Read Online All the King's Horses by Lauren Gallagher - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lauren Gallagher
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turned around and sold. Shifting my attention back to Blue, I said, “And if he’s desperate to sell them, there’s a good chance these two would either wind up crippling some inexperienced 4-H kid or going to a packing plant.”
“Or you’ll get them and not be able to get rid of them.” Mom gestured down the aisle, and I didn’t have to ask which stall she was indicating. “And next thing you know, you’re stuck with—”
“What can I do with Chip?” I asked. “I can’t sell him. Not yet.”
“I know you can’t,” she said softly.
We fell silent for a moment. She was preaching to the choir, and we both knew it. We also both knew she’d no sooner turn away the rescues than I would. I hadn’t, after all, come by my penchant for saving animals—or people—by accident.
“You have a good heart, son, and it’s in the right place.” She put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. “But you can’t save them all.”
She didn’t have to tell me twice. About the time I’d brought those two home last year, the wound was still plenty raw from the nine-year-old we’d had to put down over the winter because the crippling damage to his feet and legs turned out to be permanent.
I knew damn well I couldn’t save them all.
Chapter Five
Amy
Well, two days in and this job was off to a fantastic start. Not much different from the job I’d left behind, I supposed, though Sam didn’t doubt my ability with the horses. He made sure I knew how inept I was at interacting with clients, promoting and expanding the business, and anything else that didn’t directly involve the horses.
That was the one place he didn’t dare say anything. He knew horses like I knew business, so he wisely shut his mouth when it came down to that. Here, I was paid for my expertise in opening and closing gates, picking up horseshit and getting thirty-seven horses fed before six thirty in the morning.
And don’t you forget it, I thought, throwing a narrow-eyed glance at my new boss’s back as he and his father walked out of the barn.
Dustin hadn’t said it outright, but he didn’t like me. His eyes shouted what his mouth held back. Either that or he just looked down his nose at any lowly farmhand. Heaven forbid he offer the most basic respect to someone who made her living getting her hands dirty.
And yet he’d been cordial, even friendly, when we met. At least until he did that abrupt about-face while he was showing me around. I still didn’t get what on earth that was all about. Maybe stress, maybe moodiness, maybe something else that I didn’t want to deal with anymore after eleven goddamned years of it.
For the hundredth time, I considered packing up and heading home. There were things there I wasn’t yet ready to face, but being here wasn’t helping me settle everything in my head so I could face everyone and everything back home.
But, no. Unsettling boss or not, I was still more likely to clear my head here than at home. I hadn’t even begun working through all of that crap. I didn’t have to like Dustin—though I sure didn’t mind looking at him—to get through the next few weeks or months or however long I wound up staying here.
I could deal with him. And maybe, just maybe, I could deal with all this crap in my head.
The routine of a farmhand didn’t change much. Just minor variations in feeding, cleaning, turning out, repairing, and staying out of the way of paying clients. Out to the pastures, back to the barn, out to the pastures, to the barn again.
On my way back in from my umpteenth walk out to the pastures, I stopped. Standing here on this gently sloping hill, I had a virtually unobstructed view of better than half of the open-sided indoor arena.
The arena in which Dustin, probably oblivious to me, worked an Appaloosa mare I’d brought in from outside maybe half an hour ago.
Lord help me when I saw him on a horse, indeed. Oh my God.
My mouth watered. There was something about a good-looking
“Or you’ll get them and not be able to get rid of them.” Mom gestured down the aisle, and I didn’t have to ask which stall she was indicating. “And next thing you know, you’re stuck with—”
“What can I do with Chip?” I asked. “I can’t sell him. Not yet.”
“I know you can’t,” she said softly.
We fell silent for a moment. She was preaching to the choir, and we both knew it. We also both knew she’d no sooner turn away the rescues than I would. I hadn’t, after all, come by my penchant for saving animals—or people—by accident.
“You have a good heart, son, and it’s in the right place.” She put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. “But you can’t save them all.”
She didn’t have to tell me twice. About the time I’d brought those two home last year, the wound was still plenty raw from the nine-year-old we’d had to put down over the winter because the crippling damage to his feet and legs turned out to be permanent.
I knew damn well I couldn’t save them all.
Chapter Five
Amy
Well, two days in and this job was off to a fantastic start. Not much different from the job I’d left behind, I supposed, though Sam didn’t doubt my ability with the horses. He made sure I knew how inept I was at interacting with clients, promoting and expanding the business, and anything else that didn’t directly involve the horses.
That was the one place he didn’t dare say anything. He knew horses like I knew business, so he wisely shut his mouth when it came down to that. Here, I was paid for my expertise in opening and closing gates, picking up horseshit and getting thirty-seven horses fed before six thirty in the morning.
And don’t you forget it, I thought, throwing a narrow-eyed glance at my new boss’s back as he and his father walked out of the barn.
Dustin hadn’t said it outright, but he didn’t like me. His eyes shouted what his mouth held back. Either that or he just looked down his nose at any lowly farmhand. Heaven forbid he offer the most basic respect to someone who made her living getting her hands dirty.
And yet he’d been cordial, even friendly, when we met. At least until he did that abrupt about-face while he was showing me around. I still didn’t get what on earth that was all about. Maybe stress, maybe moodiness, maybe something else that I didn’t want to deal with anymore after eleven goddamned years of it.
For the hundredth time, I considered packing up and heading home. There were things there I wasn’t yet ready to face, but being here wasn’t helping me settle everything in my head so I could face everyone and everything back home.
But, no. Unsettling boss or not, I was still more likely to clear my head here than at home. I hadn’t even begun working through all of that crap. I didn’t have to like Dustin—though I sure didn’t mind looking at him—to get through the next few weeks or months or however long I wound up staying here.
I could deal with him. And maybe, just maybe, I could deal with all this crap in my head.
The routine of a farmhand didn’t change much. Just minor variations in feeding, cleaning, turning out, repairing, and staying out of the way of paying clients. Out to the pastures, back to the barn, out to the pastures, to the barn again.
On my way back in from my umpteenth walk out to the pastures, I stopped. Standing here on this gently sloping hill, I had a virtually unobstructed view of better than half of the open-sided indoor arena.
The arena in which Dustin, probably oblivious to me, worked an Appaloosa mare I’d brought in from outside maybe half an hour ago.
Lord help me when I saw him on a horse, indeed. Oh my God.
My mouth watered. There was something about a good-looking
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