Page 14 of Touch the Sky

“I donotslack on the horses. My animals are my number one priority, afterMaman.”

She gives me a small, gentle smile, like I’m a toddler she’s coaxing out of a tantrum.

“I didn’t mean you’re slacking,” she says in a slow voice. “If anything, you’re working too hard. You practically run the farm single-handedly, and now you’ve got this place, and I’m trying to say that if something slipped through the cracks this one time, it doesn’t mean you’re a bad horse owner.”

A dozen comebacks are fighting to climb out of my throat, but the longer I stare at her, the more her words seem to sink in.

Ihavebeen working hard, but that’s nothing new. Running a farm is hard. There’s no way around it. That’s what you sign up for.

Maybe I didn’t sign up for my mom’s MS getting so bad, and maybe I didn’t sign up for losing so much help on the farm as well as the supplement to our income when my cousin moved out. Maybe I didn’t expect it to be so hard to find someone to take over his lease. Maybe I didn’t realize taking on so many extra tasks would mean I’ve got no time to try and drum up new business, resulting in one of our worst financial summers ever.

Maybe all that is true, but that’s life. It’s hard sometimes, and you deal with it.

“You know, if it’s too much right now,” Natalie says, “we can?—”

“No,” I interrupt, shaking my head. “It’s not. I’m fine. I told you I’m always fine, remember?”

Before either of them can argue, I spin around and head for the lobby.

“Now, what do you say we figure out where the hell we’re going to put all that toilet paper?” I call back over my shoulder.

Chapter 4

Jacinthe

Ilift my shirt up and hiss when I see the green and purple bruises dotted along my lower back. I tug the waist of my jeans down and see the top of my ass is all mottled too. It’s been three days since the incident with Joaquin, and so far, the bruises are only getting worse.

“Esti,” I swear, my muscles crying out while I dab on a glob of the herbal-smelling arnica gelMamanleft out for me on the counter.

I feel like a T-rex flailing my arms around, trying to reach far enough behind me to get the spots that hurt. My t-shirt keeps sliding back down to get in my way, so I tug it over my head and then shimmy my jeans down even farther.

By the time I hear the front door swing open, I’m all bent up like a contortionist. I waddle out of the bathroom in just my sports bra, my jeans caught on the tops of my thighs and the tube of arnica clutched in my fist.

“Maman! Can you help me?” I call out in French.

Before she can answer, I round the corner and find her standing in the entryway.

With the farrier.

I freeze, almost tripping over my feet as I grind to a halt. My hand squeezes so tight around the arnica that the plastic crunches. Everyone is silent.

The farrier’s eyes are bulging. Her gaze flicks over my body, which makes her eyebrows shoot even farther up her forehead. Her throat bobs, and she starts staring a hole into the ceiling above her head, like she’s hoping God himself will come down and zap her out of this situation with a magical light beam.

I could use my own getaway light beam. I glance down at myself and realize I look even worse than I thought. I literally have my freaking fly undone and the world’s least sexy pair of grey-that-used-to-be-white briefs poking up from under my jeans.

“Jacinthe!”

Maman squawks my name and rushes forward to flap her hands at me likeI’mthe one intruding.

“Que fais-tu?” she demands.

I should be asking what she thinksshe’sdoing, but instead, I find myself holding up the arnica bottle like evidence I’m not a criminal.

“I’m trying to put this on my back like you told me to! I’m too sore to reach. I thought you could help.”

She drops her voice to a whisper, even though Tess is just five feet away and can apparently speak at least some French.

“Why don’t you have any clothes on?”