Chapter 5 Winnie
WINNIE
I sip my morning coffee and stare at the blank screen on my phone. I’ve been sitting like this for at least ten minutes, waiting for the caffeine to hit, and with it, the courage to unlock my phone and google myself.
I’ve been checked out of the world as Winnie Grant for over a week now, and I probably need to see what’s being said about me. I can’t seem to get my thumbs to move though. It’s so much easier pretending that I’m someone else—someone who can disappear entirely without anyone noticing.
The kitchen door bangs open, startling me from my thoughts, and Candice appears, flakes of snow dusting her face and sweatshirt.
“Hey,” she says. “Glad to see you out of bed.”
“You know us pageant queens, we need our beauty sleep,” I quip, not mentioning that I’m used to waking up at 6:00 a.m. every morning to indulge in a few hours of alone time without my parents around. Although, I guess I don’t have to do that anymore. I have all the space I could ever want now.
“What are you up to?” Candice pours herself a cup of coffee and then sits down next to me.
“Trying to work up the nerve to google myself.” I wave my phone at her.
“Want me to do it?”
“You mean you haven’t already?”
“Nope,” Candice says. “I’m following your lead here, Win. If you want to hide out here forever, change your name, and never resurface, I’ll help you do that.”
“Thanks, sugar.” I set my coffee down and force myself to eat a bite of the oatmeal I made half an hour ago. Maybe having something in my stomach will make this easier.
Nope. Cold, gelatinous oatmeal is not helping one bit. I swallow it reluctantly, shuddering a bit, and then unlock my burner phone, open the web browser and type in my name.
I’m immediately hit by a wave of news stories.
Miss Alabama Goes Missing
Famed Influencer Winnie Grant Quits in Shocking Post
“Bring Our Baby Home,” Plead Winnie Grant’s Parents
“Oh God, I’m going to be sick,” I say.
I toss Candice the phone like it’s a hot potato. She snatches it and starts to scroll, her face an impassive mask.
“How bad is it?” I ask after a minute.
“Bad,” she says, never one to mince words.
“Here.” She slides the phone over to me.
“It’s your parents. They’re asking for any and all information about you to be sent to them, and they set up a hotline.
They’re saying that you’re a missing person, despite the fact that the police have not, and they’re using your mom’s accounts to blast it everywhere they can. ”
Instead of glancing at the phone, I use the button on the side to shut it off. Just hearing that my parents are looking for me has my gut churning. I knew that they would do this—I knew that there was no way they’d let me leave quietly, no matter what I said to them.
“I sent them an email,” I say quietly.
“What?” Candice asks.
“I scheduled it to send after I left. It explained why I was leaving, that I wanted to go, and that no one was making me do it. I said I loved them but that—that I couldn’t do it anymore. I told them I needed to be on my own.” I fiddle with the sleeves on my sweater, unable to look at Candice.
For some reason, the fact that my parents ignored my wishes completely makes me feel small and invisible. Like what I want is completely irrelevant and not even worth considering.
“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry,” Candice says. “They should have listened to you.”
“I’m not surprised they didn’t.” I force a laugh. “But it still makes me feel horrible.”
“What can I do to help?”
Candice, for as long as I’ve known her, has taken care of those close to her. Often, that means the horses at the rescue, who are as much her family as Beau is. It’s pretty clear that she now considers me one of the herd, and I couldn’t be more grateful.
“Is there anything around here that needs doing? It might help take my mind off of all of this.” I gesture at my phone. “I’m used to being busy, and without all my social media and pageant work, I kind of have nothing to do, other than organize my clothes.”
“Win, I’ve got just the thing,” Candice says, giving me an encouraging smile. “Get dressed and meet me in the barn in twenty.”
Twenty minutes is not long enough for me to get dressed, and Candice knows this.
Especially when all of my winter clothing is packed away in one of the many suitcases I brought with me.
I’m digging through it in fistfuls, throwing clothes onto the bed as I go, searching in vain for the geometric patterned fleece I know is in there.
“Ah ha!” I yell triumphantly, as I catch sight of the sleeve.
I tug it out, and layer it on top of a black workout top.
The pinks and blues in the pattern bring out the color of my cowboy boots, and my blue bootcut jeans tie the whole look together.
Whatever Candice wants me to do probably doesn’t require any makeup, but I swipe on some lip gloss and mascara anyways.
I haven’t left the house without some makeup on since I was twelve.
Normally, I’d curl my hair, too, but it’s so short now that I settle for hiding it underneath a hat.
