Fractured Sky (Tattered & Torn #5)(24)

I nodded, picking up my mug and chugging the contents, then I set it back down on the porch.

Ramsey’s lips twitched. “Thirsty?”

“I need the caffeine.”

All hints of humor dropped away. “Didn’t sleep well?”

“New place. It’ll take some time.”

Ramsey’s jaw worked back and forth. I wasn’t sure why my not sleeping well annoyed him, but it clearly did. “If you’re not up for—”

“I’m fine.” The words came out a bit more harshly than I’d intended. But the last thing I wanted was to be coddled in my new home. I didn’t want to be treated as if I were broken.

Ramsey jerked his head in a nod but didn’t say a word. Sounds of an engine cut through the morning quiet, and he started for the round pen. I followed behind. Ramsey unlatched the gate, and I pulled it open. He lifted his gaze to mine. “You’ll work the gate once the trailer’s in place.”

I nodded as a truck with a trailer appeared. It pulled past the round pen and then backed up. The ease with which Lor maneuvered the vehicle told me she’d done this countless times before. As soon as she shifted into park, I moved the gate so it was flush with the trailer. A terrified horse that got loose would be a disaster.

As I moved close to the trailer, the horse inside kicked at the walls. The metal bowed at the contact. The horse let out a loud whinny and kicked again.

“She’s not a fan of the trailer,” Lor said as she climbed out of the truck.

I’d been expecting young. I didn’t know why. This woman was in her sixties or early seventies with gray running through her hair. The relief that swept through me had no roots in logic, but I welcomed the sensation all the same.

Lor’s eyes hardened a fraction as she took me in, then she shifted her focus to Ramsey. “New helper?”

“Lor, this is Shiloh. She’s going to be working here and living in the guest cabin.”

Lor stilled and then swallowed, shaking her head. “Nice to meet you, Shiloh.”

“You, too.”

She didn’t seem all that happy at my presence, which made zero sense. The horse gave the trailer wall another kick.

“Let’s get her out of there,” Ramsey said, moving to unlatch the door. “She tied?”

“Couldn’t even get a halter on her,” Lor answered.

Ramsey looked to me. “Be ready. She could try to bolt.”

I nodded, tightening my grip on the gate.

Ramsey pulled open the door to the trailer, and the mare leapt out, bucking and whinnying. Ramsey shut the door and latched it back into place. “Move the trailer.”

Lor jumped behind the wheel, and I moved the gate closed as she did, looping the chain back into place. Fast hoofbeats had me looking up.

The mare tore around the pen so fast she was a blur. But the snapshots I caught broke my heart. Her ribs stood out against her coat, and the wild look in her eyes spoke of a deep-seated fear.

Ramsey stood in the center of the ring and waited. Like so many times before, he stood by patiently as she tired herself out. It didn’t take long. This horse was too malnourished. Her gallop slowed to a trot and then a walk. Finally, she stilled altogether.

I sucked in a sharp breath. Scars crisscrossed her side and the bridge of her nose. The ones on her face spoke of someone fighting her while she had a halter or bridle on. But the ones on her side? Those were punishment.

My throat burned as it constricted. I’d gotten so good at holding the tears back, but they fought to get free. The mare’s gaze locked with mine.

My fingers tightened around the fence rail, the wood biting into my palms. There was such despair in those eyes, but there was desperation, too. The combination was one that I knew too well.

I vowed then and there that I’d do anything to help this horse find her freedom.





10





RAMSEY





The strands of gold woven throughout Shiloh’s braid caught the afternoon light as her head tilted to the side. I traced the little pops of light with my gaze—sparks hidden to most except those really paying attention.

Everything about Shiloh was calm and steady. She sat cross-legged at the side of the round pen with what looked like a small picnic set out in front of her. Everything was arranged just so. A sandwich carefully unwrapped. A water bottle with the lid off. An apple sliced in precise shapes. And my traitor of a dog curled up at her side.

She didn’t focus on the mare in the pen; only occasionally lifted her gaze to the horse. But it never stayed. It traveled back to the food in front of her, to Kai, to the mountains and landscape around us. I stayed hidden in the shadows of my front porch, watching.

I’d spent much of the day yesterday with the mare. I hadn’t struggled this much with a horse in years. And this morning had been much the same. She wouldn’t let me close and showed no signs of choosing to close the distance between us.

Shiloh had watched silently as I worked with the mare. The only hint of emotion I saw from her had been the purse of her lips. She hadn’t said a word, but she had eaten each of her meals beside the pen. I didn’t ask why. The one thing I knew about Shiloh was that her heart called out to these creatures. She felt their pain as if it were her own. I was sure she didn’t want this mare to feel alone. And this was her small way of reassuring the animal.