagged along. I was so worked up from our argument I hadn’t given any thought as to how I would capture a wild horse and haul its ass into the center’s pickup truck all by myself.
The phone rings out again. He shoots me anI told you solook before turning and squinting out the window. It’s getting dark, so it’s only going to get even harder to find this damn horse.
I drive slowly, keeping a lookout with one eye, my mind still reeling from the explosive fight. I’ve witnessed Jackson losing his shit on several occasions, but I’ve never seen him as enraged as he was before.
I get it. It’s his home. It means a lot to him.
But his reaction was way worse than any worst-case scenario I could have braced for. I’m actually a little surprised he got angry at all. Part of me had hoped he’d be happy, appreciative even, that I was giving him the option of picking out his newhome. Wouldn’t most people think that’s actually a nice thing to do? Then again, since when has Jackson ever beenmost people?
“Try that street again,” he says, narrowing his eyes at a dirt road up ahead.
We’ve been down it several times already, but it’s as good a shot as any, so I make the turn.
I’m stuck on something else he said. The to-do list.
I honestly thought that was his way of showing me we could put whatever silly games we’d been playing behind us and that he was going to lend me some much-needed support. But instead, I find out it was nothing more than a tactic to overwhelm me, in the hopes of what? Giving up? Relegating the sanctuary into the too-hard pile and abandoning it like every other previous owner has?
I don’t know what I have to do to get it through that thick head of his, butI. Am Not. Leaving.
I’m mad at him about that.
I’mreallymad at him about that. But my anger is joined by another emotion—sadness.
Sadness for Jackson and his family for losing their land and the sanctuary.
I have nothing else to go on apart from what Candice told me. She called it the worst deal in history. Did Clancy get swindled somehow? Was there something underhanded at play? Were the Duporths involved?
So many questions are swirling in my head, and as always with Jackson, nothing is ever simple or clear-cut. Once we find this horse, take it back to the sanctuary, and make sure it’s okay, he and I need to sit down and have a proper, coolheaded, adult conversation once and for all.
“Something’s not adding up,” Jackson mutters as I pull up to the last house on the street yet again. It’s a cozy cottage, sittingon I’d guess at least twenty acres, totally isolated with no other houses in sight.
“What do you mean?” I kill the engine, looking around for any signs of the animal.
He waves the cell phone. “Why isn’t she answering? Where is she?Whois she to see a horse all the way out here and then call us when there’s a rescue center in Thornburn? Why would she mention she has everything we need to secure him? And why is the front door open?”
