Page 93 of Kentucky Nights
“I appreciate you hiring us for a delivery this size. I’m outgrowing where I live at this point. I think I’ll need to look into a piece of property, but donations only go so far.”
“Get me out of this tin can!”
“I need to stretch my legs!”
“I hope this guy is nicer than the last owner.”
“Me too. I hope we can have water.”
“And food. Don’t forget the food.”
One by one, the horses and other animals sing their thoughts loud and clear.
“Don’t worry. You’re safe here. You have constant water, food, and shelter,”I tell them in hopes they calm down.
“Who was that? Who can hear us?”
“Apologies. My name is Kentucky. I rescued you from the slaughterhouse. I can speak to animals.”
They fall silent. I don’t blame them. They probably think I’m full of shit after all they have been through.
“There’s a piece of property in Oklahoma”—he chuckles at the irony —“that is perfect. It’s around two hundred and fifty acres. It has one lake on it and smaller ponds scattered about. It has one big house on the lake with separate living areas for employees. A handful of barns. There’s so much I could do with it.”
I don’t know what compels me. Maybe it’s that I’m feeling generous, or maybe it’s because I’ve been isolated for so long, I’m ready to do more with the life I have now. I have plenty of money from working on the ranch. Millions. Too much for me to spend by myself.
What if I decided to expand Dead Man’s Ranch into other states? A place where anyone can be saved. Whether it’s animals or paranormals. No humans unless they wander onto the property or a paranormal has a human mate like me.
It can be a ranch and a haven.
“Let’s unload the animals. I have an idea to run by you that I think would make both of us happy,” I say, tossing the clipboard through the open window of his truck.
“Alright.” He turns to the line of vehicles, inserts two fingers in his mouth, and whistles. “Let’s go!”
“Any horses, I want lined up outside the barn, please.”
“Sure. Whatever you want. They’re your animals.” He lifts the lock on the trailer, swinging the back door open. “Our first horse is Juliette. She’s a Grey Roan. Absolutely beautiful. She was sent to slaughter for being violent.”
“Did you just say her name is Juliette?” I must be living in daydreams because there is no way the universe is being this good to me.
My heart finds a new beat, pounding more than three beats a minute.
“Yeah, she’s around five years old. Still so young. Come girl. It’s okay. He won’t hurt you.”
She neighs, her hooves slamming onto the metal floor of the trailer.
“There you go. Good girl. You’re doing great, Juliette,” Oklahoma praises her, and when she has all four hooves on the ground, emotion lodges in my throat when I see the deep scars on her sides.
“She was whipped for not doing anything they wanted. She hates being attached to anything, so no carriages or plows or whatever else.”
My fangs lengthen at the senseless violence. I want to kill her previous owner. “Are they still alive?”
“They are,” he confirms, stroking Juliette’s neck.
I’ll have to change that one day.
Juliette’s dark eyes widen, darting her gaze over the pastures. Her attention lands on the barn, her black ears flickering forward, and her nose wiggles as she sniffs the air.
She rears up, kicking her front legs out.
