Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
A smile overtakes my face as I walk into the house. He didn’t catch me staring and I got him to do my dirty work. Not bad in a night’s work. The score tally…
Me:1 Hughes: 0
What is the saying? Oh, yeah, actions speak louder than words.
Aidan doesn’t appear the next day. Or the next. I have to transfer the bags full of wood shavings that we use as bedding in the stalls from the storage to the barn all by myself. Many, many bags.
I’m close to taking matters into my own hands––and when I say my own, I mean call Jess and have her deal with him––when Aidan walks into the barn as I’m grooming Phoenix, one of our newer rescue horses. He’s a nervous Arabian gelding who was traumatized at a show barn and deemed too dangerous to ride after he was repeatedly beaten for not standing still at the mounting block.
When I glance up, Aidan is standing in the aisle, shirtless, wearing cargo shorts and his customary Elvis sunglasses. A lit cigarette hangs from his lips.
“I’m here,” he declares in an utterly annoyed tone. As if I’m the slave master he serves. This guy needs to take a good hard look in the mirror to see who the guilty party is.
But that’s not the half of it. I can’t take my eyes off the lit cigarette. Jesus could come back and even he couldn’t steal my attention away.
With a major drought going on in Southern California, the last thing anyone wants to see is a lit cigarette in a barn. One smoldering ash could spark a raging wildfire that could burn for weeks. I can only surmise that he’s the same brand of idiot that would use fireworks at a gender reveal party. I’m constantly surprised at how rare common sense is these days.
“What?” he says in response to the silent daggers I’m sending his way. I’m what they call spitting mad. Without the spit part… because that would be gross.
“Step out of this barn immediately and safely put out that cigarette or I will call Ojai PD to come collect you.”
He sighs dramatically. Then he takes the cigarette between his finger and puts it out on the sole of his work boots. After which, he turns and walks out. Whatever his brother said to him didn’t get through, I doubt he heard him at all, so I guess it’s my turn to take a shot.
I put Phoenix back in his stall and march after our resident spoiled brat.
“Aidan,” I call out as he’s about to mount the steps to his trailer. Turning, he places his hands on his hips and all the muscles of his chest jump as if someone screamed, “Action.”
“Tomorrow.”
For a moment, I’m stunned into bewildered silence. Do I follow him into the trailer to yell at him? Probably not a good idea. Then I think of the animals.
“Now.”
His brows crawl up his forehead, daring me to stop him.
“You walk in there”—I motion to the trailer—“and I’m calling the cops.”
He eyeballs me for a beat, taking measure. Go ahead, bud. I double dog dare you.
“You don’t own a sense of humor, do you?”
“Not when it comes to you endangering my animals. You realize this is a sanctuary, right?”
“Do you know why I’m here?”
“For breaking the law.”
He scowls, eyebrows smashing together, seemingly offended. God forbid I should remind him of his sins.
It’s then I realize what the problem is: he hasn’t taken responsibility for what happened. He doesn’t think he did anything wrong. Which means he’ll keep doing stupid shit that could potentially hurt other people because he’s the victim in this scenario. Unfreakingbelievable.
“For driving fast,” he blurts out in frustration.
And there you have it. “You gotta be kidding. Condolences on your divorce from reality. There’s a little more to it than that.”
“Not much.”
“Tell it to your diary.” Does he actually think he’s going to illicit sympathy from me at this point? “Look, you agreed to serve your time here, something I was not happy about from the start. I’m not the one who’s keeping you here. You’re welcome to leave if you feel that it’s beneath you to help animals that have been abused––some of them starved and beaten to within an inch of their lives. I’m sure you have better things to do than help them. So go ahead, do everyone a favor––me, your brother, the animals,” I tick off on my fingers, “and make the call. Be gone.”
He exhales, his shoulders slumping. He’s suddenly not doing his movie star pose anymore. “Starved and beaten?”
His mouth gets tight and it reminds me of his brother. They really do look a lot alike, with the exception of their coloring. “Yes.”
“That’s fucking horrible.”
“Yes. It is.”
“Which ones?”
“Does it matter? They’ve all come from crappy circumstances.”
He pushes the Elvis sunglasses to the top of his head and squints at me. “When you put it that way…”