22. Nathan
22
NATHAN
Candice looks like she’s about to cry as she strokes Jazz Apple’s face a few final times. We’ve unloaded her, spoken to the family who is adopting her about all of her needs, and introduced her to the kids, who instantly fall in love with her. They each feed her a small piece of apple and squeal when she gently takes it out of their tiny hands. Jazz Apple already seems interested in the other horses, and she’s looking around her new home curiously.
But I can tell that Candice doesn’t want to leave her. That if she had her way, Jazzy would get back in the trailer with us and come home to Star Mountain. Her face is slightly pinched, like she’s trying to control her emotions. But I know her well enough to see them plainly written on her face—it’s like her heart is breaking.
“We’ll miss you Jazzy,” she says softly, while Chris and Alix, the couple who have adopted her, are busy getting the kids inside. I think they could tell that Candice needed a private moment. “You’ve come so far since last year,” Candice continues. “You’re healthy and strong now, and you even like hanging out with people and going on adventures. You’re going to do great here.”
Jazz Apple presses her muzzle into Candice’s chest, and even though I know that horses don’t say goodbye the same way we do, it still feels like she understands what’s going on. They are incredibly sensitive creatures, so maybe she does.
“Candice,” I say. “We should get going. It’s getting late.”
“I know,” she says. “I know. I just—it just—it always feels like this when one of them goes. Like some part of me is being ripped away.”
Her words strike me square in the chest and suddenly, everything I know about her comes into clearer focus. When I first met her, I thought she was rude and dismissive because she wouldn’t give me the time of day. But I was wrong—completely and totally wrong about her.
She’s not rude at all. She’s just protective of her heart. And she has good reason to be.
The horses at the rescue are her family. And her family, with the exception of Beau, have all been taken from her. I bet that when one of the horses goes, she’s reminded of how she felt when her parents, and then grandparents, died. I want to pull her against my chest and tell her that it will all be okay. But even if she’d accept that kind of touch from me, it’d still be a lie.
Everyone goes eventually, horses quicker than people. But my heart still hurts for her, especially as I remember the way I felt when my dad finally left. We wanted him gone, but he still left a hole in our family. I can’t imagine the loss she’s gone through and I’m in awe that she’s still standing. That she still has this much to give to the creatures in her care.
Instead of saying anything, I lift my hand and place it on her shoulder, offering her silent comfort and hoping she accepts it from me. To my surprise, she doesn’t flinch and lets me keep touching her. I don’t push any further, though, and for a minute or two we just stand there in silence.
“I’m okay now,” Candice finally says. “I can keep it together.”
“I know you can,” I say. “You’re strong.”
“Thanks,” she says, smiling at me a bit.
“Why don’t I take a photo of you and Jazz Apple?” I ask.
“For social media?” Her face is impassive now, like she’s had to bury everything in order to force herself to be okay with it.
“For whatever,” I say. “Though it would make a nice story.”
She nods, and then poses with Jazzy, who bobs her head up and down, making it tough to capture the moment. After, Candice takes one of me, which I plan on posting to my account later. Happy adoption stories are exactly the type of thing my manager would want me to be putting out there.
And it will be good PR for Star Mountain as well. I could even post it with a call to donate. I tuck that thought away for later, and follow Candice back to the truck, and the empty trailer.
“I’m glad you’re driving back,” she says, looking exhausted and small in the passenger seat.
“Me too,” I say. “You drive like a grandma.”
“I drive carefully,” she hisses at me, eyes flashing.
“Alright,” I say. I guess driving is a touchy subject for the Viper, but I don’t press the issue because Candice seems almost fragile right now.
I pull out of the driveway carefully and navigate us back onto the highway. Silence stretches between Candice and I, the warmth from the drive here gone and replaced by heavy, almost thick emotion.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “For snapping at you a few minutes ago. I’m not in a good mood and I just…I just really hate driving.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “I get it.” I’m desperate to ask her why, but I have a feeling she won’t tell me. Candice isn’t exactly an open book and I’m the last person she wants prying.
