Page 7 of The Front Runner
He nods but still doesn’t look at me, so I opt to sit beside him in silence, holding vigil over the lost foal. What more is there to say, really?
The world is a cruel place sometimes.
3
Stefan
Death sucks.This is something I already knew, but watching something so young and innocent die is different. It’s justwrong.It makes me feel almost nauseous. All the prepping, all the money, all the knowledge. None of it matters when the universe shits on you.
I stand and pat the sweet broodmare, whose eyes are fluttering shut with exhaustion. “You did good, pretty girl,” I say as I slide a hand down her face. “You did good.”
And then I walk woodenly to the bathroom to wash some of the blood off myself. I’m a goddamn mess. I look like Carrie on prom night, and as much as I hate to admit it, I feel like I could cry.
I haven’t cried in years. I’ve become far too closed-off for that. And I’m sure as hell not going to do it in front of Dr. Thorne. It would probably just give her something to run back to all her annoying friends with. Something to mock me about.
I’m not stupid. I know they think I’m terrible. I’m not oblivious to the fact that there are almost certainly jokes made at my expense around Gold Rush Ranch. Did I resort to questionable tactics to buy their championship-winning stallion out from underneath them? Yes. Did I hire a jockey who may have set out to harm their horse and rider? Yes. Did he also turn out to be a sleazy predator? Yes. But I had no knowledge that he was going to do that. And Ineverwould have instructed him to do so. I might not describe myself as a “good man,” but I’m not morally corrupt enough to actually hurt someone. Plus, I’m not finished with him. He’ll get what’s coming to him if it’s the last thing I do. There’s a special place reserved in hell for men who hurt women, and I plan to ensure he gets there. At any rate, the last thing I need to do is give them ammunition to take me down when all I want is to succeed in this business.
Making my way to the top has been my singular focus for years now. I’ve done what it takes to get ahead. To establish myself. I promised my mother on her deathbed I would take her dashed dreams and make them a reality. So here I am, trying my best and not all that concerned about making friends along the way.
I watch the dark pink water swirl down the drain until it runs clear before drying myself off and heading back to the stall. Dr. Thorne is in there tending to Farrah, the mare who just lost her foal. She’s hooked up to fluids and who knows what else. Mira has wrapped the filly in a blanket and moved her out of the stall.
“Is she going to be okay?” I ask as I lean on the doorjamb.
Mira’s dark, fathomless eyes shoot up to mine. She looks serious. She lookstired.Blue smudges beneath her eyes mar her beautiful face. Mira Thorne is alluring, and I’m not immune to it. Black hair and similarly dark, almond-shaped eyes. A slight smirk always on her lips, like she thinks she’s smarter than everyone around her.
And she just might be right. Though I’m sure I could give her a run for her money if I wanted to, but I don’t. Out in Ruby Creek, the pickings for veterinarians are slim, and Dr. Mira Thorne is damn good at her job.
“Yeah. I’m just going to get her hydrated, get some antibiotics through the system, just in case. We’ll have to keep a close eye on her for the next while.”
I just nod, feeling the sadness of the lost filly like a weighted blanket across my chest. I feel responsible. Like I could have done more. Should have hired better people. Should have called Mira sooner. Should have had my own on-site veterinarian. Should have donesomething.
Like she can see my turmoil, Mira looks at me, her expression perfectly sincere. No trace of that smirk she’s usually giving me. “Hey, you did everything you could. More than most people would. This isn’t on you.”
In moments like this, I feel distinctly out of my element. I wasn’t raised on a farm, and I don’t have a background in this industry. I just waltzed in with a checkbook and a keen mind and set myself to learning, as well as hiring and buying the best. Maybe she’s just being nice. Maybe I could have done more.
I watch Mira work quietly and gently beside the mare, mumbling things to her I can’t quite make out. She has a way with the animals that I admire. I could use a little of her gentleness sometimes. I recognize the way I’ve gone about doing things has rubbed some people the wrong way. But I don’t concern myself with their opinions. Instead, I think of my mother, who, after years of protecting me, got taken out by the asshole she married. The one who got off on knocking her around. I think of her, hooked up to tubes and wires after that plane crash, telling me she never should have left Ruby Creek.
A place I’d never heard of.
Telling me she should have stuck around and trained racehorses.
A part of her life I’ve never known.
Then she dropped a life-altering bomb on me.
And then she died.
He died, too, but he took my mom with him. In his stupid, small private plane, the kind that rich people have a bad habit of dying on. One final “fuck you” to the son he never liked. She never could quite leave him, so the plane crash took them both. So bitter and so sweet all at once. And I missed out on so many years with her while she shipped me off to private schools to keep me safe and away from him, my supposed dad.
She was battered and bruised, and so damn injured. With her hand in my hand, she took her last breath, and I promised to bring her back to Ruby Creek. A small town on the other side of the world. And then with all the vast amounts of cash that asshole left behind, I set out to making her dying dreams come true.
Life isn’t fair, and neither am I. Especially not when I have a promise to fulfill.
I storm through the barn and grab a shovel on my way out the door. It’s dark and cold, and it’s raining again, but I don’t care. I’m a mess already.
Shovel in hand, I head down toward the small lake on my property. The one that separates my house from this barn.
The one where I spread my mother’s ashes. And beneath the big weeping willow to the east of the water, I dig a hole.
