Chapter 8
Ava
Their abrupt exit left me gaping.
It’s just oatmeal. I thought men would eat anything.
Marley turned back to the pot, head down.
Her dark, delicate features and willowy curves reminded me of a pixie.
And despite the brutal stare-down I’d received at the front door, perhaps she was just as delicate inside?
What a contrast to Eli. His angular, broad planes spoke gladiator. Or bull rider.
I stood from the table. “Is it ready?”
When I sidled up beside her, I understood. She was using the wooden utensil to mash her disappointment into the now lumpy oats.
“I think it’s done,” I whispered, reaching between her and the stovetop to turn off the burner. “Where do the bowls live?”
It took several flings to get the hot, sticky cereal to separate from the spoon. Dark flecks seasoned the mush that held its shape like Play-Doh.
“Only a little for Nina,” I said.
She slung a huge glob in the second bowl, bigger than the first. And another into the last bowl.
My breakfast jiggled like Jello, and smelled like cardboard, but I intended to eat it because it mattered to this girl that someone did.
I carried all three servings to the table, and Marley tossed a Tupperware of brown sugar and a bag of raisins on the table, choosing the seat opposite us.
Even with extra sugar and a silent prayer, Nina tested the tip of her tongue on the spoon and promptly labeled it “yuck.”
Marley glared.
“She’s three,” I said apologetically. “Don’t take it personally.”
But she did. She shoved off the bench, dumped her half-eaten bowl into the sink, and stormed out of the kitchen.
I ate what I could, tossed the rest, then washed the bowls and soaked the pot in soapy water.
As the bubbles dissipated, I considered Steven.
I didn’t feel sad about ending it, which didn’t surprise me.
My heart was closed for business. And I’d never pretended otherwise.
But ending it meant I had to move all our stuff and hunt for a new job. My stomach sank.
I found a rag and scrubbed at the sides of the oatmeal pot.
The water turned murky, and the burnt bits floated to the top.
That’s how I felt. Old emotions and new hopes drifted around inside, making everything cloudy.
When I finished scrubbing the pot, it would be clean and ready to cook with again.
The dirty water and all the gunk would disappear down the drain.
I wondered what would wash away with my dirty water?
“Mama,” Nina tugged on my wrinkled blouse. “I wanna go see the horsies.”
Kids–the only safe assumption was that they’d change their mind. “Okay. But we have to stay out of the way.”
Ocotillo popped up around the property like twisted clusters of spiky green birthday candles, their fiery persimmon flowers reaching skyward. I loved that color.
We kept to the perimeter of the stalls. Nina observed the horses from the safety of my arms and outside of nose reach. I kept my eye on Eli’s dad as he mucked Chuck’s stall, waiting for our cue to vacate.
His movements were jerky, and every few minutes he’d stop to flex his hand. Arthritis? He fixed his hold on the rake, but with such a loose grip, a twenty-minute task could take him all day. When he winced, I conveniently forgot my creed and led us to the edge of Chuck’s enclosure.
“I can muck if you need a break.”
Chuck shoved his head over the bars at us, so I ran a palm down his roan muzzle. Nina squirmed on my hip.
Bill glowered. “This is a business, not a petting zoo.”
“I know.” I set Nina on her feet, initiating an instant tantrum.
“Nooo! Mama, uppy!” She grabbed at my skirt.
“Nina, not right now.”
Bill grumbled something to himself, wiped his palm on his jeans, then readjusted his hands around the wooden rake handle.
“There’s a phrase I like,” I said over Nina’s fit. “Work smarter, not harder. You’ve got a perfectly capable volunteer right here. One that owes you for a bowl of oatmeal, a banana, and a night’s stay.”
He looked over the top of his glasses at me. “You ate Marley’s oatmeal?”
“I did.”
He tilted his head, studying me from a different angle. Nina continued to wail and tried to climb me.
“You ever mucked before?”
“A few times.” No need to brag.
“In those clothes?”
I laughed–a quick, tense burst. “No. I, um …” I hadn’t thought of that. I glanced down at my shoes. Not impossible, but it wouldn’t be pretty.
“There’s a pair of spare boots in the end stall.” He came to the rails, his eyes slicing to Nina, who continued to howl. “Hey. Knock that off. You’re hurting the horse’s ears.”
The sound stopped, but her mouth hung open as she stared at him with teary eyes.
“What’re you going to do with her?” he asked.
“She can watch.” What other choice did I have?
“And when she wanders into one of the other stalls?” His head tilted toward the prickly painted horse on the end.
I stared at him, curious how he missed her whole afraid-of-horses fit. “She won’t.”
He eased between the horizontal bars to stand next to us. “Guess I’ll have to stay here.” The resigned deflation in his tone made for a begrudging offer.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to watch her.” I squatted to Nina. “Mama’s going to help clean the stalls. The horses can’t touch you if you stay outside the bars. Okay?”
“No.” Nina smooshed herself into me. It almost sent me to my butt.
“What’s your name, kid?” Eli’s dad towered over us with his hands on his hips.
I couldn’t blame Nina for her cautious, over-the-shoulder stare. In fact, relief flowed through me. Even after my horrible example, her stranger danger remained intact.
“Welp,” the older man said, turning to the stall.
“This here is Chuck.” Then he pointed to the one next door.
“The gray one is Misty. She’s a gentle thing.
’Cross the way there, with the diamond on her forehead, that’s Royal.
” In the far-right corner, the Paint huffed as if incensed at being left out.
“The feisty one there is Sugar. But she ain’t all that sweet. ”
Nina remained unmoved, her arms locked around my neck.
“And I’m William,” he told her. “Scratch that. Call me Bill.”
She didn’t call him anything, just scooted into me until I had to throw a hand to the bars to catch myself.
“What’s the matter?” he said. “You don’t like horses?”
“Nina doesn’t really know horses,” I explained.
With an audible inhale, Bill bent, pressing his hands into his thighs. “Nina? That’s your name? Well, Nina, which horse is your favorite?” His curt tone didn’t inspire a reply. “You like Misty?”
Nina’s dark eyes drifted to where the gray horse sunned.
“Yeah, a charmer, that one.” Bill’s expression turned thoughtful. “Some folks say she’s a unicorn.”
Nina’s arms unlocked from her chokehold so she could study the mystical creature.
I stood, brushing the dirt off my skirt.
Bill rose with me. “What about you? You got a name?”
“Hi. I’m Ava.” I held out my hand.
He stared at it before accepting the greeting. Maybe trying to evaluate my ability to do manual labor? A dry palm encased mine. Not calloused, like I’d expected from a ranch owner. “Well, Ava, you’d better get those boots on if you plan to finish today.”
I held back a laugh. I liked him. “You got it, boss.”
It could have been my imagination, but when he cleared his throat, I thought I saw the corner of his mouth turn up.