“We should stop for some gas and food,” she says, changing the subject.
“Sure thing,” I say. “I’m familiar with this area because we’re not far from my family’s ranch. There’s a gas station at the next exit, along with some fast-food chains.”
We drive there in relative silence, though Candice does turn the music back on and hums along to it. Around us, the Montana landscape stretches for miles in every direction. Snow-capped mountains loom in the distance, reaching towards the grey sky, and pine trees and scrub sprout along the highway. At the rest stop, we fill the tank, scarf down our food, and then get back on the road.
When the first flakes start to fall, Candice notices them before I do.
“It’s snowing,” she says.
But unlike when we were outside in the first snow together the other night, she doesn’t sound okay. She sounds anxious. Scared.
“It’s not heavy, though,” I say.
“Not yet.”
I spare a glance at her and see that she’s white as a sheet, her eyes wide as she grips her phone in her hand.
“Hey, don’t worry,” I say. “It’s just a few flakes and I’m a pro at driving in the snow. Raised on a ranch in Montana, remember? You have nothing to worry about.”
“I need to call Beau,” she says. “He’ll worry.”
She says the words quietly, almost like she’s saying them to herself. I glance over and see her anxiously pressing her phone against her ear. I guess he doesn’t answer, because she leaves him a message.
“Hey, it’s me. We’re driving back from dropping off Jazz Apple and it’s snowing. But everything is fine. Call me when you get this.”
“Candice, what the hell is going on?” I ask. “Why are you calling Beau?”
“It’s snowing,” she says flatly.
“Barely.”
But as I say the word, the flurries turn to steady flakes, and there’s no denying that a storm is likely rolling through. Around us the sky is darkening and it’s not just due to the setting sun.
“I’ll get us out of here fine,” I reassure her. “Don’t worry.”
Candice doesn’t say anything, and I’m keeping my eyes glued to the road ahead so I can’t turn to look at her. Something has her shaken up. I just wish she would share it with me.
“The weather report is saying we’re likely to get a foot. And the road conditions are going to change quickly,” she says after a few more minutes. “Everything looked fine this morning…”
She’s right—it’s quickly becoming icy and dangerous, and even though I trust my driving and the snow tires on the truck, it’s less than ideal driving conditions. Beside me, I hear Candice take in a shuddery breath. And then another. And another.
“Are you okay?” I slow the car down even more, and quickly look over at her. She's breathing heavily, almost like she’s panicking or something. “Candice?”
She doesn’t say anything, but the sound of her breaths fill the air. My heart starts to pound because what the fuck am I supposed to do? I have a panicking woman relying on me to get her home safely, and the snow around us is falling harder by the second. Beau should be here, not me. Or my middle brother, Cam. He’d know what to do. But me? I’m just a washed-up loser. I don’t know how to help Candice right now. She probably doesn’t even want my help—I’m the man she’s happy to fuck around with but she’ll never see me as more than that.
Candice makes a noise that sounds like a strangled sob. My hands shake on the steering wheel, and my gut clenches. I might be a loser, and I might be the last person she wants helping her in this situation, but I’m all she’s got right now. Fixing this—saving her—is up to me.
“Candice,” I say. “I’m going to take the next exit. It will take us to my family’s ranch. We can wait out the storm there. Is that okay?”
Another sharp breath. Another sob. And then, “Yes.”
I drive as quickly as I possibly can in the icy conditions, but still only go about twenty miles an hour. By the time we get to the exit, the road is even worse and the air around us is filled with white flakes. Candice is quiet, but I can tell that she’s not okay. I glance over and see that she’s shaking.
“Candice? I’m going to talk to you,” I say, having no idea what else to do.
I think back to how she told me to help Brown Sugar when we first started working with her. She had me talk to the mare alone in a paddock. Yes, she was fucking with me, getting me to tell Brown Sugar about my hopes and dreams. But the thing is, hearing my voice worked . It calmed Brownie down, and I’ve noticed that ever since then, she likes my voice. She listens to me. When I tell her that the ring doesn’t mean she has to compete, that it will be okay, she believes me.
