1. Scarlett
1
SCARLETT
Here’s the funny thing, the final straw wasn’t my ex’s cheating.
It was my damn dog, Toby.
His Nibs curled himself into a tight, furry ball and lie on top of a thick covering of straw where we kept vigil with Midnight, who pawed the stall floor and lifted his upper lip toward the barn roof. Midnight’s expression would be comical if it didn’t symbolize a symptom of his pain.
“Where is that damn vet?”
Midnight had spaced out all day, staring off across the orchard, looking distracted and uncomfortable and not paying my mare Tzari any attention at all; just weird. Tzari occupied Midnight’s mind 24/7, and he refused to be apart from her, even just the twelve-foot distance across the brick-patterned center aisle between the barn stalls. I called the vet right away in case it was colic, a scary and potentially deadly, horse specific tummy ache. Midnight didn’t paw the ground, or look at his stomach, but when I listened to his belly, I discovered nothing. Vet time.
The beautiful horse barn where we waited for Dr. Farley, with its rough-sawn redwood timber glowing beneath the center aisle lamps. Was it sad if a building was my most prized possession? Behind the glimmer of the lights, the huge rectangular ceiling windows let in the purply blue hue of twilight that painted a backdrop on the windowpane. The barn, the ranch, and Toby were hands down the three best things to come out of my marriage.
Darren, better known as “Darwood”—aka “Philandering f**k”—had done me a favor that fateful day three years ago, running over Toby and refusing to stop and check on the poor, wounded doggie.
He’d said, “Calm down. He’ll be fine. It’s just a dog, anyway.” And he kept on driving.
Toby became my new and improved man the day I went back for him, finding the poor guy on the side of the road in a patch of shade under the blooming lupin, back leg broken and gravel burns on his tummy. From that day forward, Toby expressed a kind of loyalty toward me that Darwood lacked. I’d filed for divorce the next day.
Midnight shifting nervously brought me back to the present. When would the vet get here? I ran my hand over the Midnight’s sweaty flank. Something isn’t right. That final thought crossed my mind before leaning down and listening to my horse’s stomach for healthy digestive noises. Hearing none, I pressed my ear more firmly against him, and the edge of Midnight’s hoof clipped my head and knocked me the hell out.
When I came to, I enjoyed the most wonderful sensation of having my hair pet and stroked like a little girl. It accompanied the most soothing, timbred voice I ever heard. “That’s it, sweetie, open your eyes. Let me see your pupils.” The interior barn light shone overhead, backlighting his features so that his face disappeared. Even without the visual, my imagination filled in all the blanks, inspired by those raspy and relaxing words. “Easy now. Not too fast.”
Am I dead? Is he an angel? He sure as heck wasn’t Dr. Farley.
“Dr. Farley? Where is…?” My voice sounded so weak. I couldn’t remember the last time someone tried to take care of me, so he had that going in his favor. Not only that, there was that voice of his. Like catnip to my p***y, making me aware of things I thought no longer possible as I lay on his jean-covered lap. Oh my, Midnight had a competitor in the room for the brag-worthy johnson category. Jeez.
“Midnight?” My head muddled; I almost forgot the most important thing. I tried to sit up, but the aching of my head advised otherwise, and I collapsed back onto the stranger’s warm thighs beneath me.
