Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“It’s actually the Kincaid ranch, where we had the breech foal last month.”
“Got it. I’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”
“Thanks, Darby.”
He ends the call, and I shoot Tucker a text.
Me: Headed to the Kincaid ranch on a horse call. xo
Once I’ve washed my hands and changed into jeans and a T-shirt, I drive over to the Kincaid ranch. I hope I get to see how the foal is doing with her nurse mare. I’ve wondered how they’re getting on. Dr. Fisher has seen them and assures me that all is well, but I haven’t been back since that horrible night. That was the night of the storm, when Tucker came to rescue me from one hell of a panic attack.
Luckily, we haven’t had many storms this spring.
I wave at Mr. Kincaid after I park by the barn. He’s near the house, talking with his wife, but gestures for me to go on into the barn.
“I’ll be right there,” he yells out to me, and I reply with a nod, grab my bag from the back of the car, and walk into the barn. I can hear someone out in the paddock, likely working with another horse, as this is a pretty big ranch. Most of the stalls are empty right now, except for one stall with a pretty mare inside, and when she turns her head to me, I can see that her eye is definitely injured. Whether she hit it on something like a branch, or if it’s simply an ulcer on the eye, it definitely needs to be taken care of.
“Don’t worry, pretty girl.” I rub my hand down her face, and she leans into me with a little snuff. “We’ll get you fixed up.”
The voices outside get a little louder, and then I hear footsteps as someone walks into the barn.
“You can’t be fucking serious.”
With a frown, I turn and see Peter, the asshole farrier, smirking as he walks toward me.
“Just leave me alone, please.”
“I didn’t do anything,” he says, holding his hands out at his side, as if he’s the most innocent man in the world. “But you got me fired from my job, you stupid bitch.”
“Good. Because you’re a shitty farrier. Ellie’s hoof took almost three weeks to heal.”
“You distracted me.”
“Right, it’s always a woman’s fault, isn’t it.” I shake my head and feel the hair stand on the back of my neck when he moves to take a step toward me, and then we hear another car door slam outside, and Peter smirks.
“I like you being afraid of me,” he says so only I can hear him, and I want to punch the smirk off his face. “It’s fucking delicious watching the way those pretty blue eyes widen when you’re scared.”
“You can go fuck yourself,” I reply, proud that my voice doesn’t shake at all. “I’m not scared of you, asshole.”
Peter just laughs and goes on about his way, and I’m relieved that he doesn’t try to touch me again. Does he work here? I wonder if Mr. Kincaid knows what a complete waste of space that guy is.
Shaking my head, I turn back to the horse, and then I hear the noise coming from the paddock.
Crack!
Crack!
Oh God.
The breath leaves my lungs, my mouth goes bone dry, and I’m flung back in time when a monster ruled my life and my back was on fire.
Crack!
Someone’s hurting a horse with that whip.
I run out the barn doors and see a man training a young horse, the whip in his hand. He cracks it over and over, getting so close to the horse’s haunches, and I just know he’s going to break the skin any second.
No no no no no!
“Hey!” My voice is thready and thin, probably because I still haven’t been able to drag in any air. “Stop it.”
I want to scream at the man to stop cracking that whip.
You’re not quite bloody enough, little girl. You’re so fat, you have so much skin to break. You better not lose any weight and ruin all of my fun, or I’ll do this to your sisters until I tear the muscle from their bones.
Crack!
I can feel the tears tracking down my face as I run over to protect the horse, getting between the two, and then I feel the whip tear at the flesh of my shoulder and arm, making me stumble and fall into a fence post, hitting the side of my face and making me see stars.
Fuck you bleed so pretty for me.
“Darby!”
“Don’t hurt the horse. Don’t you dare!”
I just keep saying that over and over, but I can’t tell if I’m yelling it or if it’s a whisper because I can’t catch my breath, and my shoulder and arm sing in white-hot pain.
“Fuck, get some water.” I think that’s Dr. Fisher’s voice. “Darby, I need you to take a breath for me. You have to breathe.”