Page 107 of Holding Hope

“I don’t want her to be treated badly,” she cried. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she tried wiping them away. “They won’t know she hates storms, or that she needs someone to stand outside her stall while she eats breakfast—” Her voice cracked. “No one knows her better than me. And he thinks he can just give her away? It’s not fair.”

This time, she didn’t bother trying to stop the tears. I cupped her face gently; her tears cool against my palm. “I know. I’m sorry.”

She blinked slowly, trying to steady herself. “And with Melody getting worse… Artemis has been my only comfort. Until you, of course. It’s not—it’s not right or fair, but I can’t keep crying over spilled milk.”

My heart stuttered at those words. Until you. Until you. Until me.

“Let’s get out of here,” I blurted, an idea forming. Clarke looked up, lashes clumped with tears, cheeks flushed pink.

“I can’t—the baked goods⁠—”

I laughed and kissed her nose. “Delia can handle it. She’ll probably take over anyway. That girl loves being everyone’s boss.”

A small smile tugged at Clarke’s mouth—faint, but real. I held onto it like a lifeline.

“Come on,” I urged, unbuckling and stepping out of the Bronco. Clarke followed, and soon both our boots hit the ground.

“Where are we going?” she asked, slipping her hand into mine.

“The library,” I said brightly—then frowned. “But you’ll have to show me where it is. You know this place way better than I do.”

She laughed softly, her voice still thick from crying. “It’s this way.”

Inside the library—which doubled as the elementary school—Clarke whispered, “Okay, what are we doing here?”

I followed the librarian’s directions toward the archives, weaving past the fiction and romance sections. I hadn’t realized Opal Springs had so many books, but I guess that’s what happens when you live somewhere with terrible cell service and worse cable.

“It’s Pelican Fly Day,” I said, pulling a heavy book from the shelf and nearly stumbling under its weight. “So why not learn the history of the holiday?”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Avalon, I know the history. I explained it to you the first week you were here.”

I nodded. “And you remember what you told me about Sonja and that doctor?”

Her brows furrowed—then shot up. “You want to figure out who he was?” She hurried to my side, scanning the page. “I never thought to come down here to find out.”

“What year am I looking for?” I asked, flipping through the thick, dusty pages.

“1864, I think,” she said. “Yeah—I remember learning about the Civil War at the same time.”

I flipped to the tabbed section and skimmed the pages until something caught my eye—a newspaper clipping from that winter, accompanied by a photograph.

A pale-haired woman with soft features held an enormous pelican in her arms. Behind her stood a man—presumably, the doctor—wearing a short-brimmed hat and a stethoscope. His hand rested lightly on her elbow; a faint smile carved into his face.

Beside me, Clarke sighed and stepped back. “I’m not sure what I expected. The doctor was just a man. A regular schmegular man.”

“Schmegular is not a real word,” I laughed, following her to the window. “I’m sorry we didn’t find what you were looking for.”

She shrugged, folding her arms. Her face fell again—her thoughts drifting back to Artemis. I hadn’t distracted her after all.

“Hey,” I whispered, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. I tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and cupped her cheeks. “Don’t think about it. I’m banning that thought from your head.”

Clarke laughed softly, her hands settling at my waist. “Banning it, huh?” The twang in her voice made butterflies erupt in my stomach.

“No more thoughts about buying or selling horses. No more thoughts about regular, schmegular male doctors.” I kissed the tip of her nose.

She hummed and pulled me closer, her warmth wrapping around me. “I thought you said that wasn’t a real word.”

I shrugged, smiling. “It can be whatever you want it to be. Just like today. Whatever you want—” I pointed a finger at her, inches from her face. “—as long as it’s not moping or sulking or crying.”