Bright, Broken Things, page 16
She went to him, leaning over to give him a squeeze, Napoleon’s tail thumping against the hardwood, though the black Lab didn’t leave his post. There were no words she could say that would ever make up for his loss, so she took her usual post on the end of his couch, drawing her knees to her chest, arms wrapped around them, and stared at the TV without caring what was on the screen.
Her own woes seemed trivial now. She would deal with them — learn how to stay in control of her reactions and emotions. The past couldn’t dictate her life. She needed to devote her energy to more important things. Even without speaking, Geai gave her much-needed perspective. Claire was going but she was alive and thriving, and Liv could look forward to seeing what the filly would become. She would visit Claire in Florida and New York. Claire would remember her. Horses — especially fillies — remembered everything.
She wouldn’t give up. She’d find a way; transfer the dream Claire had represented to Sotisse’s unborn foal. Count the days until the mare’s due date in January. She had her own places to go; her own world to conquer. Now just wasn’t the time.
23
Even Emilie was silent this morning, the yearlings jogging three-abreast on the Triple Stripe training track. Arthur was in the middle and sometimes bumped the fillies on either side like he was looking for security, Emilie closest to the rail on Gemma, Liv on the outside with Claire.
The shy colt was coming along nicely. Nate had used the driving lines to get the colt used to the feeling of something moving on his sides, so he wouldn’t totally freak out once it was Nate’s legs there, and it had worked. He wouldn’t go so far as to call the colt confident, but he was satisfied with Arthur’s progress.
These warm, sunny days were numbered. Already there had been a couple of chilly nights and frosty mornings, the dip in temperature triggering colour changes in the leaves of the plentiful maples around the farm, dabs of yellow and red and orange brightening the landscape as the bossy greens gave up their hold.
In another month, the yearlings’ introductory lessons would be complete and they’d get time off until the new year. He’d be demoted to regular barn staff if he stuck around. Not that you minded that, remember? But... he had options. He could go to Florida himself, if he went for Trevor’s offer.
Did he owe these people anything? Sure, he’d told Geai he planned to stick around, but no one in the horse business ever expected to be held to such things. Farm help came and went like barn cats. Loyalty and commitment were rare, and he’d only been here a month.
He wasn’t afraid of winter — he had grown up in Alberta after all — but that didn’t mean avoiding it wasn’t appealing. That’s what the elite did in this business, right? There wasn’t a spot for him on the Triple Stripe team headed south this year. All he had was a spoken promise of a job at the track in the spring, and that six months was a lifetime. Trevor had promised he could be riding races by then, if not sooner, if he put his mind to it. This wasn’t the only outfit in the province. But if he became a rider, bailing on these people would be something they wouldn’t forget. He’d always be that guy. Then there was Arthur, still very much a work in progress… how could he leave the colt, not knowing if whoever finished the job would take the time to get it right? Liv and Emilie were both too busy to do it.
He could run off and try his luck with the big outfit — Faron’s — or he could stay with the respected one and hope patience did indeed pay off.
They pulled up just past the gap and turned in. His colt stood between the two fillies, and Nate wondered if the little yearling felt as conspicuous as he did himself, between Liv and Emilie, his female bookends. Similar in appearance, polar in personality.
It was Liv who initiated the walk off, and Emilie who initiated the conversation.
“Are you coming to the races this aft, Nate?” she asked. “Just Stellar is running.”
He knew that, of course. And it wasn’t that the question was unexpected.
“No — sorry — I have somewhere else to be. I’ll watch, though. Good luck.” His eyes slid from Emilie to Liv, feeling like a traitor, even though his excuse was legitimate.
He deserved Liv’s brows-raised half-smile in response to his wishy-washy answer. Why would he not just make it so, to be there for one of the farm’s rising young stars making her stake debut? It was a late race; he could go to Will’s after. He could make up for everything to everybody.
Arthur planted his front feet abruptly, hind end splaying beneath him, bringing Nate jarringly back to the here and now. Claire and Gemma arced in front as Liv and Emilie halted them, the fillies not as affronted by the pickup rolling to a stop a good fifty feet away. They formed an inadvertent protective barrier. Convinced he was safe, at least for the moment, the colt dropped his head, pressing his muzzle into Liv’s leg for comfort.
“Sorry,” Nate said, but didn’t pull Arthur’s head away.
Liv shrugged. “Whatever works.”
Geai climbed slowly from the truck, speaking quietly as he approached. “Such a brave boy, hiding behind the girls.”
The comment could have applied just as well to Nate as the colt. Not that he was hiding from Geai. Maybe he’d been avoiding him because he worried Geai would see through him. The old man saw stuff, in people and in horses.
Geai greeted Gemma first — she was clearly his favourite of the yearlings — then Claire. The colt lifted his muzzle and expelled a mild snort through nostrils open wide to take in the predator, his ears still locked forward.
“See, Arthur? Geai isn’t scary,” Emilie said.
He wasn’t, not really, but Nate wondered if he could be. Under all that congeniality, he figured the farm manager took no shit.
