The Romeo Arrangement

I have to bite my lip to keep from responding.

Yes, I’m miffed that he went behind my back, offering our freaking horses to a perfect stranger.

A stranger who could probably buy the finest steeds ever bred with a rounding error in his bank account.

Jesus. For a second, I wonder if whatever’s wrong with him is affecting his brain, too.

But it doesn’t take brain damage to explain Dad’s behavior. Fear and desperation are motivation enough.

Honestly, he isn’t wrong, letting them stay here temporarily.

And once again, it’s Ridge to the rescue with exactly what we need, offering to let Rosie and Stern crash in his empty stables.

It isn’t fair.

We’ve only been here a day, but Ridge has this freaky perception. He knows Dad is in no condition to hit the road.

Dad knows it, too, but he’s too pigheaded to admit it.

At least he realizes traveling without the horses will be easier. Faster. Safer.

It certainly would be, only…we still don’t have anywhere to go, with or without the horses.

“Gracie, did you hear me?” he asks, raspy as ever. “I…I said I’m sorry.”

“Loud and clear,” I answer, continuing to put the items I’d washed back into the boxes that I’d used to carry them to the house. Placating him is the best strategy for now, even if part of me is closer to spitting mad. “Ridge has a setup that’d make most farmers jealous. Rosie and Stern could be very comfortable in the barn. I guess they won’t mind staying for a bit.”

“That barn does look awfully nice,” Dad says, scratching his arm. My ears are so sensitive it’s almost like chalkboard. “Hell, I wish I felt good enough to walk out there and see it. Is it as state of the art as it looks?”

I let out the breath I’d been holding in, keeping my hands busy.

It’s impossible to stay mad at him for long.

Dad loves barns, classic cars, equipment of all sorts whether it’s sitting in a museum or rolling off a shiny new assembly line. For him to admit he doesn’t feel well enough to walk out there and see it…

That says a lot.

A whole lot of nothing good about his condition.

“It’s remarkable. You don’t see a place like that every day with brand new everything. You’ll check it out tomorrow, when you say goodbye to Rosie and Stern.” I say that only to give him something to think about.

He won’t leave those horses without saying goodbye.

Dad loves them just as much as I do.

“I’ll be ready. I think I’m gonna go lay down for a while,” he says, slowly standing up. “Glad we could see eye to eye, Gracie. We’ve got a long road ahead.”

I nod, hoping my eyes hide the mess of feels this conversation stirred up.

My heart does go out to him. I even want to help him into bed, but I know that’ll irritate him like nothing else.

Honestly, I think it’s wishing that keeps him going.

Wishing he felt good enough to keep running, as long as it takes.

Wishing we didn’t have to depend on anyone, whether it’s Ridge or Noelle or the next person who’s ludicrous enough to help us out.

Wishing he could take his hell to the grave, without sucking me in.

I wish he’d never gotten mixed up with any of the demons still haunting him. But I’ve also learned a lot about wishes since Mom died, when she took what little faith I ever had in fake optimism away.

Wishes suck at slaying demons.

They never make a dent in a bad situation.

Oh, and they’re too good at stirring up false hope instead of confronting cold, hard reality.

“Do you want me to turn on the TV in there for you?” I ask, watching as he shuffles toward the hall.

“No. I’m beat tonight and we’ve got an early morning.” Stooped over, he heads straight for the bedroom on the lower floor. “Good night, Gracie.”

“Night, Dad. Hope you feel better in the morning.” I mean it, but I’ll tell you what I won’t do—make more wishes.

The ER doctor hadn’t given us much to go on. A light prescription for a lung infection, a diuretic, and a few suggested dietary changes, but none of that’s helped his shortness of breath.

It feels so hopeless.

“I’m sure I will,” Dad throws back before entering the room and closing the door.

Frustration bears down on me like a boulder.

There’s so little I can do for him.

Not just making him feel better, but finding a way for us to get out of the mess we’re in.

It’s true that we have nowhere to go ever since the Miles City plan fell through, yet, like Dad, I know we can’t stay here. We can’t drag Ridge into a living nightmare.

I’m just grateful we’re here for now, a refuge where Dad can rest for a few days in relative safety and comfort while I search for our next hiding place.