Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Mom and Dad, on the other hand, aren’t on board.
Especially Mom.
I get it. I do. She loves me, and she’s fearful of losing me again. For those three years I was gone, they had to let me go. They had to believe I was gone forever and that I was never coming back.
They had a funeral, for God’s sake…and then, three years later, Derek Wolfe was murdered and the other women and I were all rescued from that horrid island where we were held prisoners and hunted, tortured, violated by anyone who could pay to play.
Garnet, Moonstone, Tiger Eye, Opal, Amethyst, Sapphire… All of them.
And me.
Jade.
That’s what I was called on the island because of my green eyes.
I swallow hard, pushing the memories back like Dr. Lake taught me. A wall built up brick-by-brick to surround the bad stuff. Not her words, but mine. The bad stuff.
“Carly,” Mom says, “I’m not at all comfortable with this.”
“That’s right,” Dad agrees. “Get a job, but I don’t want my daughter working for that asshole.”
Mom gasps again, sets her hand on her chest as if she has pearls to clutch.
I frown. “What’s wrong with Chance Bridger?”
Dad stands, his chair scraping across the floor. “It’s his father I hate. But like father, like son.”
“What did Jonathan Bridger do?” I ask.
I remember seeing the older Bridger in town when I was young. I never spoke to him, but I don’t remember Dad hating him either.
But I was gone for three years. Clearly something happened during that time, or earlier and I didn’t notice. Was there a feud between the families before and I just wasn’t paying attention? No. A lot changed recently. More than me. My dad is the mayor of Bayfield now.
Dad clenches his jaw and doesn’t answer my question.
“You’d rather I remain bored here on our own ranch than get my life back?”
Mom ignores her words, clears her throat. “I agree, Rick. It’s too soon. She’s… She’s not ready.”
“Dr. Lake thinks I am.” I stand so they see me and stop having a conversation as if I’m not even in the kitchen. If they don’t believe me that this job is a good thing, they should at least believe her.
“We need to talk to Dr. Lake.” Mom turns to the coffee maker and pours herself a cup. She won’t drink it, though. She just needs something to do with her hands, which shake.
I feel for her. I do. I can’t imagine what they went through. But I went through hell and I survived. I need this job. This… normalcy.
“I can’t believe you don’t believe me. I’m not lying.”
Dad looks ready to punch a hole in the wall and Mom is gnawing on her lip, trying to hold back tears.
I push on. “I’m not a child, Mom. Dr. Lake is my therapist, and she can’t talk to you without my permission.”
“Then you’ll give us your permission.”
Seriously? I breathe in, count to ten. Mom is only trying to protect me. Dr. Lake and I have discussed it ad nauseum.
I’ll never be whole again—at least not in the way I was before. But I can be happy. Happy and healthy and emotionally stable.
And productive.
I need to be productive. I need to get out of my parents’ house and do something for myself.
“I want you away from that place. You want a job? Come work for me at City Hall. I’ve got leaflets about the ballot initiative to stuff into envelopes.”
Stamp licking? Hell, no.
“I wanted to be a vet before. I want to be a vet now. This is a good place to start.”
“Then work at the vet’s office again. Or any other ranch in town,” Dad counters.
I shake my head. “No. I’m not going to rescind now. It would be unprofessional, and besides, I want this job. It’s a good one, one I’m excited about. The debate is over.” I take a sip of my OJ. For the first time in a while, I put myself first. My parents are pissed, but they’ll have to deal. “I start work today.”
My dad storms out of the kitchen, the screen door slapping hard behind him.
I finish Ivory’s feet and grab the round curry comb. Starting on her left side, I stroke her coat in a circular motion, keeping an eye out for any small injuries. As I move to her bony shoulder area, I lighten my touch to keep her comfortable.
She seems to be enjoying the attention. I’m not surprised. Dad always told me that most horses enjoy a good grooming if it’s done properly.
How I’ve missed this! Even the scents and strong smells of a stable. They’re familiar and comforting.
Mom and Dad no longer keep horses on our small ranch. They sold the few they had when I disappeared in the effort to fund a search for me, so I haven’t groomed a horse since…