Safely Home by Ruth Logan Herne Page A

wide.
    Cress kept her attention focused on the amiable mares. “He wants some, doesn’t he ladies? Sure he does, he’s just a little too chicken to head over here, but his curiosity is piqued. Yes it is. Yes it is.” The Appaloosa nodded total understanding while the bay gave C ress a look of impatience, brushing off the gelding’s idiosyncrasies as his loss, their gain.
    Cress grinned. “You and I have something in common, girl.” Smoothing her hand over the horse’s head and flank, she stayed in the pasture a good thirty minutes, giving the group time to acclimate to her sound, her scent, her presence. When her cell phone alarm told her time was up, a wash of reluctance swept her, wishing she could elongate the visit. For a short while she’d felt relaxed and worry-free, perfectly composed, at home with the scent of morning chill, damp grass, fresh hay and horse. The feeling brought back memories of Grandpa and the farm, long days roaming the wide expanse of acreage and animals. Horses and cows, housed together or separately. Flocks of laying hens and a separate group of meat birds covered by a know-it-all rooster. She’d fled to that setting often, letting the naturalness soak into her bones.
    She’d lost her mother to ovarian cancer, then her father to grie f and the bottle. Nestling in at the farm let her pretend to be normal, for just a little while, during those crazy middle-school years when blending seemed crucial. Nothing about Cress’s life blended then, and she wasn’t doing a very good job of blending now.
    When did life get so complicate d? She whispered a farewell to the mares and offered an easy nod to the shy guy. When did I mess things up so completely that I forgot how to relax, to be kind, to take time for things like — her gaze wandered the field, the barn, the enclosures, the sheep and one of Audra’s pet dogs. This. What did I think was so all-fired important that I couldn’t take time to live? Is being in control that important? And if it is, then how did I lose sight of that with James?
    “Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition. By that sin fell the angels.”
    Shakespeare’s words smacked her upside the head, and she wasn’t a big fan of the Baird. She’d hated literature class, abhorred tedious English prose and the stupid opinion papers she’d been required to write, mostly because if she opined differently than the instructor, her grade got docked.
    A royal pain in the butt, that old Henry VIII. And the professor.
    But that particular phrase rang true, making Cress wonder when exactly she’d become a fallen angel. When had she sold her soul in the name of work, career, justice or James, making excuses for the person she’d become?
    Correction: the person you allowed yourself to be.
    Heaving a deep, cleansing breath of country air into citified lungs, she aimed for her car, not wanting to disturb Audra. The two cars parked in the drive said Audra’s paying guests at the country bed and breakfast might not like the smell of horse.
    She’d hurry home, take care of Gran, spend the day with her, and get back to the horses before nightfall, creeping her way into the damaged gelding’s heart. She understood bad legs and hardened hearts firsthand. With enough patience and time, maybe they could tough this out together.
    *
    The highest leaves were just beginning to turn yellow again. He gazed up, wishing the green back, not wanting to spend another long, cold winter inside that horrible house.
    He remembered leaves turning color. He remembered someone raking them up, into a pile, and he thought he remembered jumping into that pile, splashing into the bright-colored leaves. But maybe it wasn’t him, maybe it was a commercial on TV, a visual he wished for and never had.
    An image fluttered by, soft and good, a smile, so sweet. The wind touched his face like a gentle hand, caring and loving.
    “You got that table washed yet?”
    The squawk of her voice dispelled the feeling.