My Trojan Horse Majesty (The Russian Witch’s Curse #5)

3. Izzy

Chapter 3

Izzy

H orses were made to run.

Locking them in a metal box is about as opposite of their nature as it gets. I expect Drago, now that he’s secured and I’ve left, to lose his mind—kicking, screaming, and tearing up Steve’s trailer. I hope he doesn’t. But my heart’s in my throat, because if Steve or Mom wake up from his screaming and kicking and see me driving off. . .it’s going to be very awkward explaining why I’m stealing a horse.

A horse that’s destined to die , I remind myself. It’s fine. I’m trying to do something good.

Only, something good isn’t usually something that could also enrich me. I very much need this horse to turn his problems around quickly so I can have the money Heaston needs to get out of jail and start preparing his defense against his horrible partners’ claims.

To my shock, the stallion stands completely calm. There’s no banging, there’s no clanging. He doesn’t even shift around or scream. Why would anyone want to put him down, when he’s behaving so well?

Is it possible. . .he just likes me?

I’ve heard of it before—usually in stupid, made-up stories. I shake the nonsensical idea off. Perhaps he’s amazing in trailers, but a complete lunatic when anyone comes at him with a saddle. I’m just going to have to approach each step of this whole thing one small problem at a time.

The first half hour or so, I’m so panicked that I drive at ten and two, my hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. I keep expecting my mom to call or the stallion to lose it. Or, once, when a cop car passes, my heart skyrockets.

But that’s ridiculous.

Mom wouldn’t call the cops on me.

After half an hour, I turn on the radio.

“—very often,” the female radio personality’s saying. “I mean, it says the last time there even was an earthquake in Utah, it was 2022, and that was just an aftershock of the 2020 one.”

A man chuckles. “Well, maybe we were due.”

Earthquake?

“If we were, I suppose having it happen out in Manila, Utah, of all places, is a good way to go.”

My hands go slack, the truck swerves a little, and I have to clamp down to straighten us out. Manila ? There was an earthquake in Manila? When?

“With a population of just five hundred, the tiny little town located on the Wyoming border isn’t going to have much property damage to speak of,” the man says.

“Yeah, I bet their cow pastures will recover just fine.”

It happened late last night, apparently, a quake that measured five point one on the Richter scale. There have already been three smaller tremors since then, all of them around a two. I’m a little worried that the earthquake might have damaged someone’s house—Mandy’s? Amanda’s? Helen’s?—when my phone rings. I glance at the screen. I’d usually be excited to talk to her, but between the news I can’t share about not getting into vet school, the horrible mess with Tim, and now the stallion I’m towing, I feel more sick than anything else.

And, I really, really need that horse to be quiet.

Because it’s my mom.

My hands are shaking when I hit the green button. “Hey, Mom.”

“Izzy?” She sighs. “Thank goodness you’re alright. Oliver said he saw you this morning?”

I groan. “Yeah, I woke up super early, and I decided I’d return Steve’s trailer, but then when I was almost there, I got a phone call from an old lady client of Tim’s. She doesn’t have a trailer, and I wanted to at least say hello, but it was urgent?—”

“Hey, did you happen to see a stallion while you were here?”

“A stallion?” I ask. “You mean that insane chestnut?”

“Yes,” Mom says. “Tell me you didn’t touch him.”

I snort. “When I tried to pet him, he almost bit my hand off.”

“So you didn’t. . .take him back with you? Right?”

“Oliver said he was going to be killed. Is that really true?”

“Isabel Brooks, please tell me you didn’t?—”

“Mom, I’m not insane. But why would you think I’d steal a horse? Did he get loose?”

“I’m not sure when you left,” Mom says, “but when we came outside this morning, the gate was open.” She sounds like she might cry. “He’s gone.”

“Oh, shoot,” I say. “That’s terrible. I mean, he could really be anywhere.” I cringe a little. It’s not the first time I’ve lied to my mom, but it’s definitely the worst lie I’ve ever told.

And so far, every time I’ve tried until now, she’s caught me.

She sighs. “He really could be anywhere, I guess.”

“Is it really bad?” I ask. “Is he dangerous?”

“More than you could possibly know,” Mom says. “But that’s not your problem. Good luck helping that old lady, and drive safe.”

“I will,” I say.

“Wait,” she says. “Why do you need Steve’s trailer to load her horse? Doesn’t Tim have a trailer?”

