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I narrow my eyes. My dad’s a pretty healthy guy, and even though we always hired help when I was growing up, he managed to do most of these kinds of things on his own.
The fact that he hasn’t done something like this yet? I need to dig through those accounts more. Something else is going on, and for whatever reason, he doesn’t want to tell me.
“Got it. Gunter, fire permit, check the alfalfa. Meet you back here for lunch?”
My dad lifts his head, and his blue eyes twinkle for a minute. He looks like his old self, and it makes my chest squeeze. “It’s a date, Bluebird.”
“Cool. I’m going to the horses, and you check the chickens.”
He laughs. “You still afraid of the chickens, college girl?”
“Yeah,” I grimace. “They’re mean.”
“They’re just birds, sweetheart.”
“Whatever. I have horses, you have chickens. Deal?”
“Deal, Bluebird.”
Tasks designated, we head out.
The sun is up, but just barely, painting the hills around me with the lightest dusky pink. To the west, the alpenglow lights up the mountaintops, and I take a second to just look before I continue to the barn. God, it’s breathtaking here.
My resolve hardens until it’s like an iron shield in my mind. I’m going to figure out what the hell happened to this farm, and I’m going to fix it. No matter what.
Inside the barn, the horses whicker, clearly surprised to see me. I did my best to come home for breaks and stuff, but still. Four years is a long time for a horse.
Thunder, true to form, tries to bite me when I feed her. She looks like she’s pregnant with a baby whale, and her condition hasn’t made her any nicer.
“You leave me alone, bitch,” I mutter when she tries to sneak in another nip as I walk by.
Gunter is sweet, but he’s definitely looking old. I feel nervous about riding him, but looking at Joan, there’s no way I could ride her, either. She’s big as a house as well. I make another mental note to call the vet to come look at both her and Thunder.
“Hey, girl,” I murmur to her as I approach. Joan sniffs my open hand, smelling me quickly before shoving her velvet nose into my hand. I laugh, petting her, running my hands over her smooth face. Stepping closer to scratch her ears, I look into her big brown eyes. “I missed you, too. How are you feeling?”
She snorts, like she’s explaining that being a thousand months pregnant is totally not her thing.
“I know, sweetheart,” I whisper. I step closer again, and Joan leans her head on my shoulder. The gesture nearly makes my eyes water. They say that horses and humans have a special bond, and with this one? I believe it.
With the horses fed, I saddle up Gunter, turning Thunder and Joan out into the pasture. Thunder, predictably, trots right by, giving me the equine equivalent of a middle finger as she does. Joan stops next to where Gunter has his saddle on, and gives me a huff, stomping her feet with disappointment.
“I know, girl. But I couldn’t even get the saddle around you if I tried,” I explain.
She nibbles at Gunter’s mane, and he returns the gesture before she slowly turns, waddling out to join her angry sister in the pasture.
I check Gunter’s tack before hauling myself up and into the saddle. The gesture feels awkward, especially for something I’ve done my whole life. Beneath me, Gunter gives a little shuffle, like he can tell it was weird.
“Just a little out of practice, guy,” I say, giving his neck a firm pat. “Come on.” I grab the reins, clicking my tongue, and we head out.
The alfalfa field isn’t that far. We keep the cattle on the opposite end of the property, where there’s a river and big green meadows as the landscape starts to tuck up toward the mountains. The alfalfa is a fifteen-minute ride, but it’s right against our neighbors’ land.
Right against the Wild Spur.
Despite myself, I’m curious to see the operation. I let Gunter pick the pace, worrying about his back and his age and not really rushing because if it. The fifteen-minute ride is going to be more like thirty.
About halfway in, my phone beeps. I grab it, squinting, then give a little squeal of excitement that earns a flick of Gunter’s ears.
“Sorry, man. I haven’t heard from Kendall in weeks,” I tell my horse.