“I’ll let you pass before I continue on my way,” Geai said, not attempting to touch the colt, just allowing his presence to be felt; steady, non-threatening. “When you’re done, will you come help me with the stallions, Nate? I could use a hand.”
“Yeah, sure,” he replied too quickly, a tremor in the pit of his stomach. When did Geai ever ask for help with the stallions? His gut was strongly suggesting it was about something else.
“Finally,” Liv muttered. “He never lets anyone help. I’ve been telling him he needs to actually make his days off, days off.”
“Careful, Nate,” Emilie quipped, her lips twisting wryly. “You might make yourself indispensable around here.”
He didn’t think Emilie meant anything by that. She would have said something to him outright. It was Liv he could never read.
He found Geai in the stallion barn when he arrived. “Go get the big horse. Put it through his mouth and he’ll be fine.”
Nate knew exactly who he meant, and nodded, accepting with reverence the long leather stallion shank with a chain wrapped in Vetrap on one end and a big knot on the other. Despite his suspicions, he couldn’t help feeling honoured he was being entrusted with the farm’s most famous resident.
The “big horse” waited impatiently at the gate. Just Lucky wasn’t big at all in stature, but he was in everything else: reputation, accomplishment, presence. It was a title bestowed upon a horse who commanded respect; a horse who had proven himself on the track and earned his position as the best horse in the barn.
The hardest part was getting the shank on without getting nipped by those quick teeth. The stallion might just be playing — testing Nate to see what he could get away with — but if he connected, he’d leave a mark.
Just Lucky pranced beside him like he thought he was his great-great granddaddy Northern Dancer. Nate grinned but held the stallion with both hands on the shank, because that eye was all mischief, and it was trained on him.
“He must’ve been a handful on the track.” Nate slipped out of the stall with all his digits intact.
“Ask Livvy,” Geai said. “She galloped him a bit.”
Of course she had. The information hit him with both admiration and jealousy.
“Can I get on him? This could be like some of those Kentucky farms where they exercise the stallions to keep them in shape for breeding season.”
Geai didn’t answer, his arms crossed, his gaze narrowing. And here it comes.
“I asked you when we started, if you intend to be around next year. Now I feel the need to ask if you’ll be around next month.”
He felt the old man’s eyes when he refused to meet them, his own shifting with his feet. He didn’t give an answer, because he didn’t have one.
“If you can, some notice would be nice. It’s not an easy time of year to find help. The best people go south.” Disappointment wrapped in irony laced his tone as he relieved Nate of the loop of leather and chain. “You can go. I’ll get Starway. I know you have someplace to be.”
The dismissal stung, but it served him right.
He made it to Will’s as promised, ready to catch up for a few hours before they went out. He’d showered off the horsiness and put on nice clothes, but didn’t feel especially clean. Will didn’t comment on his distraction; he actually didn’t look particularly convinced Nate was even there to start with, not that Nate could blame him. Gradually the music did its thing as they played some tunes, easing the tension. It felt just a bit like old times, back when they were teenagers in Calgary and joked about their band making it. Then the alarm he’d set on his phone went off to remind him to watch Just Stellar’s race.
Will didn’t complain, and even watched over his shoulder. The fillies were being loaded, filing into the starting gate one by one.
Just Stellar ran much like she had for her maiden win, sweeping up outside of horses on the turn for home and surging to match strides with the favoured leader. The two runners fought hard down the stretch, locked together until the Triple Stripe filly broke the showdown, inching ahead with each thrust of her head.
“Come on, Stella,” he said, his tone more restrained than it would have been if he’d watched with the others at the track. A nose, then a head. At the wire she had a neck advantage.
He was happy for them. And sad for himself.
The camera view shifted to show the field galloping out, and his blood ran cold. Dave Johnson was pulling Stella up hard, the other fillies going around her.
“She’s hurt,” he said, his throat dry. He jammed his phone in his back pocket and grabbed his coat from the back of the couch, digging his keys out as he rushed for the door.
“What are you doing?” Will asked.
“I’m sorry, Will, really I am, but I have to go.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re blowing me off — again, and on my birthday, no less — for the place you’re planning on leaving?”
“I’m not planning anything.” He bit off the words, but his reaction was a revelation. Because why would these people care? They already questioned his commitment, so his appearance would be taken with a grain of salt. But it hit him he cared about those horses. Not that he hadn’t cared about the ones he’d encountered at the Fort — his actions and reactions there had been things he couldn’t get away from, and they made him think hard about the choices he’d be facing if he went that route. But he cared about those people too, even though he barely knew them, while he held no affection for the ones he’d met at the Faron outfit. The Triple Stripe crew had taken him in. Given him a place when he had no place.
“Can’t you just call?” Will persisted.
Call? No. He needed to show up. “I’ll meet you later. Promise.”
There was no traffic on the 427 highway on the weekend, so it didn’t take him long to get to Woodbine. He flashed his badge at the security gate, tapping the steering wheel while he waited for the sleepy guard to scan it before he was allowed into the backstretch.