“He’s not at home.” Strictly speaking, that’s true. “And his truck and trailer are huge, and I don’t feel as comfortable driving them.” That’s partially true too, at least.

“Alright, well, I hope you’ll come visit soon, but maybe not in the next week or so. We’re really busy here.”

“Hey, I heard there was an earthquake. Is everyone okay?”

“It was really strange,” Mom says. “We’ve never had earthquakes here before, but yes. There have been several large ones now. So far, everyone on the family chain says they’re alright.”

“Really?”

“Donna and Will said there was some damage to their barn, but nothing significant. I guess a window cracked—some kind of shifting under the foundation—but so far everything’s alright here, too.”

“What about Helen and David’s place and both resorts?”

Mom snorts. “They’re worried the pool at David’s resort has a leak, and to hear Helen tell it, repairing that would be a nightmare.”

“I bet Aunt Amanda’s happy they didn’t put a pool in at their house, though.”

“They have that massive hot tub,” Mom says. “But she said it looks completely fine.”

All the normal talk, and the easy way my mom let go of the idea that I stole Drago, makes me feel much less stressed. . .and also really, really guilty. When she finally hangs up, I have a momentary panic attack.

What am I doing?

Have I gone insane?

If Steve thinks the horse should be put down. . .what hope do I have of breaking or retraining him? None. Zero. Zilch. I’ve just taken a horse there’s no way I can control, which means it’s not going to be worth a brass farthing.

I’m a complete and total idiot.

But what if it was Steve’s client who was insisting? What if Steve didn’t want to give up, but the client won’t allow him to keep working with Drago? I should’ve asked more questions, but I was worried that might be suspicious.

Ugh. Committing crimes is hard.

It occurs to me then that my boyfriend has been accused of a crime he didn’t commit—embezzling company funds. In order to get him free of the jail cell he’s stuck in. . .I’ve just committed a real crime.

But as long as I stay safe myself, it’s a crime without a victim. The owners wanted the stallion gone, and now he’s gone. They won’t even have to pay to dispose of his body. I’m really doing something good—giving this animal a shot at life, and sparing the owners the vet bills and burial costs of the stallion.

So why do I feel so terribly bad about all of it?

I’m probably just worried that I may be putting Steve in a bind. I flip to the AM satellite radio station, hoping a talk show might distract me. Only, every channel I try has people yapping about more horrible things happening somewhere in the world.

“—wildfires in California and parts of Idaho are spreading. It’s strange to see them this late in the year, but if climate change has taught us anything?—”

“—another earthquake, this one close to the last. Wyoming almost never sees major quakes, and this one’s on the wobble line for what constitutes major, but its genesis is a fault that hasn’t really seen any activity in centuries, as far as we can tell.”

“—sharply rising rates of violent crime in?—”

I shut the radio off, but sitting in silence makes for a very, very long drive home. When I finally turn onto the small road that leads to Heaston’s property, I’m exhausted. My shoulders are stiff, my head’s pounding, and I’m beginning to think this was a very, very stupid plan.

What if, when I go to unload this horse, he doesn’t act at all like the calm, sensible guy who got on? What if we’re back to the dragon who snapped at me and tried to kill me? What if, instead of being a promising prospect I might sell, this horse tries to end my life, and I’m either injured, or stuck calling Steve and confessing that I’ve gotten in over my head?

I’m nervous enough that I decide to dose the big beast with Dormosedan before unloading. He’s not stomping, he’s not screaming, and he’s not kicking, but I’m still nervous. He must’ve been slated to be killed for a reason. It takes me two minutes to run to the tiny office on the end of Tim’s house, enter the keypad code, and swipe a tube of gel from the cabinet. As I walk back, I dither about the amount.

Unlike wormer, horses have to absorb the gel under their tongue or on their gums. If he swallows it, it won’t work well at all. I’m a little nervous that he won’t stand politely and let me give it to him through the window, but if he does, do I give him one or two milliliters? Ugh. Maybe this is why I didn’t make it into vet school. I’m just no good at this kind of stuff, and I dither far too much.

In the end, I decide to give him the full dose. If he’s a little drowsy, I can stay with him in the stallion enclosure longer. It’ll take more time, but that will give me a chance to get to know him better.

Plus, I’ve had quite a while to get really nervous and second guess this stupid decision. I reach through the window, talking to him while I do. “Alright, boy. I have to do this one little thing, and then I’ll unload you. It’ll just take one second, and it won’t hurt.” I pause with my hand under his chin. “Don’t bite me. Okay?”

