analgesic—crash to the floor.
I scrabble through the remaining Banamine granules, expired coupons, hoof picks, and assorted other junk until I find a pen and Post-it notes.
“Okay, I’m ready,” I say, scribbling on the top sheet to get the ink flowing. “What’s your name and number? I’ll have the owner call you when he gets back.” I glance back at the television, which has fallen blessedly quiet, the penis apparently consumed.
“What do you mean? When’s he getting back?”
“In a couple of days. He’s up in Canada getting a load of horses.”
“I can’t wait that long.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but that’s when he’s coming back. I can get the ball rolling, though. Do you have a fax number where I can send the surrender papers? Or do you want to pick them up?”
“I’m selling him, not surrendering him.”
I put the pen down on the pad. “You realize this is a rescue center, yes?”
“Yes.”
“We don’t buy horses.”
“What about them PMU mares? You buy them, don’t you?”
“Well, yes,” I say, frowning. “But that’s only so they won’t go to slaughter.”
“That’s why I figured you’d buy Squire. The dealerI talked to said he’d give me three hundred and fifty for him.”
“Which dealer?” I say with a sinking feeling.
“Jack Harrison.”
“He’s a killer buyer!”
“Well, exactly. That’s why I thought you’d want first shot,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Listen,” I say, pressing the heel of my hand to my forehead. “I don’t think you understand the way this place works. It runs on a shoestring. We depend on donations of hay, wormers, grain—everything. Farriers donate their work for free. Volunteers do the barn work. I highly doubt we even have three hundred and fifty in the bank. We’d be happy to take your horse and give him a good home, but we can’t pay for him.”
“Well, I can’t afford to give him up for nothing, so I guess that’s that.”
I press my lips together and rub my hand back and forth across my forehead. After a long pause I say, “Okay. Call him back and tell him the deal’s off.” I’ll pay for the horse myself and consider it a karmic opportunity to pay Dan back for the stove.
“So you’ll take him?” she says, brightening audibly.
“Yes,” I say.
“You’ll have to come out tonight.”
“Why?”
“Cuz the dealer’s coming first thing in the morning.”
“Just tell him the deal’s off.”
“How do I know you won’t back out?”
I sigh deeply, grievously. “Okay. Fine. Where are you?”
“You won’t be sorry. He’s a real nice horse. A fifteen-hand Appy, although he’s built more like a Thoroughbred. Real slim, real athletic. He’d make a good sport horse.”
“I said, where are you ?”
There is silence on the other end of the line.
I take another deep breath and force my voice to soften. “Please tell me how to get to you. I’ll come out tonight.”
“With four hundred?”
My jaw drops. “You just said Harrison offered three fifty!”
“Well, I figured being a rescue and all you’d pay a bit more,” she says coyly, “so that…you know…”
“Okay. Fine,” I say wearily. “Just tell me how to get to you.”
And then she does, interspersing her directions with assurances about how I won’t be sorry to have this horse because he’s such a nice horse and worth so much more than I’m getting him for and it’s just killing her to give him up but right now she really needs the money and all sorts of other stuff that I don’t hear because I’ve tuned her out.
It doesn’t matter a damn what kind of horse he is. I’d go get that poor creature tonight if he were a llama.
Chapter 3
Forty-five minutes. That’s how long she told me it would take to get to her place. So far I’ve been on the road for an hour and a half, and I still haven’t seen the designated landmark—a large maple with a black lightning mark on its trunk.
I finally catch sight of it—in my
I scrabble through the remaining Banamine granules, expired coupons, hoof picks, and assorted other junk until I find a pen and Post-it notes.
“Okay, I’m ready,” I say, scribbling on the top sheet to get the ink flowing. “What’s your name and number? I’ll have the owner call you when he gets back.” I glance back at the television, which has fallen blessedly quiet, the penis apparently consumed.
“What do you mean? When’s he getting back?”
“In a couple of days. He’s up in Canada getting a load of horses.”
“I can’t wait that long.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but that’s when he’s coming back. I can get the ball rolling, though. Do you have a fax number where I can send the surrender papers? Or do you want to pick them up?”
“I’m selling him, not surrendering him.”
I put the pen down on the pad. “You realize this is a rescue center, yes?”
“Yes.”
“We don’t buy horses.”
“What about them PMU mares? You buy them, don’t you?”
“Well, yes,” I say, frowning. “But that’s only so they won’t go to slaughter.”
“That’s why I figured you’d buy Squire. The dealerI talked to said he’d give me three hundred and fifty for him.”
“Which dealer?” I say with a sinking feeling.
“Jack Harrison.”
“He’s a killer buyer!”
“Well, exactly. That’s why I thought you’d want first shot,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Listen,” I say, pressing the heel of my hand to my forehead. “I don’t think you understand the way this place works. It runs on a shoestring. We depend on donations of hay, wormers, grain—everything. Farriers donate their work for free. Volunteers do the barn work. I highly doubt we even have three hundred and fifty in the bank. We’d be happy to take your horse and give him a good home, but we can’t pay for him.”
“Well, I can’t afford to give him up for nothing, so I guess that’s that.”
I press my lips together and rub my hand back and forth across my forehead. After a long pause I say, “Okay. Call him back and tell him the deal’s off.” I’ll pay for the horse myself and consider it a karmic opportunity to pay Dan back for the stove.
“So you’ll take him?” she says, brightening audibly.
“Yes,” I say.
“You’ll have to come out tonight.”
“Why?”
“Cuz the dealer’s coming first thing in the morning.”
“Just tell him the deal’s off.”
“How do I know you won’t back out?”
I sigh deeply, grievously. “Okay. Fine. Where are you?”
“You won’t be sorry. He’s a real nice horse. A fifteen-hand Appy, although he’s built more like a Thoroughbred. Real slim, real athletic. He’d make a good sport horse.”
“I said, where are you ?”
There is silence on the other end of the line.
I take another deep breath and force my voice to soften. “Please tell me how to get to you. I’ll come out tonight.”
“With four hundred?”
My jaw drops. “You just said Harrison offered three fifty!”
“Well, I figured being a rescue and all you’d pay a bit more,” she says coyly, “so that…you know…”
“Okay. Fine,” I say wearily. “Just tell me how to get to you.”
And then she does, interspersing her directions with assurances about how I won’t be sorry to have this horse because he’s such a nice horse and worth so much more than I’m getting him for and it’s just killing her to give him up but right now she really needs the money and all sorts of other stuff that I don’t hear because I’ve tuned her out.
It doesn’t matter a damn what kind of horse he is. I’d go get that poor creature tonight if he were a llama.
Chapter 3
Forty-five minutes. That’s how long she told me it would take to get to her place. So far I’ve been on the road for an hour and a half, and I still haven’t seen the designated landmark—a large maple with a black lightning mark on its trunk.
I finally catch sight of it—in my
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