CHAPTER NINE
Jacob
* * * * * *
THREE DAYS.
Three long, awful days where kids learning how to ride infested Cherry River.
Aunt Cassie’s horse camp had become very popular, and before I officially took on the role as head farmer, I’d been roped in each school holidays to help teach, guide, cook, and chaperone.
These days, I wasn’t expected to be at their beck and call. I had a new boss now—the land that had my name on the title. The farm that was as demanding as any busy company.
I’d always woken with the sun, and now, instead of being trapped in a classroom, I bolted from the house and was on Forrest checking fence lines or on the tractor doing all the jobs that needed to be done before the sky was fully awake.
I was in my element.
Which meant, I was done with teaching.
Over the years, some of the kids hadn’t been too bad. All of them had the life skills of a stuffed marmot, but some were at least polite enough to ride the horses they were given, accept the time they were allocated, and stay in their bunk beds out of sight at night.
That was before Hope came to stay.
Ever since she left a year ago, I’d dreaded the day she’d come back. I’d tensed each time Aunt Cassie read the roster for new arrivals, just in case her name appeared. But with each school holiday where there was no Hope Jacinta Murphy, I’d stupidly relaxed thinking I’d scared her away for good.
That Forrest had done the trick, and she’d sworn off horses for life.
But no.
She had to turn up at the worst possible time and see the worst possible thing and be the worst possible nuisance.
It also didn’t help that my temper had cooled two days ago and that god-awful guilt was back. Guilt for snapping at her when none of that night’s agony was her fault. Guilt for not being able to let go of the fresh pain every time I touched my compass, transferring that pain into hatred for the brown-haired, skinny girl who looked at me as if I’d broken her baby heart.
Dad hadn’t just entrusted me with gifts to give Mom on milestones of my life, he’d given her some, too. When had she found them? Where? How many did she have to give me? How many more times would I have to go through the loss, the rage, the pain?
I’d hoped running the farm would help settle me. I’d fought for freedom from education because I’d pinned all my hopes on finding happiness in the empty fields.
But I hadn’t.
More and more, my eyes trailed to the forest boundary, my ears pricking with breeze-whispered words to run. To find whatever I needed to replace the emptiness inside.
Dad hadn’t just given me a compass.
He’d layered me with yet more of his own attributes and afflictions. He’d given me permission to search for something I didn’t understand, all while shackling me to Cherry River because, despite his command to wander, I could never leave Mom.
No way.
My promise to him was still my biggest and most important responsibility.
And right now…right now, I felt trapped.
Trapped by doing the right thing, the wrong thing, the adult thing, the necessary thing.
I needed to apologise to Hope, yet every time I got close, my throat closed up, my hands balled, and I kept on walking as if I hadn’t seen her.
She might be a silly kid, but something about the way she stared at me said she knew more than she should. That my secrets weren’t so secret when she was around.
Sighing in the dark, I did my best to let starlight and silence comfort me. I’d had a long day sorting out the hay barn, ready to burn off old season bales to create space for new.
The lasagne I’d swiped from the oven and a bottle of cider from the fridge—that I wasn’t supposed to drink—swung in my hands as I traversed the back meadows. The gentle hill made my tired muscles burn, but a smile twitched when Forrest nickered for me.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.” Breaking into a jog, I covered the final distance and vaulted over his fence. “Hello to you too.”
The gelding tossed his head, trotting over to nuzzle my chest as I dropped into his field and headed toward the large willow down by the creek.
He followed me, sniffing the container full of tomato and pasta and mouthing the top of my cider bottle. He’d had enough swigs of juice and cola that he’d grown accustomed to sharing a bottle with me.
Chuckling under my breath, I pushed his warm bulk away as I dropped to my ass and leaned against the tree. I wasn’t afraid of Forrest stepping on me. For such a stroppy, so-called dangerous horse, he looked after me as if I was in need of looking after.