He stares at me calmly. No stomping. No snapping.

I inhale, and then I stick the plunger under his tongue. I expect him to throw his head up, or toss his face around, or really anything to try and dislodge my tube.

He doesn’t. He just stares at me, and it almost creeps me out. He looks. . .more sentient than a horse usually is. He looks like he understood everything I said.

“I’m sorry for sedating you,” I say. “I’m nervous you might try to break away from me when we unload.”

Now he tosses his head, and he seems to be trying to spit the gel out. Stupid, idiotic horse. Luckily, there’s not much gel, and it’s a little viscous—hard to dislodge. With the way I smeared it around under his tongue and on his gums, I doubt he could avoid it if he had a compelling reason.

While I wait for it to take effect, he stomps, kicks, and screams.

“I know you’re sick of being in the trailer,” I say. “And I’m truly sorry. But you’re very large, and I’m very small, and if you misbehave, you could hurt me badly.” His stomping does lessen a bit, and although he’s still got flaring nostrils and rolling eyes, he seems a little less insane.

Finally, enough time has passed that I decide to go ahead and try to unload him. I wish I had someone here to call. I wish I had anyone here to call, but I can’t explain where he came from, and anyone from the vet practice would have a lot of questions for me to answer. Questions I can’t answer.

My heart’s racing as I unclip the bottom of his halter from the lead on the trailer clip. I reattach his lead line and swing the line up over his back. He does look a little drowsy, which is exactly how he should look after taking a full dose. I carefully open the back of the trailer, watching for signs of frustration or anger, but he’s standing still and steady. I unhook the latch on the bar that’s tied into the middle of the trailer, freeing it, and it swings wide.

Now comes the pivotal moment.

I say a little prayer that he’ll back off nicely. I’ve seen plenty of horses shoot off, damaging themselves or their owners, but he doesn’t. He turns his head slowly, realizes he’s free, and backs off. Quickly, but not dangerously so.

Then he turns his head toward me.

I snag his lead and start to pull him toward the far right side, angling toward the small stallion enclosure Tim has. His practice uses this as an overflow quarantine when necessary, so I remember him saying his horse setup’s a write-off. I was glad he had the property, and I was even happier when he told me I could keep my mare and gelding here. It gives me somewhere to board that’s not so expensive I can’t justify keeping both my horses close.

And it gave me an excuse to come over more often at first.

Luckily my mare and gelding get along like peanut butter and jelly. They both rush the adjacent fence line as we approach. My mare, Millie, calls loudly. My old gelding, Chromey, simply follows her to the edge.

I had hoped the other horses would reassure Mr. Highstrung, but Drago goes the other way. As we approach the gate for the stallion pasture, his nostrils flare, his eyes roll, and he generally begins to act as if he wasn’t sedated at all.

“Calm down.” I tug on his lead at the same time that I fuss. I should’ve attached a stallion chain so my tugging would get his attention a little better. What was I thinking? “You’re going to be completely safe in there.” I gesture ahead. “The devil himself couldn’t get through that fence.” I laugh. “Not without hands, anyway.”

As I take one hand off his lead to open the padlock, Drago loses his mind. I drop the lock and yank sharply, turning him like Steve taught me instead of allowing him to race away, but when he shifts again and bolts, he breaks free.

I might release a string of profanities.

He doesn’t care. He’s galloping so fast that his tail flies straight up in the air at the top, then streams outward. Chunks of sod spray all over me as I’m completely ditched. He races past the other paddock, ducks around the edge, slowing only infinitesimally to poop, and then picks up speed yet again, racing toward the road.

My heart sinks.

I’ve stolen a horse in an insane long shot to try and help Tim, but my one claim to goodness is that I was going to give him a better life than he’d have had if he was put down. Now I don’t even have him in my custody, and the only responsible thing to do is call the authorities and report that I’ve lost control of a massive, dangerous animal. . .who isn’t even mine.

Only, just as he’s about to pass out of my view, rounding the bend of the property and high-tailing it up the street—I finally understand that phrase!—he stumbles, falls over, and stops moving. I immediately take off toward him, worried and nervous about something new, but as I draw near, it’s clear that something’s very wrong.

My massive stallion’s dead-still on the shoulder beside the road.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume he really was dead. But horses can’t go from racing pell-mell to dead in two seconds, can they? Surely not. . .

I lean down toward him, nervous to find out.