“All right, all right, if you’re in a hip and a hurry.” He pushed off the bar.
He came back with her credit card and a receipt to sign. She signed it and gave a generous tip. She couldn’t afford it, or the drink for that matter, but what the hell. Bubba had been great company while they watched the game he had on. She’d almost been distracted from her shit life for awhile and that was worth throwing away a little money she didn’t have to spend, right?
“Don’t forget to get your fortune,” Bubba said, fishing a fortune cookie out of the large jar he had set up beside his cash register.
Calla lifted an eyebrow. “You do realize this joint isn’t a Chinese restaurant, right?”
“What? My Susie loves reading her horoscope every morning. And I’m always looking for little ways to jazz things up around here.” He grinned, his ruddy cheeks pink and his coffee-stained teeth shining.
“Hey, I’ll take all the luck I can get,” Calla took the fortune cookie from him.
“Have a good night, gorgeous.”
Calla rolled her eyes again. She heard a loud laugh from the far end of the bar that sounded a lot like Liam’s—a fact she hated that she knew, and decided to wait for Carl outside. It wasn’t just Liam. All night everyone had been flashing her pitying looks. Town the size of Hawthorne, everyone knew everyone else’s business. She was sure she and Daddy had been a hot gossip topic lately.
She shoved the fortune cookie in her pocket and headed for the door.
“Night, Cal,” a couple people called out as she walked by. She just nodded, avoiding everyone’s eyes.
She kept her back straight, chin up until she was out of the bar. Once she was out of sight of everyone, though, she collapsed back against the brick wall. She squeezed her eyes shut as the events of earlier that morning flashed for the hundredth time.
Today was the hardest since she’d moved Dad into the nursing home six months ago. The ranch was so in debt they’d barely come out of the deal with enough to secure his long-term care. Huntington’s Disease was degenerative and he only got worse as the years passed. But being so cash-strapped also meant that in addition to her truck, she’d had to sell her horse.
She’d taken Prissy out for one last ride before Chris Mendoza, a local trainer she’d sold him to, came to pick her up.
“Okay, girl.” Calla had scratched down Prissy’s long nose. “One last ride.”
It was a warm June afternoon but Calla felt cold through and through. She smiled though, not wanting Prissy to pick up on her mood.
Prissy snorted and nudged Calla with her nose. Calla wasn’t fooling her. Prissy knew something was off.
“Can’t get anything past you, can I, Priss?”
Calla ran her hands along Prissy’s sleek shoulder and flank, not wanting to lose a single second of contact during the short time she had left with her beloved mare. Her best friend.
Calla lifted a foot in the stirrups and then hiked herself up. Prissy neighed, throwing her head and stepping forward. Calla shifted her weight and got her seat right in time.
“Whoa, whoa, girl. What is it?”
But as Calla looked down the long road that led to her dad’s ranch, her stomach sank.
No. Not Dad’s ranch anymore.
She’d signed the papers just yesterday finalizing the sale. Ned Cunningham hadn’t made any bones about the fact that he expected Calla off the property within twenty-four hours and that anything she left behind was forfeit.
Calla swallowed as she watched the progress of the truck and trailer rig. At least the Cunninghams weren’t getting Prissy. The thought of Bethany owning Prissy was more than Calla could take. So she’d made arrangements with Chris, who was always looking for good barrel racing horses. Since Prissy was getting older, Calla had taken a loss on her. But it was better than that witch Bethany getting her.
The approaching truck kicked up dust and dirt as it rumbled closer. Calla’s jaw clenched and she clicked her teeth. Prissy came to attention underneath her. When Calla squeezed her thighs, Prissy responded.
The movements were almost unconscious at this point. She and Prissy had been together so long, the horse was more like an extension of Calla herself. So it was barely a thought in her head before Prissy took off at a canter that quickly became a full gallop around the side of the house to the practice paddock.
The gate was open and Calla leaned back in the saddle as they sped toward one of the barrels that was still set up in a cloverleaf pattern. She pulled on the left rein and Prissy turned on a dime to circle the first barrel.
Calla urged her on with her legs and then they were flying toward the second barrel. She felt her hat flip off at the speed but she pushed even harder. Wind beat at her face as she leaned back and pulled on the opposite rein to circle the second barrel. Prissy made an even tighter turn than the first and then dirt flew as they went hell for leather toward the third and then fourth barrel.
Both Calla and her mare were breathing hard when Calla finally pulled the reins to bring Prissy to a halt right beside the paddock fence.
Calla leaned over and breathed in Prissy’s familiar horsey smell as she clapped her on the neck. “That’s right, my strong girl. You did so good. You never let me down. Not once in my whole life.”