Hate You Not

“Oh yeah, I saw him today. Hot Rocket?”

She snickers. “Used to be Crotch Rocket. She bought him off the biggest pig of a man. Drunkard with no sense to his name. But he’s a fast horse. Trained since he was young, and he’s not old now. Only four and a half.”

I laugh. “Do you know his birth month?”

She smiles. “Shawn here delivered him.”

“Wow, does he work with a vet?”

“Hell no. Don’t take a vet to deliver a foal. Shawn’s sort of a horse whisperer.”

Everyone’s attention shifts to one end of the arena, and Mary Helen says, “She’s gonna come out over there. Horse will race around the barrels in a pattern. It’s a timed thing.”

I knew that already, but I nod as if I’m grateful for the info.

June and Hot Rocket shoot out into the small arena with a decent bit of speed. I watch as she and “Hottie” whip around each barrel, noting that she’s got a cowgirl hat on. She’s fucking good—a better rider than me, and during Asher’s cowboy phase, he and I trained at some of the best stables in the country.

June moves effortlessly with Hot Rocket—right until the moment that a firecracker pops, and the horse stumbles. It seems to happen in slow-motion. The big horse goes down. June flies almost over his thick neck, then slips off his side. My brain seems to speed up, surging out ahead of her. She isn’t moving.

“OH MY GOD, HER FOOT!” Mary Helen wails.

There’s a millisecond when it looks like June’s leg might twist right off. Then she’s on her back in the dirt, and the track is flooding with people. Oliver and Margot are crying. Mary Helen pulls them up against her, and Shawn grabs my arm.

“C’mon.”Chapter 10BurkeShawn leads me onto the dirt floor of the arena. Why, I’m not quite sure, but the sea of people parts for him, and therefore for me.

June is lying on her back in the mud by the time we reach her, fat tears streaming down her cheeks as some older man holds her leg, rolling her foot at the ankle. A line of blood runs down her chin, and I realize in horror that the pain is making her bite through her lip. He lifts her foot a little, and she recoils, moaning.

“Fuck!” I wave at the moron. “Stop that!” Everyone quiets, looking at me. I sigh. “Who’s got scissors?”

Shawn hands me a pocket multitool, and I use the little scissors to cut her leather boot a few inches. When I can tell the scissors aren’t powerful enough for the job, I get her foot at an angle I don’t think will hurt and use both hands to rip the leather open.

June gasps and starts panting. I can feel her body trembling, and I see why. Her ankle’s so swollen and bruised, I’d be shocked if it’s not broken.

I look around at all the faces—men and women looking pale and stunned. “Anybody here a doctor?”

A woman raises her hand. “Dental assistant.” It takes some self-restraint to keep from groaning.

“Is there a local doctor?” I ask.

“We drive over to Dawson.”

Okay—so that’s another little town nearby. “Is there no ambulance here tonight?”

Shawn mutters something, and someone else says, “Probably up at the damn Sonic!”

There are other mutters, and I catch the word “hussy.”

“You a doctor?” Someone asks me.

“No, but I’m a paramedic.” Or I was in college. My mother was an orthopedist—the kind of doctor June needs to see—but that’s nobody’s business.

“I can carry her,” Shawn says. “Where we taking her?” His eyes catch mine.

“The nearest hospital. Not a clinic, but a real ER. Is that in Albany?”

He nods, looking worried.

“Thirty minutes?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“We can get here there a little faster in my rental.”

“Put me in the GD car,” June hisses. “This isn’t…the freaking water cooler.”

It’s a struggle not to laugh, but then her face tightens in pain, and I see sweat along her hairline, and that helps me focus.

“Shit. I’m sorry.” I look up. “Does anybody have a pillow or a pile of blankets?”

“Blankets,” someone says.

I look at Shawn. “Can you get a bunch of blankets and meet me at my rental car?”

“That silvery one?”

I nod.

“Yeah.”

I get the key fob in my hand and then scoop June up. There’s no way to grab her up out of the mud without jostling that leg around. She cries out in pain and curls herself against my chest. She’s panting.

“I’m so sorry, baby.”

“Not…your baby,” she whimpers.

Then she presses her head against my chest and lets out a groan.

“I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Watch your language,” she moans. “Baptists…here.”

I change my grip on her a little. Then I’m walking with her, and everyone in the little arena is clapping. We pass Mary Helen, and I look at Margot and Oliver.

“She’s okay. She’s only got a hurt foot, nothing major. We’re just going to the doctor. Then I’ll bring her back. I promise.”