32. Nathan
32
NATHAN
The next day is hectic, as I try to stave off Amber scheduling the photoshoot with the magazine, while simultaneously getting my normal work at the barn done. Beau and Candice are monitoring Storm, and in between everything that’s been going on, I haven’t had the time to ask them if they’re okay with the shoot in the first place. Amber is like a dog with a bone, though, and I need an answer for her soon. She wants the magazine to come here next week.
To get her to calm down, I post a selfie on my social media of me and Ballantine. It’s the type of content I’ve avoided for weeks, but I know it will make my legions of followers happy. And I add a long caption detailing my work at Star Mountain over the last week, hoping to show people that I honestly care about this place and its mission. Sure, being here is helping to rehab my image, but everything I post is the truth, and from the heart.
I don’t manage to catch Beau and Candice alone until dinner time, when they’re both finally taking a break from worrying over the starving mare.
“Did either of you sit down all day?” I ask.
“I did,” Candice volunteers. “But only while I was eating a snack in the barn office.”
“And you?” I ask my best friend.
“I’ve been busy,” he says defensively. “Storm isn’t my only patient at the moment. Buckles is having a problem with his teeth, and he really doesn’t like me looking at them, and Holden’s got a calf with a nasty infection. I don’t have time to sit down.”
“Easy, Beau,” Candice says. “Nathan is just making sure we take time to eat and rest and don’t drop dead on our feet.”
“He’s acting like a mother hen,” Beau grumbles.
“That’s because he is one. He has two younger siblings and he clearly splits mother hen duties with his older sister. You know, I even saw him cook when I was at the ranch with him.”
I stare at Candice, mouth slightly ajar. My brothers accuse Cassandra and I of being mother hens all of the time. And they’re not wrong—Cass and I can be a bit overbearing in our protectiveness. I didn’t explain any of this to Candice though. She just saw it. She noticed it, without me saying a word.
She saw me.
“How are your siblings?” Beau asks. “I haven’t seen any of them in a year at least.”
I chat with Beau about my family while he ladles soup into bowls for the three of us. It’s broccoli cheddar, with fresh bread on the side, which I suspect he actually made himself. While we eat, we regale Candice with stories from our time cowboying together on my family’s ranch, and all the shit we used to get into with my brothers. This seems to suit her just fine as it allows her to consume as much food as possible without pausing to speak.
We end up sprawled in the living room, with Candice taking up the entire couch by herself. She lays flat on it, and wraps herself in the blanket her grandma knit for her.
“So,” I say. “I’ve got a proposition.”
“A what?” Candice asks around a yawn.
“Well, it’s more like an idea. Or an offer. Someone made me an offer and I can’t really refuse it, but I need you guys to okay it so?—”
“Just spit it out,” Beau says.
“Western Horsewoman wants to do a follow up article on me. And they want to shoot it here. Next week.”
“O-kay,” Beau says slowly. “Why?”
“What do you mean why?” I splutter.
“He’s America’s favorite cowboy and all that. Isn’t the why obvious?” Candice says, waving her hand around. She’s propped up on the couch now, and is staring at me with an inscrutable look on her face.
“They interviewed him a few months ago. How much more could he have to say?” Beau asks.
“Fair point. He’s all brawn, no brains, after all,” Candice jokes.
“Laying aside the issue of my brawn,” I start. “They want to do an article about my time here working with the rescues. I told my manager that they’d have to feature you and Beau in the article, too.”
“I’ll pose for a photo, but I won’t talk,” Candice says.
“I won’t pose, and I won’t talk.” Beau crosses his arms as he says this.
“Great, I’m sure the magazine will love that,” I say in an exasperated tone. “You know, if you want to raise some actual money for this place, an article like this is the perfect opportunity.”
“That’s true,” Candice says.
“A quote or two from the owner, saying how much she wants to help more horses, if only she had the money, wouldn’t hurt,” I encourage.
“Fine,” she says. “I’ll talk. A bit. But you better do most of the work. I’m not good at that shit.”
“Honey, don’t worry. This is exactly what I’m best at.” I grab my phone off the coffee table and immediately send Amber a text.
“I need to get going,” Candice says, yawning yet again and hauling herself up off the couch.
“Where to?” I ask.
“I’m going to sit with Storm,” she says. “Just for a few hours. I want to make sure she’s okay.”
“I’ll come with you,” I offer. I hate the idea of her sitting there alone, worrying herself sick over the mare. If I’m there, at least I’ll be able to keep her spirits up and keep her mind occupied.
Candice goes to put her boots and coat on, and Beau catches me alone for a moment before I follow her.
“Nate,” he says. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For offering to sit with her. For caring.”
I think for a moment about what to say—about how much to reveal. The look in Beau’s eyes tells me that it’s time to lay all my cards out on the table.
“You told me once that there was no one more dedicated to these horses than Candice,” I say. “And you’re right—each and every one of them is part of her family, and it’s a beautiful thing to behold. But she deserves someone that’s dedicated to her just as deeply. And that’s all I’m trying to do.”
Beau nods, just once, but it lets me know that I’ve said the right thing.
Candice and I sit near Storm’s stall on folding chairs, with a blanket across our laps. Tabitha comes over and crawls onto Candice’s chest, purring loudly in the frigid, silent night.
“She still looks so tired,” Candice says, eyeing Storm.
The white and grey mare is lying down in her stall, her head listless. She spends most of her time like this, conserving her energy as she’s too weak from malnourishment to stand or walk for long.
“She does,” I say. “But she’ll pull through.”
“Beau said she probably has colitis, which can be rough.”
“I heard him say that earlier. But you never know, she could be a fighter.”
Candice sniffs and closes her eyes briefly. “I’m trying not to get too attached to her.”
“And how’s that working out?” I ask, taking her gloved hand in mine.
“I’ve already decided that when she gets better, I’m going to keep her here forever, and let her live out her wildest, chubbiest dreams on our land.”
“Is it worth trying to find her owners?” I ask.
“I’ll call around. I know enough people who might know someone who’s missing a horse. But I don’t want her going back to her owners if they’re the ones who did this to her. And besides, she might have escaped from a holding facility or an auction site, in which case, she doesn’t have anyone looking out for her.”
“She has you,” I say. “She has Beau. She has everyone else here—Jenny and Lila and Tomás.”
“And you.” Candice smiles at me, and it’s a real one, one that lights up her whiskey-colored eyes. “You helped me a lot yesterday and I never thanked you for it.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” I say gruffly.
“Well, I’m pretty sure I owe you something.” She looks down at my crotch and wiggles her eyebrows in a way that makes me burst out laughing.
“Oh don’t you worry, Viper, I’ll be calling in my reward. I’m just waiting for the right moment.” What I don’t say is that I won’t call in the reward until Candice feels less stressed out about Storm—right now is not the time for sex.
“Can’t wait,” she says.
“Tell me about how your grandparents would have handled a horse in this shape,” I say. “If you want to, that is.”
“Well, when we got Maggie, she was skinny. Not like Storm, but still in pretty rough shape. Gramps and I watched her day and night, in shifts, and Grammy made sure we had a supply of hot tea and cornbread to keep us going.”
She talks me through how they saved Maggie, and how she learned to train her by working with her grandpa. Then she starts telling me stories of all the other horses who have passed through these doors—horses her grandparents saved from abuse and hunger, horses whose owners couldn’t afford to look after them any longer, horses who were injured and had nowhere else to go. It strikes me that this place is more than just a family business to her and Beau—it’s their legacy.
At some point, we both fall asleep, hands interlocked, legs pressed together for warmth.