Chapter Ten
I believed he was naturally a man of better tendencies... could he have been rescued from contamination.
“Freckles has colic,” I tell Chet.
His eyebrows knit together, concerned—perhaps more by my urgent tone than by the words I’m saying. “But Freckles is not a foal,” Chet answers. “Do adult horses get colic?”
“Horses can get colic at any time in their lives,” I say. “When they do, it’s life-threatening. And super painful.”
Poor Freckles. Like Miss Adele, he’s youngish, with previous owners who clearly pushed him too hard during training.
He got bone chips that went ignored, until Freckles came to Resilience Ranch and Chet paid for surgery.
At least, that’s what Axel Rose said. “Freckles is okay now,” she told me, “but he’s got permanent joint damage. ”
Permanent joint damage. And now this.
“Where is he?” Chet asks.
“In the pasture.”
“Let’s go.” Chet makes long strides toward the pasture, where Freckles is getting up and down, pawing at his belly, and sweating gallons.
A few minutes ago, when I first noticed that Freckles was in pain, I leaned over and puked into the bushes.
Now, I wipe my clammy forehead, hoping I don’t pass out.
Chet places a hand on Freckles’s crest. “Hey, buddy,” he murmurs. “You doing okay?”
“Freckles is not okay. He needs medical attention.” My breathing comes fast and shallow.
Chet stands and comes toward me. “Jane, it’ll be alright.”
“You don’t know that,” I tell him. “And I wouldn’t get too close. Not unless you want me puking on your shoes again.”
“You won’t puke again,” Chet states. “Not right now, anyway.” His voice isn’t quite cold, but his tone is steely. “Freckles needs you, so you’ll be strong for him.”
“Yeah.” Clutching the back of my neck, I swallow hard. “There’s a reason I dropped out of the large animal vet technician program. It’s because I’m incapable of—” I suck in more breaths, nausea threatening to consume me.
Chet grasps both my shoulders. “Were the horses you treated in your vet program like family to you?”
I’m so shocked at the sudden physical contact, at the strength of Chet’s grip, that my stomach settles for a moment. “No,” I concede. “But by that logic, I’m more likely to puke now, since I already know and love Freckles.”
“Wrong,” Chet insists. “Freckles is your horse-son. Don’t be like Norma Bates, putting your own psychosis ahead of your horse-son’s needs.”
My skin, especially the part that Chet’s touching, heats up. And yet, I break out in a cold sweat. “I don’t follow. Norma who?”
“Norma Bates.”
I shake my head.
“From Psycho?” Chet’s dark blue eyes grow so large they’re consuming. “The Alfred Hitchcock classic?”
“Sorry. Haven’t seen it.”
He releases my shoulders, muttering, “Stupid Gen Z, incapable of sitting through anything longer than a five-minute YouTube video.” Chet takes out his cell phone and scrolls through his contacts. Then he makes a call.
“Yes, hello. This is Chet at Resilience Ranch.” He walks toward Freckles.
“We have an emergency here. My horse specialist says it’s colic.
Freckles—the one you treated for bone spurs—is obviously in a lot of pain, can’t sit or stand still, seems feverish .
. .” Chet pauses, apparently listening. “Okay. But how soon can you get here?” His shoulders, which were tensed, relax a bit.
“Yeah, yeah. That’s not a problem. See you soon. ”
Chet ends the call. “The vet will be here ASAP. But his assistant is out of town, so you’ll need to help him, Jane. You can do that, right?”
The implication’s clear: If I can’t do it, then I’m a huge disappointment, not just to Freckles, but to Chet. Before I know it, he’ll be calling me Jane Wreck. I squeeze my eyes shut. Luckily, a sudden, cool breeze calms me. “Yeah, I can do that.”
I say this, but I’m not so sure it’s true.
Here’s the thing—horses can’t vomit. Maybe that’s why I always vomit when they’re in pain; it’s like I’m puking for them.
But that doesn’t help Freckles. However, when the vet gets here and he uses a tube to coat Freckles’s gut with mineral oil, I stay by the horse’s side, vomit-free, soothing him as he twitches.
When the vet’s done, he says to me, “Walk him. Walk him all night if you have to. Don’t stop until Freckles has a BM. ”
Thus, Freckles and I begin circling the pasture, over and over.
Axel Rose gives me breaks, letting me grab something to eat and drink before she leaves for the day.
It’s dusk when Chet appears, pulling a wagon right up to the huge oak tree that’s just inside the pasture.
The wagon’s loaded with two collapsible canvas chairs, his laptop, and two mysterious pieces of equipment, which he immediately begins setting up.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Thought you could use a distraction,” Chet answers. “We’re going to watch a movie while we take turns walking Freckles.”
