Page 17 of Montana Justice

Piper

The morning air at Pawsitive Connections carried the scent of hay and horses, mixed with something earthy and alive that made my chest loosen from all the stress, even if just for a moment.

I adjusted Caleb in his sling against my torso, his warm weight a constant reminder of why I was doing all of this, and headed toward the main barn.

“Morning, sunshine!” Lark Monroe called out from where she was filling water buckets, her voice carrying a slight rasp, like she’d spent years shouting commands across fields.

Her auburn hair was twisted up in what looked like a pencil—no, was that a hoof pick?

—and her movements had an athletic grace that spoke of someone who’d learned to be quick on their feet. “How’s our littlest helper today?”

I glanced down at Caleb, who was contentedly sucking on his fist. “He slept almost through the night last night. I think he likes it here.”

The formula had been helping him stay fuller longer. I keep reminding myself that Dr. Rankine had said there was nothing wrong with formula. That it gave a baby all the nutrients he needed.

I had to believe that was true. Given everything, it seemed like such a tiny detail to be concerned about, but still, I was.

“Smart kid. Being around animals is good for the soul.” Lark twisted off the hose with more force than necessary, a brief flicker of something crossing her face before her bright smile returned. “Speaking of which, I want you to meet someone special today.”

Before I could freak out, she led me deeper into the barn, past stalls containing horses of various sizes and colors. Each one turned to watch us pass, their dark eyes curious but calm.

At the very end of the barn, in a larger stall with fresh straw bedding that smelled like summer, stood a bay mare whose sides were swollen with pregnancy.

“This is Duchess,” Lark said softly, her whole demeanor shifting as she approached the horse.

Her hand moved along the mare’s neck in practiced strokes, and I noticed a thin white scar running along Lark’s forearm that disappeared under her rolled-up sleeve.

“She’s due any day now. First foal for her, so we’re keeping watch round-the-clock. ”

Duchess lowered her head toward me, nostrils flaring as she investigated this new person. The mare’s breath puffed warm against my shirt, right where Caleb’s head rested, and my son made a small sound of contentment.

“May I?” I asked, lifting my hand slowly.

“Go ahead. She’s got the best judgment of character on the whole farm.”

I hoped not, or else she might bite my arm right off.

I stroked Duchess’s velvet nose, and she leaned into the touch with a soft whicker, no teeth in sight. The trust in her dark eyes made my throat constrict. Even this innocent creature believed I was worth something. My hand trembled against her coat.

“Well, look at that,” Lark murmured, tilting her head as she studied us. “Duchess usually takes weeks to warm up to new people. You must have good energy.”

If only she knew the truth. My energy was toxic, spreading to everything I touched.

“I’ve set up that corner area for little man for when you need your hands free,” Lark continued, but she was watching me with those sharp green eyes, cataloging something I couldn’t name.

She gestured to a small alcove near the tack room.

“Portable crib, changing station, and there’s a baby monitor so you can hear him from anywhere in the barn.

I tested the range myself—works all the way out to the round pen. ”

The thoughtfulness of it made my throat tight. Especially since I wouldn’t be working here long. Ray would never allow it. “You didn’t have to go to all that trouble.”

“No trouble.” Lark’s laugh had an edge to it, like humor was armor she wore. “Besides, babies are good for the horses. Helps with desensitization training. Win-win, right?”

She bounced on the balls of her feet as she talked, a restless energy that reminded me of a horse ready to bolt. I wondered what she was running from.

“Come on,” she said, already moving. “Let me show you the feeding routine. Fair warning—I’m particular about it. Borderline obsessive, actually. Each horse has their own specific grain mix, supplements, and feeding schedule. I’ve got it all on laminated cards, color-coded and everything.”

Yesterday, Lark had introduced me to the basics of Pawsitive—the barns, the training rings, the fields. Mostly a chance for the two of us to get to know each other.

But today was more for specifics. The next hour passed in careful instruction.

Lark showed me each horse’s feeding card, explaining their dietary needs with an intensity that bordered on fierce.

Her hands moved constantly as she talked—adjusting halters, straightening buckets, picking invisible bits of hay from her jeans.

“This is Maverick,” she said at one stall, where a massive black gelding pinned his ears at our approach. “Former police horse, came to us with some trauma. Only gets two pounds of grain, no treats—he’s already too food-aggressive.”

