Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 123171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
“Oh my god,” I say and instantly feel tears spring to my eyes.
“What?” Everly asks, concerned.
“He’s Phoenix’s half-brother. I thought they looked alike, and it’s because they have the same sire.”
“I’m looking up the sire now,” Everly goes on and I stare at the screen of my phone in shock. “He died seven years ago. So that gelding is probably one of the last of his offspring. You have to get him, Mom. You have to.”
“I will,” I promise and blink back more tears. “I will.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
JACOB
I close the trailer door and step back, giving the driver a wave so he knows he’s good to go. It’s getting late in the afternoon, and I’m more than ready for lunch. Dr. Brenden and I teamed up with three other vets and have been working with another rescue to purchase the worst of the worst here. Once in our care, we can ensure they meet their end peacefully instead of being shoved in a trailer and shipped to either Mexico or Canada where they’d meet a grueling fate.
And I just paid out of my own pocket for the two donkeys that we loaded into the trailer, who are on their way to a local vet clinic not far from here. They’ll go to a sanctuary in southern Illinois after they’re treated and quarantined, where they’ll live out the rest of their days happy and safe.
This isn’t my first auction; yet, it’s as emotionally draining as the first time I went to one. Being a vet is so much more than treating sick animals, and it’s a never-ending battle to educate people on proper care. I’m willing to bet a majority of the horses here were dumped off because their previous owners weren’t prepared to take on that responsibility in some way or another.
“Ready to get out of here for a bit?” Dr. Brenden asks, taking his hat off and running his hand through his hair. He’s older and can come off a bit gruff. I don’t think his “hard truth” speech at the Horse Fair went over well with everyone in the audience, but I know where he’s coming from. You can only take so much before you become bitter.
“Yeah,” I say, more than ready to eat and to get a break from this place. We’ve been here since the morning and have been going nonstop. It’s been the welcomed distraction that I hoped for; though, my mind flitted back to Josie every now and then. I want to talk to her and make things okay between us again. And by okay, I mean I want to go back to the previous animosity we held against each other.
Hillside is several hours north of Silver Ridge and makes my small hometown look like a lively big city. There’s not much here at all, and the downtown area consists of one whole block. We get lunch at the only diner and then go right back to the auction, which is still going strong and probably won’t wrap up until late tonight.
The wind picked up, bringing with it a light, misty rain. A storm is blowing in and the horses can sense it. Dr. Brenden goes to find the other vets we’d been working with while I walk up and down the large barn, looking at the horses.
A black thoroughbred gelding had caught my eye earlier this morning. Unsure if he’s been run through or sold yet, I head down the sea of temporary stalls and come to a dead stop just feet from his stall. A petite woman with wavy brown hair is in the holding pen with him, singing Zombie by The Cranberries. She’s holding a lead rope in one hand and a treat in the other.
The woman doesn’t have to turn around for me to know who she is: Josie.
The gelding’s ears flick back and forth from Josie to whoever he just whinnied to. Right. He came in with a mare and she’s not in the stall. Josie is trying to distract him by singing, keeping his attention on her so he doesn’t panic when he hears his friend calling for him.
The horse is scared, worked up, and stressed enough that he’s covered in sweat. He moves quickly to the other side of the pen. Josie stays calm and holds out her hand, still singing. The horse comes back to her, nostrils flared and paws at the ground. If she does get him still enough to clip the rope to his halter, he’s going to be difficult for her to handle.
And I don’t want her to get hurt.
“You’re okay,” she tells him and takes a step back, giving him space. “I’m sorry your friend left you, but you’ll make lots of new friends, I promise.” She looks around the stall. “You have no water. I’m going to get you some water.”