Chapter 46 - AMY
AMY
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I stand resentfully next to Kane and his German Shepherd on the back porch. Dogs wander off in all directions to do their business. An ugly-looking chicken scratches in the dirt, occasionally fixing me with a beady stare. My heart feels as baleful as that creature.
Kane’s accusation still stings. Feeling sorry for myself! What am I supposed to be feeling? Excitement that he’s forcibly taken me away from my father and the life I’ve been living?
Kane is the first to break the stony silence. “I believe we’ve been thoroughly manipulated.”
I shoot him a heated look. “Welcome to my world.”
“Sulking?”
“That’s your label. Mine would be justifiable anger.”
“Get over it,” he says flatly. “We’re stuck with one another so we might as well call a truce on trading insults. At least it’ll stop me from strangling you.”
“Or nearly kissing me again,” I retort provokingly. I watch surprise creep into his eyes. Oh, yes, I’m rattling the box you keep putting me in.
He makes a move to say something then checks himself. A reluctant smile tugs at his lips. “I can only imagine how often that mouth of yours lands you in trouble.”
“More times than I can count,” I say. “My father despaired of ever—” I stop, aware of the grenade I just tossed into the conversation. Kane’s face, however, is schooled into a neutral expression so I dare to ask, “Have you heard from him?”
“We’re keeping in contact,” is his enigmatic reply.
“What did he say? Is he all right?”
He gives a shake of his head. “I’ll keep you updated; I promise. Just...not now.”
He seems in no hurry to leave the porch, staring into the distance, the German Shepherd sitting alertly at his feet.
“What—” I start to ask.
“Sshh,” he says softly. “Look.”
I follow the line of his gaze. The sheer expanse of blue sky and rich green fields strikes me first, contrasting sharply with the dark mountain peaks in the distance.
I spot horses and donkeys grazing, cows huddling in the shade of large trees, the bulky bodies of pigs rooting in the dirt, shaggy-looking goats nosing around.
Everywhere I look I spot some sort of animal, but I don’t get a sense of overcrowding, only a strange sense of peace.
“This is what I’m fighting for,” Kane says.
So many retorts hover on my tongue. It takes all my restraint to bite them back. I don’t want to harden the softening I sense in him or spoil the brittle truce hanging between us.
“Let’s take a look at the stallions.” He retrieves a pair of muddy gum boots from what looks like a homemade shoe rack and hands them to me. “Put these on.”
I tug on the boots. Giving the deranged-looking chicken a wide berth, I walk alongside Kane as he follows a dirt track meandering through the property.
The German Shepherd sticks close to Kane, while the rest of the dogs, tongues lolling in canine grins, are keen to sniff and explore, loosely keeping pace with us.
The sheer beauty of the morning crowds out my anger.
Not even the smell of manure can detract from my enjoyment of the surroundings.
Admittedly, there’s a part of me that feels almost duty-bound to hold onto my grievances, but the sun is a soothing warmth on my skin, a slight breeze plays gently with my hair, and I find I don’t want to nurse my bitterness.
Feeling as though I’ve lost an important battle, I tilt my face to soak up the sun’s rays and catch Kane looking at me with an arrested expression.
“So what’s with the dog?” I ask.
He’s staring at my mouth. Slowly, his eyes lift to meet mine. “What do you mean?”
I gesture to the German Shepherd. “He never leaves your side. Is he your guard dog?”
“I rescued Saba as a pup. I found him tied up, starving, and terrified of everyone.” He strokes Saba’s head, whose eyes slit in shameless pleasure at the attention. “Since then, he’s appointed himself my bodyguard.”
Before I can comment, a pale gray donkey with comically big ears and a well-defined black cross on his back ambles toward us. Kane stops and smiles. A smile that transforms his face and sends a jolt of heat through my body.
“Carrot-top,” he murmurs affectionately as the donkey noses him in the neck.
The German Shepherd gives the donkey a wary sniff, then wanders off dismissively.
“Why isn’t he in a paddock?” I ask nervously.
“Carrot-top’s a free-ranger,” Kane explains, scratching the donkey’s ears. “He gets on well with all the animals so he pretty much has the run of the sanctuary.” He gestures for me to stand beside him. “Come say hello.”
Stepping closer, I hesitantly stroke his neck, the coarseness of his fur feeling strange under my fingers.
Kane gives me a rundown of the donkey’s background and Ross’s rescue of him. As Carrot-top’s expressive brown eyes gaze deeply into mine, something inside me relents a little.
Carrot-top nudges me with his nose. Not braced for the surprising force of it, I stagger slightly. Kane steadies me with a hand on my waist, which he withdraws once I have my balance. I’m intensely aware of his nearness, my skin still tingling from his touch.
“I know what you’re looking for,” murmurs Kane as he fishes a carrot from his pocket and feeds it to the donkey. “Don’t worry, boy, it’s not one of Mel’s cookies.”
“What’s wrong with Mel’s cookies?”
As Kane explains the dangers of Mel’s baking, I find myself laughing at his outrageously exaggerated account. It’s a strange moment to be sharing with him. “We have one thing in common then. I can’t cook either.”
