Page 14 of Hearts Held
Before I can turn down the main road toward work, a motorcycle pulls up in front of me—a black OEC motorcycle. Atop it is a familiar young man, with pale white hair and striking blue eyes, in a gray tweed suit with black combat boots.
Robert parks in front of me and shuts the roaring engine off. “Well, hello there, my angel.”
His bright smile shines across his face.
“Hello, Bobby. I am very busy and on my way to my shift,” I murmur, trying to sidestep the motorcycle. He places a hand on my forearm halting me. A shiver courses through my body at the unfamiliar contact.
“Let me take ya to work, angel. I’ll pay you double whatever your shift was gonna and nicely ask your boss if I may borrow ya. We need ya expertise, please.”
I take a long look at him, contemplating the doubled earnings factor.
“Fine.”
I stare at the OEC motorcycle, wondering just how I’m going to fit on that contraption. He sees my glance and offers a hand for my belongings. “This your medicbag, baby?”
My eyebrows raise to my hairline at the pronounced endearment, though I don’t correct him.
“Yes, I have some supplies we may need in there, but let’s ask my boss if it is all right first.”
He nods then helps me onto the motorcycle.
Once we arrive at the funeral parlor a few blocks away, Bobby takes a couple seconds to convince my boss to let him borrow my services. I am not too sure if it was the money he offered or his Afton Adder reputation that aided in attaining this approval, but needless to say it worked.
Soon after, we pull up to a vast farm, with horse stables as far as the eye can see.
“All right, here we are,” Bobby states as he slows down the motorcycle.
I can smell hay, leather makings and a hint of horse droppings in the air.
He stops the motorcycle and helps me off while carrying my bag.
It’s absolutely stunning. We walk down a path with high-ceilinged oak stables on either side of us, so many beautiful, pristine horses kept inside. They live better than some individuals in London.
As I take in the scenery around me, I notice a horse stable set aside, away from the main area. “What’s that over there? Other animals?” I ask.
Bobby looks over to where I am pointing and sends me a small smile. “That, my dear, is my brother’s stable. He keeps his prized horses in there. They are cared for by him and his own assigned stable hand. I’d love to come back and be one of his horses in the next life.” He chuckles.
A beautiful Arabian horse pops its head out as the silky black strands blow lightly in the wind.
“Wow,” I softly whisper.
Bobby smiles. “That is Olive, his prized possession. I often joke that it is his girlfriend, for he cares for that horse more than anyone else in the family probably, besides our grandmother, Baba.”
I sputter out a chuckle at the thought, then return my mind to our assigned reason for being there.
“So, what will my expertise be needed for today?” I ask politely.
Bobby places the bag in his other hand and chuffs, “Well, baby, we wanted to try to be cowboys today. So we pissed off one of the more mental horsesthat isn’t broke in and tried to see who could hold on the longest.” Bobby smiles down at me as my mouth slightly gapes.
“You have to be kidding me,” I state.
“I’m not. Biscuit and Roger got pretty beat up by the horses’ hooves, so I figured you’d be pretty entertained mending them. It’ll take you out of your mundane hospital routine.” He winks then nudges me with his elbow in the upper arm.
I contemplate the fact I am getting paid double a shift at the funeral home hospital. I shouldn’t feel guilty for doing one selfish thing for myself.
I shake my head slightly to clear my thoughts as we meet two individuals who are badly bruised and slightly bleeding.
One is a young man, perhaps fourteen years old. He is as skinny as a stick, with dress pants, black combat boots, suspenders and a long sleeve blue shirt rolled up his forearms. He uses his tie as a makeshift bandage to his bleeding forehead.