So I do the same for Candice.
I start talking to her in a quiet voice.
“When we get to the ranch, I’m going to ask you to tell me about how you think the first time we met went down. Because we clearly remember it differently. The way I remember it, you sat alone at the bar all night, glaring at me and completely ignoring me. It was rude as hell, and when I tried to get you to come out of your shell, you insulted me. It pissed me off, but it also intrigued me. I was used to being surrounded by women who adored me, and there you were, acting like my very presence offended you.”
“Women don’t think you’re God, Nathan,” Candice says in a shaky tone. “Could your head get any bigger?”
“I distinctly remember you saying ‘Oh my God, Nathan,’ many times the other day,” I respond, hoping to make her laugh.
Despite the near white out conditions, I make the turn for my family’s ranch with ease. I could drive these roads blindfolded.
Candice doesn’t respond so I keep going. “The point is, you impressed me. I hated that you impressed me, but you did. You’re…you’re something else, Candice.” It feels inadequate to describe all that she is, but it’s the best I can do right now.
“Thanks.”
Her breathing seems calmer now, so we drive the rest of the way down the snow-covered dirt road in silence. We pass the Blue Hollow Ranch sign, and after a few minutes, we pull up to the sprawling ranch house. My dad built it for my mom when they were just starting out, and they added to it over the years. Since then, I’ve given my mom whatever she needed to fix the place up.
I cut the engine, but make no move to get out of the truck. As soon as we head inside, my family will swarm us. From the looks of it, they are all home. My brothers’ truck is here, right alongside my mom’s sedan. Her old station wagon is here, too, because even though she drives the new car I got her last year, she can’t bear to get rid of the car she drove us around in as kids. Cassandra is likely pouring over paperwork in the ranch office as usual.
I don’t want Candice subject to their questions when she’s this vulnerable. She looks so small and pale, completely unlike the force of nature I’m used to.
“Candice,” I say, as gently as possible. “My family will be inside, and they can be a lot. They will probably try to get your life story out of you and I know you might not be feeling up to it so?—”
“It’s how my parents died,” she says, cutting me off. “In case you were wondering why I freak out over driving in the snow. That’s how they died. The driver of the other car died too, and it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was icy out and there was snow coming down and they just…they died.”
The words chill me. No wonder she panicked. No wonder she called Beau to tell him she was okay—I bet he gets anxious every time she drives in the snow. I bet she stays up for hours waiting for him to get home.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know. Beau never told me and I didn’t ask him. It felt too personal.”
“He’s not a talker.” She forces a smile.
She isn’t either, really, but I don’t mention it. After all, she told me this without me asking. She’s offering pieces of herself to me and I’d be stupid not to take them. Not to hold them close and protect them.
“I hardly ever drive by myself,” she says. “It sucks because it means I’m at the barn basically all the time but I just...I always think about them when I drive alone and it makes me scared.” Her voice is small, and she’s no longer looking at me, and is instead picking at the hem of her sweater. “I wasn’t old enough to really understand what happened when they died, and I don’t miss them the way Beau does. But I do have this fear. So in a way, I don’t mind it.”
Understanding rushes through me and cleaves my chest in two. “Because the fear that you have keeps you connected to them,” I say.
“Exactly. Without it, I’m just a lonely girl who doesn’t remember her parents.”
I wince. “I’m sorry I ever said that you were lonely.”
“Don’t be,” she says, a fierce tone entering her voice. “It was true.”
“I’m still sorry,” I tell her, pulling her hand into my lap. It’s ice cold, and I rub it between mine, hoping to chafe some warmth into it. “You are a brilliant ray of sunshine, Candice. And as formidable as a mountain.”
“Thanks, Nathan.” She smiles at me, and I notice that her face has some color in it again. “And thanks for bringing me here.”
“You won’t be thanking me after you meet them,” I joke. “Should we go inside?”
She nods, and we hop out of the truck and walk towards the house together, our boots tracking a path through the newly fallen snow. Candice slips her hand into mine and squeezes my fingers.