Fated (The Soul Seekers #1)(33)
My own horse?
I’ve never owned a pet before, even though, according to Chay, I won’t actually own her—still, there’s no way I can turn down an offer like that.
Yet I manage to say, “Shouldn’t she be the one who decides? I mean, I’m the one who made her eat her snack off the floor. She may not want me looking after her.”
Chay takes a moment to consider my words. “Okay then, let’s give you a leg up and see how you two get along.”
I balk, unsure how to respond. “Seriously?”
He nods.
“But what about my cast? Paloma said I should wait ’til it comes off, which might be as early as tomorrow. Still, she specifically told me I could look, touch, but not ride.”
Chay smiles in a way that makes his eyes appear hooded. “Paloma can be a bit overcautious. You’ll be fine. And I doubt Kachina will mind. I tell you what—I’ll take full responsibility should anything happen to either one of you, deal?”
I hesitate, though it’s not long before I nod my consent, and the next thing I know he’s lifted me onto her back.
We ride for a while, my paint and his Appaloosa walking the trail side by side, kicking up dirt. Though we don’t run, we don’t lope, we don’t so much as break into a trot. Chay says there’s plenty of time for that later, but for now, I need to get used to the feel of being on horseback again.
“So, do you live here on the reservation?” I ask, my voice competing with the rustle of wind moving through the trees, the leaves jostling each other like chimes. A bit embarrassed by the question, it seems like something I should already know, but I was looking for something to say, something to break up the silence, and it’s the best I could do.
He squints into the distance, his gaze searching long past the nearby grove of trees, focusing hard on something I can’t quite make out. His voice vague, noncommittal, when he says, “Not anymore. Though my father does. He’s a tribal elder.”
He yanks on the reins, and I do the same, our horses coming to a halt as I strain to follow the length of his stare. But other than a juniper tree with branches so twisted they appear almost deformed, I can’t see much of anything. “He’s nearly eighty,” he adds, returning his attention to me and pulling on Kachina’s bridle until we’re both turned around and heading back the same way we came. “Nearly eighty and still strong as a bear.” He grins in a way that tells me he’s struggling to find his way back to my question, though his mind resides elsewhere. “He lets me keep some of the horses at his place, while the rest stay at mine.”
I gaze around a wide open plain marked by the occasional adobe, thinking that other than the absence of a town (though there is a casino just off the main road, along with a gas station/convenience store), it doesn’t look all that different from the neighborhood where Paloma lives.
“Have you always lived in Enchantment?” I ask.
“Went away to college.” He shrugs. “Then from there, I went on to vet school at Colorado State—but it wasn’t long after I graduated when I found my way back.”
“Why?” I ask, my tone betraying what I’m really thinking: Why would an educated person—a person with choices—choose to remain in this place?
But if Chay’s offended, he doesn’t show it. He just laughs, shakes his head, and says, “Oh, I suppose there’s all sorts of reasons—some more compelling than others.” Then, without stating what those reasons might be, he adds, “So, what did you think of your first ride?”
“I liked it.” I shrug. “I think I’d like to ride her again, if it’s okay with you. And, of course, okay with her.” I reach down to pat Kachina’s neck, but again I’m not very graceful, not yet used to her movements, and I end up teetering so precariously it takes all of my strength not to tumble right off her back. “By the way, what is it you saw back there?” I ask, once I’ve gotten myself straightened out. Jabbing my thumb in the direction we came from, knowing that whatever it was, it was enough to turn us around and cut our ride short.
Chay veers ahead, the words breezing over his shoulder when he says, “You’re not ready to go there just yet.”
I squint at his back, my curiosity more piqued than ever, but recognizing a dead end when I see one, I choose not to pursue it.
Choose to just nod in agreement when he turns to me and says, “So, what do you say we return our rides to the stall, get ’em settled in for the night, and grab ourselves a couple of sodas? Soon as your training kicks in it’s going to be a while before you taste one again.”
*
Once the horses are brushed, watered, and fed, with their stalls lined with fresh straw, we hop into the truck and head out. Stopping at the gas station/convenience store where Chay runs inside to get our drinks, while I field yet another frantic phone call from Jennika.
I slip out of the truck, head over to the edge of the lot where I park myself on the curb next to the water and air pumps. Struggling through really bad reception that strangles her words, making it sound like she’s calling from somewhere deep underground.
Though it’s not much of a struggle to fill in the blanks—it’s pretty much a repeat of the same conversation we’ve been having for the past several weeks. Ever since the day she woke to a string of angry messages from me, only to call Paloma and learn I’d been hit by a car. Her questions coming so fast, it’s like an assault. One blending into another until there’s no way I can answer them all.