The vet’s black SUV was parked at the end of the barn, and he pulled up behind it. Jo was holding the filly on the shedrow while the vet positioned the x-ray machine, Liv decked out in the heavy blue lead apron and cumbersome leaded gloves as she held the plates in position by the filly’s right fore. Roger stood to the side, observing.
None of them noticed him. He doubted he was even welcome here. But he waited, out of the way, watching.
Liv noticed him when she shouldered off the apron, surprise flashing in her eyes before she returned her attention to what the vet was saying to Jo and Roger. Condylar fracture. Surgery.
He jumped in with an offer to help carry out equipment. Liv slid him a sideways glance as she packed the apron away. He hadn’t noticed till then she was wearing a sheath dress, a dusky blue that came close to matching her eyes, ballet flats on her feet. Go-racing clothes, not barn wear.
Jo already had bandages on Just Stellar, tied at the front of her stall with access to her haynet. The filly didn’t seem in any distress. There was no dramatic rushing off to the clinic like the legendary filly she so reminded him of, Ruffian.
“When will they do the surgery?” he asked.
“Monday, probably,” Liv said. “It’s not an emergency. It could probably heal without it — it’s just a small fracture — but the internal fixation will ensure a better prognosis.” She fell easily into the vet speak, finding a seat on a foot locker set against the outer rail.
Nate wandered a few stalls down to the only other face he recognized, Paz. The old gelding looked hopeful, stretching his neck over the stall yoke, but Nate’s pockets were empty. “What is he today? Pony or racehorse?”
“Pony,” Liv said. “He wasn’t himself galloping this morning. Came back with a bit of heat in his tendon. We ultrasounded it and there’s no tear, just inflammation, but he’s done.”
What a day, but it could have been so much worse. Both horses would be fine.
He should probably get back to Will’s, but he lingered. It wasn’t about the girl — this strange, quiet girl. He’d made that mistake before, changing direction to be the man he thought he needed to be for someone else, and he’d still lost out. He was here for the horses, because they’d never let him down. And this barn, this girl… they were on the same page. The horses came first.
“I’d better go,” he finally said, standing just out of Paz’s reach. “On my way to my friend’s birthday party.”
“Thanks for checking in.” Liv met his eyes with what looked like respect he didn’t deserve and a question he needed to answer.
24
Stella’s injury wasn’t life-threatening, though Liv supposed any time a horse sustained a fracture requiring surgery, it could end up that way. The procedure was straightforward. The orthopedic surgeon invited her to observe; a front-row seat in the operating theatre. She accepted.
She kept a safe distance for the induction but was allowed to assist with the prep. She could scrub. She could clip the leg. Once the filly was draped and ready, the site isolated, the surgeon poised with the scalpel, ready to start the incision. She wished it were in her hand. Then it came to her, a glimmer of enlightenment. This could be the answer.
She didn’t need to be a track vet. She didn’t need to be the farm vet. She could be a surgeon; put horses back together instead of being party to tearing them apart. All her reticence disappeared as she watched — asking questions, itching to be the one with the knife and power tools. It must’ve impressed the surgeon, because after he finished, he suggested they talk about her doing a surgical internship once she’d graduated.
She didn’t leave until Just Stellar was safely through recovery and back in a stall at the clinic. It was late enough she had a legitimate excuse to skip her ride on Claire. Not that she wanted excuses; she wanted to be with the filly as much as she could before Claire left with the Florida horses. But tonight, a hello and a few peppermints — now that she knew the filly liked them — and maybe she’d try to get to bed early for a change.
Pulling up to the training barn, lights already illuminated the aisle. She heard singing first, then as she peeked in the end of the barn, found Arthur in the first stall on the left, Nate currying away. What was that song?
Arthur noticed her first, Nate cutting his tune short when he caught up with the colt. “Hey. How’d the surgery go?”
“Good,” she said simply. “He looks like he’s trying to enjoy being inside.”
“It’s never going to be his favourite place, but he’s coping.”
Maybe she should try singing, too. It was just a different kind of breathing, wasn’t it?
He slipped the halter over the colt’s ears and left the stall, dropping the grooming tools in the tote by the door. Liv wandered a few stalls down to Claire.
“I left her in for you, just in case,” Nate said.
“Thanks,” she said. “She’s due a day off.”
He paused on his way to the tack room, watching as she pulled a mint from her pocket and offered it to Claire.
“She’s a nice filly,” he said.
He didn’t mean that she was pretty, or sweet, even if she was all that. He meant she was classy. He meant she might have talent. She might have that something that would make her a racehorse.
“I hope so,” Liv said. Even if it wasn’t her that got to develop the filly from here, she wanted for Claire what she couldn’t have herself.
She turned to face him, still close enough she could feel the filly’s breath on her neck. “The yearlings will be done in a couple of weeks. I know you haven’t given notice, but I don’t like to assume. I realize you have other opportunities.”
He rocked his weight onto one leg, meeting her eyes, but didn’t respond.
“There are few secrets on the backstretch,” she said wryly, her lips crimping on one side before she pressed them together. “I wouldn’t blame you for going. If I could go to Florida for the winter, I would. Are you staying?”
