“I’m not a saint, Bailey. Don’t forget it.”
Her eyes fell to my cut and something dark crossing behind them just before her expression became her version of diamond tough. “Hard to,” she murmured, and dare I say, that look, combined with her derisive comment hurt a little. I didn’t like the deep disappointment that welled up out of the cut her remark left, but it was what it was. Bailey was steeped in years of prejudice where the life was concerned and chemistry only went so far to bridge that chasm.
She went inside and I got up and went down to the farm’s stables. The farm had several horses that weren’t thoroughbreds but were still some damn fine animals. One of ‘em was Bailey’s and had been for several years. A gelding by the name of Boaz. He was a fine animal, a glossy black with a white foreleg to the knee and not a spot of color anywhere else.
When I got to his stall, my heart sank. Something was clearly wrong with him. He was laying on his side, flank heaving.
“Aw, fuck no…” I pulled my phone out of my cut and called up Bailey’s.
“Why are you calling me?”
“Baby, it’s Boaz, you need to round up your vet…” I stared down at the poor animal and knew, I just knew. “You need to get out here and say goodbye.”