The Bequest

When he turns back to work on what I think is a hole in the bottom of the metal trough, I try calling Steve. As he predicted I would, I get voicemail. Twice. On the third time, my phone won't even dial. I don't swear under my breath-I'm proud of that.

Five minutes later, I've left Izzy in charge, notified Amanda that I'm headed to a neighbor's house, and packed my laptop and bag of case files. I just hope this Horse Doc is home and friendly. Please be like Kevin, but with internet I can borrow. The directions were spot on just like Kevin said, there's a tiny white farmhouse with an enormous red barn behind it. The barn is beautiful, as if it cost three times what the house did. It's even got white trim, including big white Xs over the doors. It looks just like the barns in my kids' animal picture books. There's a rundown little green barn next to it, but by the looks of things, it's full of hay and shavings.

There's a circular drive in front of the house, but there's a large gravel area in front of the barn that looks like a parking lot. I park the minivan there. Kevin insisted, if Steve was home, he'd be in the barn. I look around and I listen carefully, but I don't see anyone. It feels a little rude to just walk in, but I'm not sure what else to do. Three horse heads appear as I draw close, one of them whinnying loudly.

"Hello?" Still no answer. I try a little louder. "Hello? Mr. Archer?"

Still no response.

Unless I count another loud call from the same horse who started whinnying earlier. He's a big, well-muscled, shiny chestnut with a white stripe down the middle of his big, round-cheeked face. "You're the only one here, huh? Where's your trainer, fella?"

Is he a fella? I approach the stall to get a closer look, but the toe of my boot hits something that clinks. It smashes into something else and makes a terrible shattering noise. My pulse is pounding in my ears. I've come into this man's barn and broken something. What is it? I look around frantically, shocked to discover it's more than a half dozen empty bottles of beer, and I broke two of them.

Who on earth drinks in a barn? It's the middle of the day, for heaven's sake. It takes me almost five minutes to locate a broom, and I can't find a dustpan. I'm stuck using a metal muck shovel as a makeshift dustpan, because I can't leave glass all over the floor. The big black trashcan is near a towering stack of hay bales, and I bump it too hard and knock the lid off entirely. It makes a big wham when it hits the ground.

I'm a little past trying to be quiet, so I dump the broken glass and the other bottles as well, into the can and pick the lid up, slamming it back down.

"Huh? What?" A man's voice from somewhere behind me startles me.

I spin around just as he shoves into a sitting position, hay poking up at odd angles from very unkempt hair. He was clearly asleep on a bale of hay. He's broad across the chest, like really broad. His t-shirt stretches as he does, and I wonder how tall he is. Which I should not be doing. What kind of person sleeps in a barn, on hay no less? I think about the beer, and I have a bit better idea what kind of person might be sleeping here in the middle of the day. "Mr. Archer, I presume?" The man blinks and squints, trying to focus on me. It's probably harder because I'm backlit and he's hungover. But it's then that I realize I've seen him before.

He was mowing his lawn Sunday evening.

Shirtless. Glistening.

And now I can't get that image out of my head. My mouth goes instantly dry. My hands shake so I stuff them in my pockets.

"Who are you?" He sounds as bleary as he looks.

"My name's Abigail Brooks. I'm living just down the road for the summer, at Jedediah Brooks' ranch."

"Brooks. Brooks. Staying at Jed's." He slaps his face twice in quick succession and sits up straighter, brushing hay off his old, beat-up jeans and blinking repeatedly. "Are you Nate's wife?"

I flinch, but I don't think he noticed. "Yes, Nate was my husband."

"Was?"

"Did Mr. Swift not inform you of the terms of Jedediah's will?"

Mr. Archer leans back against the hay bales behind him, stacked nearly to the ceiling. "He did mention that it was possible some of Jed's great-nephews and nieces might come work the ranch and have to prove they'd done it. Is that you guys? Why didn't he just leave it to Nate?"

I sigh. Aside from being a drunk, Mr. Archer is apparently also a bit dim. "Nate died, Mr. Archer. More than a year ago."

His jaw drops. "He died?"

"I take it you weren't very close?"

He snorts. "Not lately, no." Mr. Archer shoves to his feet-he is tall. At least eight inches taller than I am. Maybe more than that. "Steve Archer. Part time horse trainer." He extends his hand.

I take it reluctantly. He has a more impressive grip than I expected from such a mess-his hands are both large and strong. I suppose that's to be expected for someone who works with animals all day. I kind of like that he admits he's only working part time. "I heard you're called the Horse Doc."

He shifts a bit, and I'm shocked. He smells-but not like body odor, alcohol, or manure like I'd expect. He smells...good. Really good. What kind of drunk wears cologne in the barn? "That's just a local joke."

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"Well, I think I'll stick with calling you Mr. Archer."

"Please," he says. "Call me Steve at least. I've stuck my foot right in my mouth, and I'm sorry. I'm a little slow to wake up all the way when things are busy."

Busy? I'm the only person here, other than a few horses. I don't laugh, but it's hard. "I'm sure it's difficult when" I realize I'd been about to chastise him for the day drinking. I certainly don't know him well enough for censure like that. "When you have such a comfortable bed." I glance at the hay bale, which looks miserably poky.

He laughs. "Well, I've slept in less comfortable places."

I'm sure he has. One of the hazards of being a drunk, I assume. "I'll get right to the point. I'd hate to waste your time. I've heard you're the person to teach horseback basics. I have four children, and at least two of them, as well as myself, need to learn how to ride for a cattle drive in a hurry. The will requires us to participate in driving the cows into the forest."

"In two weeks?" His eyes widen.

I nod.

"What's your past experience with horses?" He looks me over like I'd eye a contract sheet, detached and clinical.

My appearance is fine for someone in her late thirties, I'm in reasonably good shape. But I'm sure I don't look like someone who knows how to ride. "I took a riding class in college, two semesters. I learned a few basics. I've been on a few trail rides on a cruise, where the horse tucks its nose into the bum of the one in front of it. And I've taken a couple of months of lessons here and there. I won't fall off unless I'm pretty badly bucked, and I won't abuse a horse's mouth, but I'm not as confident as I'd like to be."

"That sounds like a fair assessment."

"I'm not sure about my son-he's more of a four-wheeler rider-but I have two daughters, twelve and ten, who have been taking lessons for a while. Unfortunately for this circumstance, they've been doing English."

He shrugs. "Usually they learn a little cleaner form that way. Doubt it'll hurt. Mostly horses need to be asked politely to do their job and then allowed to do it." "Would you have time to help?"

"I assume you'd rather learn on your own horses?"

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Do I have horses? He must mean Uncle Jed's horses. "Since those are presumably the horses we'll be riding in two weeks, that would probably be best."

"I think Jed has ten or twelve horses that are still rideable." He taps his lips, and I notice how full they are. Something I should not be noticing, especially after ogling him before. And now I'm imagining him with his shirt off. Again. "A few are used regularly by Kevin and Jeff, but I imagine some of them have been a bit neglected."

"Is that bad?"

"Might need a reminder of their job, that's all. When can you start? This afternoon?"

"Sure." I don't really want to ask him whether he's sober enough to teach, but I'm worried he's not. "Will that work for you? You aren't too...tired?"

"Mrs. Brooks, I'm always tired."

I bet he is. "Alright, well, if that works for you "

"I can come over in about two hours. Make sure whoever needs a lesson is ready to go."

Hopefully he'll sober up in that time. "I'll do it."

"And Mrs. Brooks?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm very sorry for your loss. Nate and I didn't always agree, but he was a good man. I'd have behaved better if I'd been fully awake when we first met."