Chapter 78

MADDISON

I’ve been avoiding the stables for as long as I can, but the biting wind is starting to seep into my bones. Black, the horse, seems restless, eager to move, but he doesn’t. He starts to walk away, then turns back to stand by my side.

It’s as if he knows I need someone, even if that someone is a horse. I’m the one who always runs from company, yet here I am, craving it. I ran from Asher, hiding the truth from him.

The truth that I’ve been in pain for weeks now. It started as a minor annoyance, a sharp twinge here and there, but it’s grown worse over time, especially after Asher and I…well, you know. I’m not sure what triggered the pain, but now it’s almost constant.

I decide not to mount Black, choosing instead to walk. I glance back, hoping he’ll follow, and I’m surprised to see him kneeling, his head bowed low, as if offering me a ride. I stand there, mouth agape.

Black is a big horse, and the main reason I didn’t want to ride him was his size. He’s too tall for me to mount without a saddle. But now, with him kneeling, I think I might be able to climb on.

I’ve heard he’s an old horse, retired. He was one of Asher’s mother’s favorites. I learned that little tidbit from a guard chatting with Addison while I was sneaking around last night. Addison seems braver than me, reaching out to the staff even though we don’t know if we can trust them.

I manage to climb onto Black, with some difficulty, and settle onto his back. I’m tired, and instead of sitting upright, I lean into his neck as he starts to trot on his own. He’s in control, and I’m okay with that.

He takes us home, to his home. His paddock. I only sit up as we approach the gate. I let us in, and he stands perfectly still as I open and close the gate. Then he strides toward his stable.

Warm air envelops me as we enter, heating me from the outside in. I break out in a sweat almost instantly. I hadn’t realized how cold I’d gotten until the warm air hit me, causing my arms to prickle and a shudder to run through me.

My eyes land on a halo of red hair sitting on a small stool inside Black’s stall. “Mrs. Henderson,” I say, surprised to see Asher’s mother. She doesn’t look much older than Asher. Only a few faint lines around her lips and eyes hint at her age.

She can’t be as old as his fathers. But then again, my mom always said men age faster than women—especially women who take care of themselves. And Mrs. Henderson definitely takes care of herself.

I’m sure her three very unique men make sure of that. Their relationship both intrigues and repulses me, but mostly the former. I can only imagine what it’s like to be adored by not one, but three men.

They clearly dote on her, and despite their ages, they all seem young at heart.

“Please call me Violet; there’s no need for the formalities,” she says, standing to greet Black as he stops in front of her.

I watch as they share a moment, Violet stroking Black’s face, whispering words too soft for me to hear. Her love for him is obvious, even to a casual observer. She adores this horse.

“He’s very old now; I’ve known him since we were both young. He taught me how to ride and gave me a passion for it,” she tells me, pulling a brush from her pocket. She starts to groom him, brushing away the loose hairs from his coat.

“Horses are funny creatures. It’s as if they can heal your broken parts, even when they’re hurting too.” She strokes him, bending down to plant a kiss on his nose. “He’s hurting. They tell me it’s arthritis,” she shares, her voice heavy with concern.

“They want me to consider his quality of life. They say the pain meds won’t work forever, but I can’t… Not yet, not when he’s still so full of life.”

I stay silent, captivated by her words.

Her thoughts about his life and her role as his caretaker have me rooted to the spot, unable to break free from the spell she’s cast. She’s mesmerizing… But why is she sharing this with me? What’s the purpose of letting me in on this?

“He’s not supposed to be ridden anymore,” she informs me, her gaze intense. I shift uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

It feels like she’s consuming my very soul, feasting on the secrets I keep hidden. “But he loves being ridden, he loves the companionship, and he loves being outdoors. I can’t make that decision for him yet. I can’t end his life when he still finds it worth living,” she says.

I swallow hard. I hadn’t known about his health problems. I hadn’t known he was on pain medication or that he wasn’t supposed to be ridden. Did I upset her? Will she resent me now, thinking I might have hurt her precious horse?

“He senses something in you, something damaged. He wants to help you, just like he helped me,” she reveals. I take a step back, unsettled by her words. Suddenly, she’s right there, standing in front of me.

“You’re clammy,” she observes. Her slender, pale fingers reach out to touch my forehead, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she bites down on it. “You have a fever,” she diagnoses.

“I do?” I question, surprised that she could tell just from a simple touch.

“Asher told me you’re hurting, that you were crying earlier…”

“And?” I retort, my tone sharper than intended.

“Something’s not right, Maddison. My son is trying to help you; I want to help you too.”

“Why?” I ask, the same question I always pose when someone shows me kindness—when someone offers me an emotional connection that leaves me feeling exposed.

“Why not?” she counters.

I swallow hard. I don’t have an answer to that question.