Page 18 of Holding On

“It’s not a typical office situation, that’s all. And that’s really all I can say.” There’s a note of finality in her tone that tells me to drop it.

“I see.” I grin. “Is this like a you can’t talk about it and if you do, you’ll have to kill me sort of situation?”

Instead of a laugh, her look is dark, and her eyes flash at me in the moonlight. I saw that look in Salty’s eyes earlier when we started out to the beach. It’s fear.

“Well, kind of. I mean, I won’t actually have to kill you, but I can’t really talk about it.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it. Okay?” Suddenly she stops, and she turns to me, speaking in a rush of words. “I didn’t ask for this thing I have to do, but I have to do it. And I need you to know—I need someone to know—that if this blows up, I entered into this for all the right reasons and not to hurt anybody.”

Now I stop. Salty nuzzles the lead. Something tells me to just put my arms around her and hold her. I can’t, though. I’ve got the horse on the lead. I have to remain calm—no sudden movements toward either of them. He nickers.

Her sigh is shaky. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

I reach out and touch her shoulder. She pulls her denim jacket further up. All I want to do is kiss her. Right now.

Bad move.

Salty nickers again. I put an arm around Maya and give her a brotherly squeeze. “Whatever it is, you’re going to handle it with grace and integrity.”

“How do you know?”

“I know you.”

We start up the small incline to the corral, staying on the trail through the short, grassy knolls. Maya opens the gate, and I unclip the lead. Salty steps inside, turns, nickers, and tries for my pants again. I close the gate. We have to speak in whispers now because we’re so close to both the clinic and The Inn.

“Can you ride him?”

I shake my head. “No, not yet. He’s not ready.” I stroke the gelding’s neck “He can’t even tolerate a sack on his back right now.”

“Is that how you do it?”

“Yeah. First and always, build trust. Then a light sack, a blanket, a saddle, and then a person.”

Salty keeps nuzzling my pocket.

“What’s he after?”

I put a finger to my lips. “Apple bits.”

She lowers her voice. “Oh my God. Your dad did that, didn’t he?”

“Never approach a horse without apples. That was his motto.” I pause. “When did you first meet him?”

“Your dad? I used to come here before they adopted you and then a few times afterward. You were really young. You don’t remember? Your sisters never told you?”

I shake my head. “Guess not.”

“Oh, I have some very compromising photographs.”

“Compromising?”

“Oh yeah. Like there’s one where you’re two and I’m—I don’t know, six?—and we’re buck naked in a swimming pool.”

I feel the hidden Brit in me rise again. “Kind of cheeky, isn’t it?

“Oh my God, stop with the accent.”