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)
“Mom!” She laughs. “I love you too.”
Yawning, I step back and look her up and down. She’s so beautiful, inside and out. And she has no idea how many times she saved me, how she kept me going. “For real, though, you have something to eat?”
“Yeah. There’s a really impressive salad bar in the cafeteria too.”
“That sounds really good right about now.”
“It’s seven-thirty.”
“Mhhh…salad. With ranch and croutons and a ton of tomatoes.” I go back to the counter. “And coffee.”
“You disgust me, mother.”
I laugh, pour myself a big cup of coffee, and then walk Ev to the porch. She insists that I don’t walk her down the driveway, but I still wave as the bus pulls away. Sipping my coffee, I put on socks, shove my feet into rubber boots and go to the barn to start morning chores.
Starting with the horses, I give them all hay and then throw several flakes in the large trough outside the run-in shelter for Bowser and the llamas. I feed the chickens and go back to give the horses grain.
Figuring I’ll change Thor’s bandage while he’s busy eating, I take the equine first aid kit into his stall, twisting the lid on a wound spray Jacob left for me to use. The stitches look great. Really great, actually. Jacob did a good job—as he should. The little scrapes and cuts around the stitches are what I need to worry about now, making sure they don’t get infected before they can heel.
“Hey little dude,” I say, making sure Thor can see me as I bend down. I go to brush bedding off his leg and he kicks. I move out of the way before he gets my face or the back of my hand, but his hoof makes contact with my bicep instead.
“Fuck!” I cry, hand flying to my arm. Tears sting the corners of my eyes from the pain and, for a few seconds, I don’t move, thinking my arm is broken for sure. Shaking myself, I realize I can move my fingers. And bend my elbow. I can even raise my shoulder.
“Little asshole,” I grumble and then feel bad. He’s in pain, distracted with his grain, and probably got startled. “Okay. It’s okay,” I say, not sure whom I’m soothing: myself or the pony.
I run my hand down his leg, avoiding his injuries. He finishes his grain and turns around, looking at me. I jerk back, not wanting to get kicked again. The pain is starting to register and I’m going to have one nice bruise in an hour or so. The last thing I want is to have to call Jacob back and say I can’t take care of Thor because he’s kicking.
It’s a perfectly acceptable thing to do. Hell, I’ll even argue it’s the responsible thing to do. But, dammit, I don’t want to.
“No one likes getting wounds cleaned,” I start and angle my body away before I spray a little bit of the cleanser on Thor’s leg. He flinches but doesn’t so much as pin his ears. “But I promise you, this is better than getting an infection.”
I keep talking to him as he pushes his hay around and, what seems like an hour later, I get his leg cleaned up and rewrapped in fresh gauze. Then I start taking everyone out, and Thor is not a happy camper. Realizing that I can’t leave him in the barn alone, I keep Freya in to keep him company for the time being.
Then it’s time to get started on stalls, fill up the water troughs outside and dump and wash all the buckets in the barn since I didn’t get to it yesterday. The cold clutches of anxiety start to come back and I’m having a hard time ignoring the voices.
Because they’re right. Running the rescue is a fulltime job and I already have a fulltime job. I don’t know how I’m going to pull this off.
“I know the novelty will wear off and she’ll realize how much work this is. But, for now, I’ll take it.” I sit on the porch swing next to Mom, taking a sip of iced tea. I showered for the first time not that long ago, and now I’m taking a break while Everly feeds the horses their dinner. “If we can make it through the summer with her being this enthusiastic, I’ll be happy.
“You know, I thought you’d grow out of the horse-girl phase,” Mom tells me.
“Hah. Jokes on you, right?”
“Oh, totally. Though, I didn’t mind being a horse show mom for a few years.”
I smile. “I’d like to be one, too. Someday. Maybe.”
“She has your spirit, that’s for sure.” Mom puts her arm around my shoulders, giving me a squeeze. My relationship with my mother has changed so much throughout the years. I was a total mama’s girl and then was a stereotypical teenager. I liked spending time with my mom at the barn, and petty, teenage Josie also liked how my siblings got jealous that my parents spent so much time and money on me and my “horse habit.” But then I got pregnant and things were tense; not just with my mom, but both my parents.