Chapter One
Mia
“Mama, is it time yet?”
“Not yet, Livy,” I laugh softly. “It’s still too early, my love. Maybe tomorrow.”
“But, Mama, you said that yesterday and all the days before that.”
“These things take patience, honey,” I say, smiling down at her. “You can try to pet her tomorrow… but she may never be ready to ride.”
My heart aches not only for the poor mare standing quietly in front of us, but for my big-hearted daughter, tears shining in her eyes.
“Why are people so mean?” she sniffles. “What did that poor horse do to make someone not even feed her?”
Those are questions I can’t even answer as an adult.
Here at Moore’s Second Chance Sanctuary, we take in animals, mostly horses, that have been abused and neglected.
The mare my sweet girl wants so badly to befriend is our most recent rescue.
Her previous owners kept her confined in a stall so small she could barely turn around.
Years of neglect left their mark. Her hooves were severely overgrown, curling at the tips.
Patches of rain rot spread across her back, leaving scabbed, sensitive skin.
And she’s far too thin. Her ribs are visible and her hips sharp beneath her dull coat.
She’s been with us for three months. And while that seems like enough time to heal from some wounds, she’s only just now starting to show real improvement.
Her hooves had to be trimmed over several sessions. One of those times, we had to sedate her. We couldn’t keep her standing on three legs for that long without risking more damage.
We also had to reintroduce food slowly to help her gain weight safely.
It was only last week that we finally turned her out to pasture.
And let me tell you, I’ve never seen a horse’s eyes widen like that at the sight of so much grass.
It was a blessing to give that to her… and a stab to the heart knowing something so simple could shock her.
If I could, I’d drive to her previous owner’s house and punch them in the face.
But I can’t because they’re in jail.
This mare wasn’t the only animal on their so-called farm.
“Do you think she’ll like me, Mama?” Livy asks, bouncing on her toes.
From the moment we brought this horse into the sanctuary, Livy has been in love. She’s watched over her on the security monitor when I wouldn’t allow her in the barn. And when she was finally allowed inside, she still wasn’t allowed anywhere near the mare’s stall.
We have no idea what kind of abuse this poor animal has been through.
And since her previous owners had children, I didn’t want to risk triggering her by letting Olivia get too close.
A scared horse is an unpredictable one.
And that could end with someone getting hurt.
“I think she already does,” I say as the timid mare slowly makes her way toward the fence, stopping just on the other side of the rails.
She lowers her head, ears flicking, and stretches her nose out to sniff the air between us.
Livy goes still beside me.
The mare huffs softly, then lifts her head, watching us for a long moment before turning and walking off across the pasture.
“It doesn’t look like it,” Livy says, her head dropping. “She walked away.”
“She did,” I agree gently. “But she didn’t run away in fear, and she didn’t kick out in anger. That’s progress, honey.”
“I suppose so,” she sighs. “I just wish she knew how much I loved her. I wish they all did.”
The horses locked in their stalls flash through my mind. Some nearly broken beyond repair, some withdrawn and sad, others outright angry.
All for good reasons.
“Me too, honey,” I say softly. “But the best thing we can do is to love them so fiercely that one day the scary things they went through won’t hold them back anymore.”
“Do you think that’s possible?” she asks. “For them to forget all the bad stuff?”
“Maybe not forget,” I say. “But move past it. Learn to trust again.”
I glance out over the pasture.
“Think about all the horses that have come through here and found new homes. They didn’t leave until they were healthy and happy, remember? We just have to believe we can love these new ones the same way… so maybe one day, they’ll find their forever homes too.”
“Can I name this one, Mama?” she asks softly.
“Sure, honey.”
She looks at the mare for a long moment, like she’s thinking really hard.
“Then her name’s… Hope.”
“Why Hope?” I ask.
“Because,” she says, taking a deep breath, “when she first got here, she was so sad and scared. But just now, when she looked at us… I could see her eyes.”
She pauses, thinking.
“The sadness isn’t there anymore. There’s still a little fear… but there’s a whole lot of hope.”
My chest tightens.
“And I want her to know it’s okay to be scared,” she continues softly, “as long as she has hope that everything’s going to be okay.”
She smiles up at me.
“So… her name should be Hope.”
I nod, giving myself a moment before I answer.
“Yeah,” I manage around the lump in my throat. “Hope is a beautiful name. It’s something we all should have.”
“I have hope that one day someone will want to be my daddy,” she says, smiling brightly, her chin lifted high. “Even though my original daddy didn’t want us anymore, that doesn’t mean there isn’t another one out there who will. We just have to have hope… right, Mama?”
Well… crap.
I nod because words aren’t possible right now.
Livy’s father is a piece of crap who walked out on us five years ago when he realized just how hard it is to run a sanctuary and raise a child.
“Come on, Mama,” she says, reaching for my hand. “The wind’s picking up, and we need to get you inside before your fingers and toes stop working.”
I laugh, but let her lead me toward the house.
She’s not wrong. Five more minutes out in this cold, and my fingers and toes will start to go numb.
The cold and I are not friends because I have Raynaud’s syndrome. It’s a condition that messes with my circulation. When I get too cold or stressed, the blood flow to my fingers and toes slows down, sometimes enough that they go numb and lose feeling altogether.
If I’m not careful… it can get worse than that.
The missing tip of my right index finger is proof of that.
“Rory, give her about ten more minutes to graze, then bring Hope back into her stall, please,” I call to one of the workers as we stop near him.
“Hope, miss?” he asks.
“That’s the new mare’s name,” Livy says proudly. “Mama let me name her.”
“Well, you chose a mighty fine name, Miss Olivia,” Rory says with a smile. “I’ll make sure Hope’s nice and comfortable in her stall…with an extra apple to boot.”
