“Sometimes.” I shivered as a chill walked down my spine. “However, it’s more the other way around.”
Her eyes bugged. “You mean…he’s here…on the farm?”
“Kinda.” Words were heavy and unwilling as if sharing this secret would somehow make it untrue. But she spun some sort of curse that I couldn’t deny whenever she looked so deep and imploring into me.
Clearing my throat, I tried again—for her. “I feel him. I know when I’ve disappointed him or when he approves.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Isn’t that just your con-conscious? Keeko told me if I do something that makes me feel queasy, then I probably did something Dad wouldn’t approve of.”
I couldn’t stop myself from correcting her. “It’s conscience. And yeah, I’m sure some would say that. But I know otherwise.” Shoving the lace back into her hand, I stood quickly. “It doesn’t matter anyway. They’re both gone. Even if they can hear and see us, they’re not real.”
“They were real once.” Hope curled around her lace, stroking it with her thumb.
“But not anymore,” I muttered.
I’d reached my limit. I’d gone past my tolerance. I needed to be alone. And fast.
“My advice? Move on. They have.” Striding toward the stable door, I pointed a finger at her. “Now git. Go back to bed. Otherwise, I’ll tell Aunt Cassie you’re breaking camp rules.”
I didn’t wait to see if she’d obey, and my last image of Hope—before I bolted into the starry sky—was her draped in a blanket, hay stuck in her hair, and a pathetic piece of lace clutched tight in tiny hands.
CHAPTER TEN
Jacob
* * * * * *
“WELL, THE LAST of them are gone.” Grandpa John strode inside, bringing life and vibrancy wrapped up in plaid and denim. “Cute kids.”
I looked up from where I carved slices of roast chicken. Ever since talking with Hope in the barn four nights ago, I’d had an undeniable need to be kinder.
Not to Hope—I couldn’t stand to look at her in the sunlight after what we’d shared in the dark—but to Mom. To my family.
Hope taught me that just because I struggled with affection didn’t mean I wasn’t hurting others by denying it.
I’d tried to be better.
But it didn’t mean I’d made any progress.
“You’re an angel for babysitting the stragglers, Dad.” Aunt Cassie smiled from the dining room table. Mom and I had come over to Grandpa John’s to hang with everyone. It had sort of become a tradition to celebrate with a roast when the school holidays ended and the horse camp closed.
Aunt Cassie curled up her nose. “That awful man was going to send those poor foals to the slaughterhouse if I didn’t go that very minute.”
Mom flinched. “I’ll never understand how people can be so heartless.”
I kept my eyes on my knife as I continued slicing juicy meat.
“All good, darlin’ girl. Hopefully, the foster mare likes having two fillies. You might have to bottle-feed, though, to top them up.” Grandpa John kissed Aunt Cassie on the top of her head, squeezed Uncle Chip’s shoulder as he gave him a beer, caressed Mom’s cheek as he passed, and ruffled Nina’s hair where she sat on the couch watching some awful reality program.
Everyone got touched.
I stiffened, knowing I was next.
“I know. I’ve already got the formula. They shouldn’t be too far from weaning.” Cassie scribbled the new additions into her log book of all the horses she’d rescued—the age, condition, and background. Just like her horse camp had become popular, she and Mom had become well-known bleeding hearts when it came to mistreated cases. Lucky we were well off because most of Mom’s disposable cash went to feeding and maintaining the abused.
I sometimes wondered if she protected the sick and injured because she couldn’t protect Dad.
Grandpa John made his way into the kitchen, his huge bulk and imposing presence making my muscles stiffen even more. Grandpa John was the most affectionate out of the Wilson’s. He was gruff and had teeth that could draw blood, but he also wore his heart on his sleeve and saved every spider and fly rather than squashed them.
Planting a heavy paw on my shoulder, he inhaled deep. “Um, something smells good, Jakey.”
I smiled, doing my best to stop my body from shaking as he squeezed me. “Thanks.”
He sniffed at the roasted potatoes steaming beside the buttery green beans. “Can’t wait.”
I didn’t like to cook, but Mom had taught me well. She said I needed to know how to feed myself because hunting and cooking were the two things that would keep me alive and healthy if and when I left home.
Talking of leaving home…
I’d been thinking about that and knew what I would do. I just needed to find the guts to tell Mom. Besides, the past few days I’d had my daily allotment of stress thanks to Hope being on my farm.