Change Rein (Willow Bay Stables #1)(41)
AUTHORITIES CAUGHT FRANCIS LATER THAT same day on a Greyhound bound for nowhere after Branson had offered a handsome reward for anyone with information on his whereabouts. They were able to issue a warrant for his arrest when the fingerprints lifted from the Tucker Farms lock used to chain the side door closed came back as a match to his.
Francis cooperated with the police for a lesser sentence and pled guilty to arson. The investigation and his statement informed us that he’d used rags soaked in gasoline to start the fire and positioned them around the barn where he’d suspected they’d do the most damage. The fire investigators said we were lucky. Francis knew very little about what he was doing and didn’t leave himself enough time to chain the front doors of the barn shut. They found a matching chain and lock in the driveway, but he’d had enough self-preservation instincts to flee before getting caught.
Are we lucky? I suppose so.
Two months later, in the chilly winter air, my family broke champagne over the front doors to our new barn. We built it in the exact same place as the old one, though it has some improvements. While it wasn’t easy for Daddy to let Branson pay, he understood why he had to. It was part of cleansing his soul of the wrongdoings he believed he was the cause of.
When I reach the place my feet always take me to, my thumb brushes over the name plaque nailed to the wood outside the last stall on the left of the barn.
Achilles War.
My mind wanders, as it often does, and I wonder if there’s anything I could have done differently that night. I fight the tears in my eyes as my finger traces each of the letters in gold.
Warm breath tickles my face, and I laugh.
“I know, buddy. Your mom’s a big, ol’ sap.” I reach up, rubbing the front of his muzzle with the palm of my hand. “I guess it’s not just you and me anymore, Chil,” I whisper to him like it’s a secret as we listen to my family’s laughter sound through the aisle.
He snorts and shoves me a little, his ears twitching back and forth as I whisper to him all of my secrets. He’s the only one who knows as much about me as Branson does.
“Should we go for a walk, handsome?”
As he nods his head in agreement, I unlatch the opening to his stall and slide the halter over his head.
It’s been a long recovery for both of us, but we’re managing. The fireman barely got him out in time before the building collapsed, and if the vet on standby, Ray Brookes, hadn’t been so attuned to his condition, Achilles wouldn’t have made it.
He’d ingested cholecalciferol—or, as most people know it, rat poison. Charlotte had split a bag in the feed room that day, which she later came clean about as she handed in her resignation, and it had accidently gotten mixed in with Achilles’ evening grain feeding.
It was a poor doubling-up of bad circumstances, and thankfully, he hadn’t ingested enough to cause him irreversible damage. For that, I considered us very lucky.
As I lead him outside, I can’t help but smile when the first drops start to fall.
I think people assume they’re only granted one extraordinary love in their lifetime, but I believe love pours full and heavy like the November rain. Plentiful and frequent as the coming days, each drop leaves its own unique impression on the varying parts of their hearts.
However, like all great loves, it does not come without sacrifice, hard work, or an abundance of pain by way of growth. I am blessed to have known three remarkable loves in my life—the selfless love of my mother, the passionate love of horses, and the love of a wonderful man.
No love is without struggle.
Like Momma always said: “Love is worth it. You just have to be willing to get a little rain on ya is all.”