First Bitten (14 page)

I knew Nathan wasn’t in the house when I’d left. I also knew with certainty he would be at the stable when I arrived there. But I didn’t mind that I would see him. We’d got on okay the night before - well, really well for me and Nathan - and I thought things were actually going to start to get better between us.

I was wrong.

From the moment I got there he was just as frosty and cold toward me as ever, if not frostier. It was almost like the night before hadn’t happened. If it weren’t for Hope, I’d actually think I’d imagined us getting along.

And this is how things have continued ever since. I’m fine with it. I just accept it for what it is. Nathan will never like me, he’ll always resent my being here and the fact he felt he had to save my life that night, because of what it now means for him, and I get it, I really do.

So on Hope’s first day in the world, I hung out at the stables with them both, except for when the vet came to check Honor and Hope over. I went back to the house before he arrived, waited until he’d gone, then I went back to the stables. Mainly I was alone with the horses, as Nathan was out on the farm, working. I was happy with this arrangement. I was glad to be in company where I didn’t have to make pointless small talk with someone who hates me.

Then, when I went to bed that night, I found the same happened again. I slept right through. Not as long as the first night, but still I’d slept more in two days than I had over the last seven prior to meeting Honor and Hope. So, once again I got up, got dressed and headed out to see the horses. But this time I stopped by the kitchen to get some carrots to take with me.

Jack was in there making himself breakfast; him and Sol had returned home from their trip late the night before. I smelt the toast he was making and found I actually felt hungry. I managed a slice of toast and a cup of coffee. We sat together eating breakfast, making small talk and, before I knew it, I was talking to him about that night, the night that irrevocably changed my life. I didn’t plan on talking to Jack, or anyone, about it ever but once I started I couldn’t seem to stop. It was gushing out of me. I don’t know if Jack has magical powers of some sort because I couldn’t stop the words from flowing. And if I’m being honest, it was actually a relief to talk to someone.

I sat at the table with Jack for a long time, swinging through a range of emotions. He listened patiently. Then, when I’d said all I could and cried all the tears I had, he simply asked me, ‘What would I want Carrie to do if she were me?’

I paused for a long moment. I knew just exactly where he was heading with this. Still, I answered truthfully.

I said, ‘I’d want her to live her life. I’d want her to move on. I’d want her to be happy.’

Jack smiled lightly, squeezed my hand, gave me a knowing look and got up from the table taking our breakfast plates with him, leaving me to contemplate my own words.

So that’s what I’m trying to do. I’m trying to move forward. I’m trying to make the best with what I have left.

It’s not easy.

I have good days, I have bad days, and I have really, really bad days, but now I have someone to talk to on those bad days. It helps some.

I’ll never get over Carrie’s death. I’ll always know I’m to blame, irrespective of how many times Jack tells me I’m not, but I will at some point learn to live with it.

Leaving Honor and Hope to enjoy their time in the paddock, I make my way back to the stable. I meet Sol on his way back pushing along the wheelbarrow that is carrying a couple of pitchforks and spades. He sets the wheelbarrow down outside the stable door.

“
Smallest size I could find was a nine,” he says, pulling a pair of dark green wellies out of the wheelbarrow and holding them up, one in each hand. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had to cater for a woman. What size are you?”

“
A five.”

“
Oh.”

“
Don’t worry they’ll be fine,” I say kindly. I take them from him, sit down on the path and pull my trainers off. I put my feet in the wellies. They’re massive. I could probably fit two feet in one.

Awkwardly, I get up to my feet. I try taking a step forward in them. It’s like walking in flippers. This is going to be interesting.

“
I look like an idiot,” I grimace.

“
Yeah, you do a bit.” Sol meets my eyes and laughs. I allow myself a smile. Sol’s green eyes sparkle as the sunlight catches them. His eyes are not as striking as Nathan’s, but they are nice nonetheless. And when Sol looks at me, I know he’s looking at me, not through me as Nathan does. It matters. To be seen means a lot now I’m invisible to the rest of the world.

Sol winks cheekily at me, picks the wheelbarrow back up and pushes it inside the stable. He sets it down just to the side of the door and unloads the pitchforks and shovels, leaning them up against the wall.

He hands me a pair of gloves and a pitch fork.

“
Thanks.” I give him a begrudging look.

“
Aw, stop moaning and get on with it, woman!” he chuckles good-naturedly, nudging me with his elbow. I nudge him back. His face breaks into a grin. I laugh. Guilt stabs me hard in the chest. I stop laughing.

“
Guess we better get on with this,” I say my mood instantly dropping.

If he notices my abrupt change, he doesn’t say anything and I appreciate it. He just gives me a nod of agreement, puts his gloves on, picks his pitchfork up and starts working.

Sol is a good friend to me, one I don’t deserve or should be allowed to even have, but I’m really not sure how to stop him from being my friend or if I even really want to.

Holding the pitchfork under my arm, I put my gloves on, and joining Sol, I dig into the soiled straw and start moving it into the wheelbarrow.

