Page 57 of Double Trouble

Luke emphasizes his threat by signing the wordbarkat Peaches, and the Pomeranian mix gives a little woof.

I wobble on my crutches, the grooming brush in one hand while Pearl stands perfectly still. I’ve completely botched this grooming. I didn’t even know it was possible to botch a horse grooming, but here I am doing it.

My lips rumble much like a horses’, and I drop the brush on the shelf and wobble my way to a pile of hay. I land on the seat with a huff and a wince as a loose straw pokes me in the ass.

I can’t afford to not work for the six weeks I’m in the cast, but I can’t do a damn thing here. So far Luke has given me the job of choosing the music and “watching the chickens” while he ran to get more food. He’s been running around doing the job of two and pretending it’s not tiring him out.

“Let me do something,” I sign to him. He can’t hear, but I bet he knows I’m whining like a teenager with the smirk he gives me.

You can clear the emails in the office.

I hold back my groan and give him a nod. I’ll do office work—whatever I need to do to earn the money I make around here. Anything to keep me busy. Anything to keep me out of bed.

My crutches smack together with aclack, and Pearl startles from the sudden noise. “Sorry, girl,” I say, adjusting them under my arms and making my way to the office. The horses haven’t been too fond of my new way of getting around, bristling when they hear me coming. Amen, sisters. I’m not fond of it either.

The office is dark and dusty. Luke will occasionally come in here to make sure emails are getting answered, but that’s really a once every few days kind of thing. Mrs. Owen’s takes care of the business side for the most part while we do the dirty work. Though, if you ask me, she’s got the rougher end of the deal.

With it getting close to October, we’re getting more emails about the petting zoo and when the farm will open to the public. I fire the computer up and wait for the endless barrage of notification pings the moment it powers on.

I settle in the desk chair and tuck my chin into my hand. The office window looks out toward the drive, and I furrow my brow at the unfamiliar car pulling up behind Luke’s pickup.

A woman about mid-thirties steps from the driver’s seat. She pushes her sunglasses up onto her long blue and black hair, dark lipstick on her smiling lips. She’s wearing a loose tank top and a pair of leggings, the bright pink of the top complementing her dark skin tone. Each step she takes wobbles her entire body, and I follow the leggings down to a set of heels that are higher than all my shoes stacked on top of each other.

She looks like the last person who would step onto a farm on purpose. I shove up from the desk and grapple for my crutches. It takes me a good three tries to get out the front door.

“Hi,” I say, and her big eyes brighten when they land on me. “Can I help you?”

She tilts her head knowingly. “Madison Owens?”

I jerk back. “Um… yes.”

She wobbles her way over to me, her hand outstretched. “Breanne Feuller. I’m a huge fan of yours.”

I balance on my good leg and shake her very enthusiastic hand. When she just continues to smile at me, I awkwardly ask, “I’m sorry… I still don’t know—”

“Who I am?” She waves a dismissive hand. “I apologize. I’m a little starstuck.”

“Over me?” I laugh. I’m a nobody. I don’t even know where she’d find out about me.

“Of course.” She pulls her phone from her pink zebra printed purse. Her phone cover matches her bright pink top. She taps the screen and then tips it toward me. “That’s you, isn’t it?”

My brow lifts, and I lean in to get a better look.

It’s my audition video. There’s a caption underneath.Calling all boarding sponsors: this you HAVE TO SEE.

My heart thuds heavy before sinking deep in my stomach. “Um, yeah, that’s me. Before…” I gesture to my leg. “So, I probably won’t be on a board for a while.”

“But you will be on a board again.”

“I’m hoping.”

She grins, her white teeth beaming against the darkness of her lipstick. She tucks her phone into her purse. “I’m hoping, too. In fact, I’m willing to put my money where my mouth is.”

My spine straightens, and I almost fall off my crutches. Is she offering to sponsor my boarding? “Who are you?”

She lets out a tinkle of a laugh that is super sweet and homey. “Breanne Feuller. I own Grandeur Girls Boarding Company. And I’d love to talk to you about becoming a spokesperson for our brand.”

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