Page 61 of Everything We Give

“Do you have kids?” Reese asks as we make our way around a bend. Pines line the trail, our elevation increasing.

I look askance at her, trying to not let the question bother me. “You already know that answer.”

She raises a hand. “Guilty.” I frown, wondering how much she does know about me and why. She’s the one who left.

“Reese.” I grip my pack’s straps, lifting the weight off my shoulders. “We’re ancient history. Nothing’s happening between us.”

She scowls. “That’s quite presumptuous of you. Forget I asked.” She quickens her pace, moving ahead of me.

The clouds hang low, the sky gloomy. So is my mood. A single drop lands on my forehead and slides into my eye. I wipe my face. A few drops hit Reese’s pack and more splatter on my shoulders. Soon we’re ensconced in a steady drizzle. I flip up my hood.

Reese’s remark rankled, but she’s right. I’m being presumptuous. Any credible journalist is going to do her research before she goes on assignment, including who she’d be working alongside. I would have done the same had I known she’d been assigned.

I fully zip up my jacket. “I have a daughter. Her name’s Sarah Catherine and she’s four.”

Reese slows, but she doesn’t turn toward me. I lengthen my stride. Her hair is damp, stringy. She looks up at me and I meet her gaze. “We named her after my mother, and Aimee’s. We call her Caty, and she’s incredible. Smart, daring, tenacious, caring, and I can keep going.” I laugh. My chest warms from thinking of her.

“She’s a lucky little girl to have you for a dad.”

“Thanks,” I say simply. She knows about my dad and how, even in my early twenties, I strived to be nothing like him.

We reach a crest in the trail and Reese turns to me. “We’ve been hiking for over an hour and no horses.”

“You’re welcome to turn back. I’ll give you the keys. You can wait in the car.”

She tosses me a disgruntled look. “I’ll hike all day if I have to, but how do you know we’re going in the right direction? Manuel could have been wrong. The horses could have moved elsewhere.”

“It’s possible, but not likely. I’ve been seeing horse manure for the last quarter mile. Can’t you smell it?” I dramatically inhale. Damp hay, wood rot, and mushrooms. I grin.

She screws up her lips. Her nose wrinkles. “No, thanks, I’ll pass. Keep walking.”

She steps off the trail so I can lead. At that moment, the clouds split and the mist we’d been walking in turns into a torrential downpour. Within seconds, my clothes are soaked to my briefs.

I point at a pine, its branches wide enough to provide some cover. “Over there!” I yell. We run, skidding in the mud, our packs bouncing on our shoulders. I slick back my hair and scan the horizon. There isn’t much to see. Thick clouds and the heavy rain obscure the hills. Fat drops steadily fall around us from the limbs. “We can wait out the rain here. It shouldn’t last long.” My weather app showed sunshine in the afternoon. But it also showed the morning would only be partly cloudy. We could be in for a long wait.

I slip the pack off my shoulders to check my gear and grab a protein bar. Behind me, Reese screams. The skin on the back of my neck tightens and my heart pulses in my throat. I bolt upright. “What? Where?”

She points at the ground. About ten feet from us is the carcass of a foal. It’s been picked over by other animals. There’s nothing left but skin, bone, and rotting organs. Dried blood stains the ground.

“What happened?” Reese asks. She backs away to the edge of the branch cover. Her head is soaked, her eyes huge.

“Wolves. They roam these hills,” I explain, taking out my camera. She scans the perimeter and I shake my head at her dismay. “It’s been dead for several days. We’re fine.” I adjust the camera settings and snap a photo.

“We don’t need pictures of this for the article. Have some respect, Ian. It’s dead.”

“It’s life. And my editor wants me to document what it’s like up here for the herds.” I lower my camera and arc my arm to encompass the surrounding landscape. “The Galician horses have roamed these hills for centuries. They’re shorter and hardier than the horses we’re used to, with shaggy coats and thick hair on their muzzles. They’ve adapted to life up here, and like any group of wild animals, the herd moves on, leaving the sick and injured behind.” I indicate the dead foal. “I want to see what that life is like for them, don’t you?”

Reese hugs her body and reluctantly nods.

I look back toward the trail. “It’s a good guess our herd has moved elsewhere. And I don’t think this rain is going to let up anytime soon.” I squint overhead, feeling discouraged. One more day, then I have no choice but to leave. “We should head back. We can ask Manuel where else to look.”

“Tell me, Ian,” Reese begins when we start walking downhill. She finally flips her hood onto her head. Rivulets of water rain over her shoulders, down the front of her jacket. “What is it about these horses and the Rapa that fascinates you so much? Why did you apply for this assignment?”

“Easy. The symbiotic relationship between the herds and the villagers. One can’t survive without the other.”

She hums.

I shoot a side-eye. “What’re you thinking?”

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