In mere seconds, he’s erected a portable movie screen, and now he’s gotten out what looks like a projector. I’m assuming it’s Bluetooth, connected to his laptop. Chet opens it and clicks until the word Psycho appears across the screen.
“Cool setup,” I say. “Do you show movies here often?”
“Not in the horse pasture,” Chet says. “But I bought the equipment, thinking it would be fun to have movie nights on the ranch. I’m a classic film buff.”
“You’re just full of surprises,” I say.
“Well, it’s a crime that you’ve never seen this movie.” Chet gestures toward one of the chairs. “Have a seat. I’m walking Freckles first.”
After all the drama today, I’m sort of in a daze, so I don’t bother questioning Chet or his movie choice. And soon, I’m mesmerized by the old black-and-white film. Even when it’s my turn to walk Freckles, my eyes are glued to the screen.
However, once the credits roll, I turn to Chet. “I’m confused,” I say. “Earlier, you compared me to a rotting corpse and incestuous mother of a serial killer?”
He grows indignant, chest hitching. “I was saying that you’re not Norma Bates.”
“But I would be if I’d puked again?”
“It’s an imperfect analogy. Yet it still worked.” Chet’s crooked smirk, with that single dimple, appears. “You didn’t puke again, now did you?”
My shoulders sag. “What are we watching next? Perhaps something uplifting—a film that Freckles would enjoy.”
Chet shrugs. “Black Beauty?”
“Are you deranged? The horse in that movie endures some major trauma before finding his happily-ever-after. Besides, I have trouble believing that any live-action horse movie didn’t mistreat the animals.”
“Sorry. My bad.” Chet’s walking Freckles right now, and he pivots toward the horse. “What would you like to watch, Freckles? An animated, horse-friendly film?”
“Ooh—I know. How about Babe?”
“The one with the pig? Never seen it.”
“What?” I demand. “Why not?”
“It looks silly?”
“Well, it’s not! Trust me,” I say. “By the time we get to its last, classic line, Babe will be your new favorite movie. Otherwise, I’ll pay you five bucks.”
“Deal,” Chet says. “That offer’s way too good to turn down.”
So, Chet, Freckles, and I watch Babe. And at the end, when James Cromwell stares down at his beloved little pigs, saying, “That will do,” I steal a glance at Chet. He’s discreetly wiping away tears.
“Ha!” I cry. “Admit it! You loved the movie!”
Chet rubs his eyes. “Fine. It wasn’t half bad. Maybe not my favorite film ever, but you’re off the hook for five dollars.”
Around an hour later, Freckles poops. By that time, Chet and I are both punchy from fatigue. We whoop and cheer, and Chet grabs me by the waist, spinning me around. When I feel his arms around me, lifting me from the ground, every nerve ending awakens. A hot streak of desire flashes through me.
“We did it!” Chet cries. “Good job, Jane.”
I laugh. “What about Freckles? He deserves some praise.”
Chet places me down. I stumble back, hoping it’s too dark outside for Chet to see me blush.
“Sorry,” he says. “Got carried away.” He reaches for my elbow, steadying me. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, you?”
“Never been better,” Chet says. His voice is low, intimate, kindling-like.
I clear my throat so he won’t hear my heart pounding. “Well,” I say, “think I’ll take Freckles to the barn. Maybe he’s ready to eat and drink now.”
Later, Axel Rose arrives at work right as I put Freckles in his stall for a nap.
“Jane,” she says, “you’re going to get some rest now, too, correct?”
“I will soon,” I tell her. “But Miss Adele needs—”
“No!”
I reel back, surprised by her vehemence.
“You’ve been working nonstop,” she says, “not just last night, but for the last three weeks. Go get some sleep. And when you get up, you’ll go somewhere.”
“I will?”
“Yes,” Axel Rose answers.
I scratch my head. “Where?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Axel Rose throws her hands to the side. “Just leave Resilience Ranch for a couple of hours. Long enough to remind yourself that an entire world exists outside of here. And that while the horses and I love you to bits, we’ll survive for a day without you.”
I start to protest, but then Chet’s by my side. “Axel Rose is right,” he says.
Chet’s more imposing than I’ve ever seen him, blue-black eyes glaring at me as if I’ve done something wrong. “I insist that you take some time off. No arguments, Jane. Now, go.”
Wordlessly, I nod and turn on my heel, heading off to my trailer. There, I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep for several hours. I’m woken when my phone vibrates with a text.
It’s River: “The backpacking group is meeting for drinks tonight. You should come.”