I step outside and immediately realize that I’m not going to be warm enough.
The cold air easily pierces my fleece and I shiver.
Oh well, I look cute this way and it will be warmer inside the barn.
I shuffle my way through the snow, making sure to step in footprints left behind by others.
I pass a few paddocks that are, to my surprise, full of horses.
I would have thought they’d be inside this time of year, but they look pretty happy to be out in the snow.
One of them is even rolling around in it.
By the time I get to the barn, my feet are like icicles inside my boots and I can’t feel my hands. I wander around the barn, walking by a few empty stalls and the tack room until I find Candice, who’s chatting with Tomás.
“Hey,” I say to them.
“Hey Winnie,” Tomás says. “It’s good to see you again.”
I give him a quick hug, genuinely happy to see him, too. I met Tomás when I visited last time, and I was immediately charmed by his easy going personality and his slightly off-color jokes. And it’s fun watching him needle Candice like a younger brother.
“Are you warm enough?” Candice asks me.
“I am now that I’m inside,” I admit.
“You need to learn to layer, princess,” Tomás says. “Do you have anything on under that fleece?”
“Just a thin shirt.”
“Well, add another tomorrow. And a vest on top. Plus, get yourself some wool socks for your boots,” Candice says.
Her comment about socks has Tomás looking down at my boots.
“You look like cowgirl Barbie. For now. They’re going to be covered in horse shit by the end of the day,” he says, shaking his head.
I wince a little, thinking about my perfect pink boots getting covered in mud and poop, but I don’t say anything. I just smile and say, “It’ll be fine, sugar. I don’t mind a bit of dirt. And I packed leather cleaner.” Turning to Candice, I ask, “So, what am I doing?”
“Follow me,” she says.
We walk down the row of stalls until we reach one that is tucked behind the tack room by itself.
“We often quarantine horses here,” she explains. “Rosie came in yesterday.”
“Rosie?” I ask.
As if she knows we’re talking about her, the horse I assume must be Rosie pops her head over one of the stalls. She’s a gorgeous, shiny dark brown, with a black mane and a small white patch between her eyes, which is shaped like a lopsided star.
“This is Rosie,” Tomás confirms. “She’s very sweet but also a total nutcase.”
Candice frowns but doesn’t contradict him. “She’s an off the track thoroughbred.”
“Like a racehorse?” I ask, staring at Rosie in awe.
“Yes, exactly that. She’s four years old, so she only raced for two years,” Candice explains.
“How’d she end up here?”
Tomás gives Rosie a scratch under the jaw and she leans forward, pushing her head into his hand even more.
“Frankly, most thoroughbreds don’t have long careers. She peaked when she was three and her record isn’t good enough to be a broodmare.”
“So that’s it? Her owners didn’t want her anymore?”
“Her owners had fifty other thoroughbreds, so she didn’t mean much to them,” Tomás fills in. “Which is bullshit because she’s beautiful.”
“She is,” Candice confirms. “And you’re going to be looking after her, Win.”
“Me?” I squeak.
“Yes.”
“But why? I don’t have any experience.” I stare at Rosie and she stares back, as if to say, really? This girl?
“I’ll be taking care of her training, along with Nathan,” Candice explains. “But you’re going to learn how to care for her. And help Tomás with stable hand duties.”
I take a hesitant step towards Rosie. I’ve always liked horses, and I enjoyed the trail ride I took when I visited Star Mountain a few years ago. So I stick my hand out and let her stiff it. She just looks at me with big, wary eyes, and doesn’t reach out to me like she did to Tomás.
“I’m not sure,” I say, suddenly anxious. “I’m a pageant queen, not a horse girl. I might just make her worse.”
“You’re whoever you want to be, Win. And I think you’re who Rosie needs. She’s used to performing. She’s used to being what everyone else wants her to be.”
“Just like me,” I whisper, still staring at Rosie.
“You’re gonna make me cry, cowgirl Barbie,” Tomás mutters.
“Rosie needs someone who will help her stay calm. She can’t be around the other horses for the moment, but she still needs company.” Candice gives me an encouraging smile.
Rosie reaches her muzzle out and sniffs my hand, and then quickly pulls it away, like she can’t quite trust me yet. My heart contracts in my chest, and I suddenly feel like I might cry.
“Okay,” I choke out. “I’ll do it.”
“Excellent,” Candice says.
Tomás passes me a rake. “Your first job is mucking her stall. Welcome to the team.”