“Oh, Mel’s a great cook. It’s her baking that’s dangerous.” He cuts a glance at me. “When you say you can’t cook...”
“I mean it. Literally. Restaurants are my best friends.”
I sense he wants to say something, but the only response he offers me is a contemplative hmmm.
Our conversation is interrupted when we catch sight of Nolene on the far side of the paddock, returning from her run. She looks fit and lean in scanty shorts and a running top that molds to her well-defined torso. A cap is pulled low over her face.
I’m hoping Nolene won’t come over, and she doesn’t, merely raises her hand in a casual greeting, which Kane returns. Then she picks up her pace and disappears around the front of the property.
With Carrot-top following us, we set off again, sidestepping a beautifully patterned tortoise munching on a lettuce leaf. The German Shepherd abandons his sniff and explore jaunt to instantly attach himself to Kane’s side.
It isn’t long before Kane halts outside a paddock where two painfully thin horses stand a few feet apart, grazing. I wince when I notice the jutting hip bones and prominent spines. Both sport dull, matted coats, one black, the other brown. A bandage covers the right back leg of the black horse.
The animals look up at our approach. I’m not an expert on horses, but I think they look scared. Their bodies are quivering and their ears are back.
I glance over at Kane. He’s resting his forearms on the top rail of a split-rail fence, staring at the horses through narrowed eyes, his jaw tight.
“They look bad,” I comment, unable to think of anything to say but the obvious.
“Yes,” he says flatly. So now we’re both going with obvious.
“Do you see this sort of thing a lot?”
“Unfortunately.”
An unhappy Saba whines and presses himself against Kane’s legs, as if sensing his feelings. Kane gives him a reassuring pat.
“Will they be okay?”
He doesn’t answer straight away. “I don’t know.
This kind of starvation brings its own set of problems—kidney trouble, sore joints, heart murmurs.
” He rubs the back of his neck. “With a carefully balanced diet and a course of vitamin injections, their coats will begin to shine again and they’ll flesh out.
Z would’ve checked them out. If anyone can bring them back to health, it’ll be him. ”
“It’s not only their physical health though, is it?” I ask.
“No,” he answers, his face reflecting surprise at my insight. “They’re broken animals. It’ll take some time to re-establish their trust in humans.”
Carrot-top takes that moment to bray a greeting to the two horses, but their only response is to press closer to one another as they stare fearfully at the brazen donkey.
“They’re not ready for you yet, boy,” Kane says to Carrot-top. He picks up a dirty ball and lobs it down the path. Carrot-top takes off eagerly after it. “That’ll keep him amused for a while.” He eyes out the stallions again and asks, “How’s your naming skills?”
“I’ve had some practice calling you a few names.”
His mouth quirks. “I would guess none of those names are suitable for horses.”
“You would guess right.”
“What about any companion animals? Pets?” Kane clarifies, when he catches my confused look. “Any of them you’ve named?”
“We never had any pets growing up.”
“Why not? Too afraid Daddy would eat them?”
I shoot him a look, but there’s no malice in his tone. “Couldn’t resist that one, could you?”
“A better man would have.” He tries for serious. “Sorry.”
I snort. “No, you’re not.”
“You’re right, I’m not,” he admits, and I hear the smile in his voice.
Absently, I say, “Petting farms, zoos, game farms, they weren’t part of my childhood.
It was always art museums or the theater.
” I step closer to the fence and study the two horses.
“What about naming the black one Trojan after the wooden horse that helped the Greeks win the battle against Troy? It could be symbolic of the battle he’s fighting at the moment. ”
There’s no reply. I glance over at Kane. He’s looking at me as though I’ve suddenly sprouted two heads. Or as though he’s seeing me for the first time.
“What?” I ask. “Were you expecting me to name one Armani?”
Kane clears his throat. To my delight, color spreads across his cheekbones.
“Something like that.” He continues staring at me, and I glimpse a hint of admiration in his eyes.
Stupidly, I warm under it. “Trojan,” he repeats.
“I like the name and what it represents.” He drums his fingers on the fence.
“If we’re going with battle horses, then Copenhagen would suit the brown stallion.
He was the Duke of Wellington’s favorite horse, carried him the entire time during the Battle of Waterloo. Seventeen hours.”
“Trojan and Copenhagen,” I murmur, testing out the names, an absurd feeling of pride running through me at the part I played.
The feeling quickly disappears when I spot Ross running in our direction, stopping in front of us.
“A vanload of kids from a special needs school has pulled into the driveway,” he says, between breaths.
“Their riding therapy session was booked a month ago and I forgot all about it.” His tone is apologetic. “Mel’s with them now.”
Kane’s hand closes in a strong grip around my elbow. The affable companion of the past ten minutes is gone. In his place stands the hard-faced kidnapper I loathe.
“Stay with Mel,” he instructs Ross in a clipped tone. “Stall them as long as you can while I get Amy inside.”
Ross nods. Throwing me a sympathetic glance, he takes off to join Mel out front.
And just like that, the interlude is over.