“I get to pet her tomorrow,” Livy adds, lifting her chin. “Will you make sure to say nice things about me tonight?”
“I’ll tell her every nice thing there is to say about you,” Rory promises.
“Which is a lot.”
Livy nods, and I chuckle.
“Let’s go, silly girl,” I say. “Let Rory get back to work.”
“Bye, Rory.”
“Bye, Miss Olivia.”
We start toward the house when Livy speaks again.
“Rory’s nice, but I don’t think he’s supposed to be my daddy.”
I nearly trip, glancing back to make sure he didn’t hear my crazy child.
“He’d make a good daddy,” she continues thoughtfully, “but I don’t think he’d be a very good husband for you. They have to be good at both. Right, Mama?”
This kid is going to kill me.
“Right, honey,” I say, knowing arguing will get us nowhere.
“He’ll be a good husband for someone… but he’s just not the one for you. He’s too nice.”
“Is that so?” I ask. “Do you know what kind of husband I need?”
“Of course,” she says, opening the door and ushering me inside.
“It has to be someone who can be stern when he needs to be. Because you’re as stubborn as a bull, Mama.
You’re always outside working with the animals even when you shouldn’t be.
Like tonight. You know what happens when you get too cold. ”
“Olivia, it’s not your job to take care of me,” I tell her. “You’re a ten-year-old little girl. And I know my limits, honey.”
“Maybe so, Mama,” she says, crossing her arms, “but when it comes to the horses…or me…you don’t think about yourself. That’s why you need a husband who will toss you over his shoulder and carry your butt back into the house.”
I bite back a smile.
“And I need a daddy who can toss me over his shoulder and plop me on a horse.”
Priorities.
My girl has priorities.
Keeping me warm… and helping her on horses.
“Well,” I say, “for now, it’s time to wash up for dinner. And if you eat everything on your plate, I’ll let you come with me to do night checks on the animals.”
“Really?” she asks, uncrossing her arms and bouncing on her toes. “On all the animals?”
“Yes,” I laugh. “All the animals.”
“Heck yeah!” she shouts.
While my Sanctuary is mostly horses, we do have several other rescue animals boarding with us.
Three kids…aka baby goats…whose mama was killed in a coyote attack, a fox with a broken leg, a blind bobcat…
who is hateful and will absolutely eat your face if you get too close, and two desert tortoises.
Those are rare and protected, so when they’re injured, they’re brought here for temporary care until the vets can get them back in shape.
Not to mention eight horses.
“Even Bobcat Bill?”
“You know Bobcat Bill is a girl, right?” I ask.
“Then Bobcat Billie.”
Laughing, I shake my head.
“Yes, even Bobcat Billie. But you have to stay five feet away from her enclosure at all times. I just need to do a quick check to make sure she’s okay before locking everything up.”
Livy nods, her face bright as the sun.
I love my job. I love that my daughter loves it.
But she sometimes forgets that abused and injured animals don’t behave normally.
Not that a bobcat is ever nice to a little girl who looks like food.
But I digress.
“Does she get to stay with us forever?” Livy asks. “Since she’s blind and can’t be released back into the wild?”
“Only until the rescue team can find a proper sanctuary for her,” I admit. “We’re not equipped to house a bobcat permanently. Especially a blind one. She needs a specialist who can help her live the best life possible.”
“A bobcat specialist… like you’re a horse specialist?” she asks.
“Exactly,” I say. “Now go clean up so we can eat. I’m looking forward to feeding those turtles.”
“Tortoises, Mama,” she sighs. “Turtles are completely different. You know that.”
Laughing, I rub my hands together, trying to bring warmth back into my fingers.
I did know that.
I’m always testing how much she’s paying attention.
After doing a quick check of tomorrow’s calendar, I sigh when I see it’s hoof day for Hope.
When she first came to us, her poor hooves were so overgrown they curled up at the ends. She could barely walk.
Now, they’re at a reasonable length, which means I can take care of them myself.
Trimming and cleaning hooves isn’t exactly my favorite job. It’s hard work, rough on the back… and the thighs… and pretty much every other part of my body. I do have equipment that helps hold their legs in place, but that doesn’t make it easy.
I have workers who help with this task, but they’re all men, and Hope is skittish around men, so I’ll handle her myself.
Even though she was malnourished when she came to us, she’s still a big, strong girl.
And scared horses don’t always remember how big and strong they are.
“I’m heading home, ma’am.”
Turning, I smile at Rory standing on the other side of my screen door.
“Is Hope in her stall?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a nod. “She even let me lead her without kicking me.”
“Progress,” I say, smiling.
“See you in the morning.”
He smiles, nods, then walks away.
Rory is a good man. He’s been with me for years now and manages the sanctuary during those rare moments when I’m not able to.
He’s handsome, but I think Livy’s right. He’s not the right man for me. I can appreciate that he’s attractive, but I’ve never felt any real pull toward him.
Not that it matters.
“Mama, can we give the tortoises strawberries?” Livy yells from her room. “Oh, and those big leaves?”
Laughing, I head to the kitchen to pull dinner out of the oven.
“Maybe just one strawberry,” I call back. “They’ve been out in the yard all day, so they’ve had plenty to eat. We just need to bring them to their enclosure for the night.”
“But we have so many fruits,” she says.
“Honey, remember, these are not our pets. They’re not meant to be pets.
We need to give them as natural a life as possible before they’re released.
That means no extra store-bought foods and making sure they have a shallow water area.
Even desert tortoises can get dehydrated, which is why they’re with us to begin with. ”
“So only one strawberry?” Livy asks, walking into the room.
I nod.
“Is that meatloaf? Yummy.”
Laughing, I pull out the dishes and plate up our dinner.