The physical work felt good as I learned the routine. My muscles, soft from months of running and hiding, protested as I hefted hay bales and grain buckets. Sweat gathered between my shoulder blades despite the cool morning air. Caleb dozed through most of it, lulled by my movement and heartbeat.

When he started to fuss, making those small, hungry sounds I knew so well, I glanced at the corner Lark had prepared.

“Go ahead,” she said, somehow reading my hesitation. “I’ll finish up the grain. Take your time.”

I settled Caleb in the portable crib after feeding him what little I could provide, supplementing with formula until his belly was full. The monitor crackled to life as I clipped the receiver to my belt—another kindness that felt like judgment for what I was about to do.

The repetitive motion of mucking stalls gave my body purpose while my mind churned.

The pitchfork was heavier than I’d expected, the wooden handle worn smooth by countless hands before mine.

Each forkful of soiled bedding sent up dust that made my nose itch.

My shoulders burned after just one stall, reminding me how weak I’d become.

“You’re trying too hard,” Lark said, appearing at the stall door with two bottles of water. She demonstrated with her own pitchfork, a fluid motion that used her whole body. “Let the tool do the work. It’s like dancing—find the rhythm.”

Dancing. I almost laughed at the comparison. When was the last time I’d danced?

Never. I’d never danced. I couldn’t even remember twirling around as a kid.

I accepted the water gratefully, the cold bottle shocking against my overheated palm. “Hard work doesn’t bother me.”

“I can see that.” She took a long drink from her own bottle, then surprised me by plopping down right there in the barn aisle, legs stretched out in front of her.

After a moment’s hesitation, I joined her.

“You know what I love about horses? They don’t lie.

Ever. They can’t. Everything they feel is right there on the surface. ”

She picked at the label on her water bottle, shredding it into tiny pieces. “Humans, though? We’re all liars. Every one of us. The only difference is what we’re lying about and who we’re protecting with those lies.”

My chest tightened. It was as if she could see what was happening in my mind. “That’s a cynical view.”

“Is it?” She turned those penetrating green eyes on me. “When’s the last time you went a full day without lying about something? Even little stuff—‘I’m fine’ when you’re not, ‘It’s okay’ when it isn’t.”

I couldn’t answer that. Didn’t want to.

“Lachlan’s not a liar,” I said instead.

“No,” she agreed, a soft smile replacing her intensity.

“He’s not. Which is probably why he needs people like us around—to balance out all that noble honesty.

” She stood in one fluid motion, dusting off her jeans.

“I’ll be in the office doing paperwork. First aid kit’s in the tack room if you need it for those blisters forming on your hands. ”

I looked down, surprised to see she was right. Red patches had popped up at the base of my fingers where I’d been gripping the pitchfork too tightly.

After she left, I finished mucking three more stalls. My shirt clung to my back with sweat, and those blisters had progressed from threats to promises of pain. But the exhaustion felt clean somehow. Earned.

I didn’t want to leave this place and quit a job that I was already falling in love with. But I didn’t have any options.

When I was sure Lark was absorbed in her office work—I could see her through the window, surrounded by stacks of papers and chewing on what looked like a red licorice rope—I pulled out the burner phone.

My hands shook as I dialed, leaving smears of dirt on the keys. The phone felt heavier each time I used it, weighted with accumulated betrayals.

“About time you checked in.” Ray’s voice slithered through the speaker like oil.

“I’m at work. I couldn’t call sooner.”

“Work.” The word sounded foreign coming from Ray, which wasn’t surprising. He’d spent way more effort conning people and cheating the system to make sure he never had to work than he ever would have in a job itself. “At the police station like we talked about?”

“I tried to suggest the sheriff’s office, but Lachlan said…there weren’t any jobs for me at the moment.” I definitely wasn’t going to bring up to Ray my terror about not having Caleb with me twenty-four seven. He’d just use it as ammunition.

“That’s very disappointing, Piper.”

My heart threw itself against my chest. That tone, so calm and almost pleasant. But I knew it meant something awful was coming.

“Ray, just give me a chance. I need a little more time. He has me working at some animal place called Pawsitive Connections. I just need a chance to figure out a job at the station. I will, I promise. I?—”