Page 18

She had to tell herself he didn’t know, couldn’t know, how that stung, but it hurt, nevertheless. “Bigger, now. Much bigger.”

It came out stiffly, sourly, but she couldn’t help it. It was a very sore spot with her and probably always would be.

Jeremy ran over and looked up at her. “Nic, do you think... is he... could I ride him sometime?”

She’d expected that would come, eventually. Fortunately, the little pinto was good-tempered and amenable enough to even ignorant riders, which was why she’d chosen him for Jeremy to meet first.

“Well,” she said, drawling it out, “let’s see here now. You’re both about twelve hands high, so that’s a good fit.”

The boy’s brow furrowed. “Hands?”

“Yep.” That was all she said. And she admitted she wanted to see if his father would—could—answer him. He did.

“That’s how they measure how big horses are,” Thorpe said after a moment of silence, giving her a sideways look, as if he’d guessed what she was doing. Whatwasshe doing? Testing him? Why the heck would it matter? “They’re measured at the withers, which is like their shoulders.”

Jeremy turned his head to look, and at the right spot, she noticed. “But what’s a hand? I mean I know what a foot is, for measuring, but...?”

“Same principle,” his father said. “But back in the old days, they didn’t have measuring tapes handy. So what do you suppose they measured with?”

It only took a matter of seconds for Jeremy’s eyes to light up. “Their hands!”

“Yep,” he said, and she wondered if he was echoing her on purpose. “It wasn’t exact, because people’s hands are different sizes, but it was at least a way to get a good idea.”

“And nowadays a hand is generally considered four inches,” Nic put in, trying to suppress her approval for how he’d done that, made the boy think it through and get to the answer himself. She didn’t want to like anything about this guy, and it bugged her that she did. “So was I right? Are you about four feet tall?”

Jeremy nodded. “Someday, maybe, I’ll catch up to my dad.”

“I don’t know. He’s pretty tall.”

She glanced at the man just a couple of feet away. Even as she looked, he was turning away. He took a couple of steps to his right and stopped. She watched, puzzled, until she saw him take a swipe at his eyes. And realized he’d stepped away to be out of his son’s line of sight. So the boy wouldn’t see him cry? And why was he, anyway?

She wasn’t sure what made her do it, but after a quick look to see that Jeremy was engrossed again in his task of brushing Pie, she followed him. “He’s enjoying this,” she said.

He didn’t look at her, but he answered. “Yes. He is.”

“And that upsets you?”

He did turn then. “If by upset you mean I feel like my heart’s going to explode, then yes. He used to say things like that all the time, but not once since...” His voice trailed off, and he lookedaway again. She gathered that simple exchange about Jeremy someday being as tall as his father had really struck home. She saw him swallow, hard, and his voice was beyond rough when he finished it. “Leah used to tell him all the time he would be as tall as me someday. It’s so linked to her, it’s...”

“Painful?” she asked.

He nodded, still not looking at her. She chose her next words carefully, because this was for the boy’s sake. All of this was for his sake.

“Don’t you think it’s painful for him too?”

His head snapped around. “That’s what I meant. Do you think I can even register how much anything about her hurts me, when I see him in such pain?”

It took some effort on her part not to cringe away from his anger. And more effort to say, quietly, “I only meant that it might be a good thing, for him, if he sees that he’s not alone in his pain. That you’re hurting right along with him.”

“Oh, he knows that,” the man said bitterly. “I’m the father who went off the edge and on a month-long bender after she died. If Tris hadn’t snapped me out of it, I don’t know what would have happened.”

She wondered how his sister had managed that, if it had taken some kind of sibling connection she didn’t have, or understand, to do it. But she didn’t ask, said only, “Good for her, then.”

“She’s been there. She gets it. And she saved us both.”

“Using her own remembered pain,” Nic said, marveling a little at the strength that must have taken. She had the feeling Trista Thorpe Carhart was someone she’d like to know.

“Yes. Compounded, because she loved Leah too. Hell, everyone did.”