It’s unreal how much mess one horse and a foal can make in a day. We fill the wheelbarrow in no time and it still looks like we haven’t even made a dent. Sol takes the wheelbarrow away to empty it onto the manure pile around the back of the stable that Jack uses for his gardening, then comes back and we start filling it up again.

Sol starts to talk as we continue working, easing off the silence. Normally he talks and I listen but, this time, I find myself joining in, asking him questions mainly about Nathan, curiosity finally getting the better of me because I know nothing about him - he never gives anything away about himself. Sol and Jack, on the other hand, are open books. I already know tons of stuff about them.

He tells me Nathan was in the army. That doesn’t surprise me. It definitely goes some way to explaining why he’s so regimented and good at being a hardass.

Sol also tells me Nathan left the army three years ago and that he served in Iraq. He says he’s a hero. Apparently Nathan saved some people’s lives while on duty in a northern Iraqi town called Shirqat after a suicide bomber detonated his explosive vest at a busy local market.

It seems Nathan makes a habit of going around saving people’s lives.

It’s obvious from the way Sol talks, how proud he is of Nathan and how much he looks up to him. It sets off a longing in my chest for Carrie which I quickly seal off.

Sol stabs his pitch fork into the straw, taking a break. He lifts his arms above his head, stretching his long, lean body upwards. His T-shirt rides up, revealing an incredibly toned stomach. I look up at his face. Sol is a really good looking guy and he has a charming manner about him. I bet he does well with the ladies.

“
Do you have a girlfriend?” I ask him.

I catch the look of surprise in his eyes before it quickly clears and I realise how much of an intrusive question that may have been, especially just asking out of the blue like that.

“
Sorry,” I say, abashed, pressing my lips into an awkward line.

He drops his arm back down to his sides. “Don’t be.” He smiles. “And no, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“
Oh,” I say, not expecting that to be the case.

“
You seem surprised.” He laughs but I can tell it’s forced.

“
No, I’m not surprised. I mean, well, I just got the impression you would have ... not that it’s a bad thing to be single, because it’s not, obviously.” Sol’s looking at me, eyebrows raised, eyes assessing me intently. I feel all hot and flustered. “But anyway, I’m sure you’ll have a girlfriend soon,” I add pointlessly at the end.

“
I’m fine with it.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Just keeping my options open.”

“
Best thing to do,” I say awkwardly. “You don’t want to get tied down too young.” I rub my nose. “What about Nathan? Does he have a girlfriend?” I regret the words the instant they leave my mouth. All I wanted to do was change the subject and that was the best I could come up with?

Sol picks his pitchfork up. Looking away from me, he answers, “Not that I know of,” his tone suddenly flat.

“
And Cal?” I ask, just so he doesn’t think I’m only interested in his and Nathan’s private life, which of course I’m not. Why would I be?

“
Married to Erin. She’s pregnant. I’m gonna be an uncle soon.” He turns looking at me, a smile lifting his lips. He drops the contents of his pitchfork into the wheelbarrow.

Now my curiosity’s piqued. “Is Erin one of your kind?” I ask him.

He stands his pitch fork upright again and rests his arm on the handle. “Yeah. It’s preferred that we marry our own kind. You know, to keep up the lineage. It’s not forced or anything, but we do obviously keep our ... um ... abilities to ourselves. You know, humans wouldn’t understand and it would be a bit hard to explain to a human girl if you had a baby with her that it’s very likely that when the baby hits puberty it’s gonna be able to shift into an animal of its choice at the drop of a hat.” He screws his face up. “It’s just easier to be with our own kind, you know.”

I nod. Then it hits me out of the blue. I’m never going to be able to have a normal relationship with anyone ever again. I’m never going to have children. Who would want me like this?

A hollow feeling sets up residence in my stomach. I had always taken for granted that at some point, when I met the right guy, I would settle down, get married and have kids. It was just a given. And now it’s not. That choice has been forever taken away.

I feel a sudden overwhelming sense of loss for the children I’m never going to have, a loss for the future I could have had.

“
You want a brew?” Sol asks, interrupting my thoughts.

I can feel tears glimmering in my eyes. I don’t want him to see them, so I look down and start working again. “A brew would be great.” I somehow manage to keep my voice steady even though the tears have turned hot and are burning their way down the back of my throat.

Sol leans his pitchfork up against the wall with a clang. “We’ve got a kettle and that in the barn, but we’ve only got coffee there. Will that do you?”

I swallow down. “Coffee’s fine.”

He pulls his gloves off. “Milk and sugar?”

“
Milk.”

“
Powdered okay?”

“
That’ll be fine,” I say quickly, wishing he’d just go and leave me alone.

He shoves his gloves into the back pocket of his jeans. “Won’t be long, and no slacking while I’m gone.” He leaves me with one of his trademark cheeky smiles before exiting the door. But even that doesn’t help.

The second he’s gone, tears spill from my eyes. I wipe them away but more quickly follow.

I’m being stupid. I know I’m being stupid. I need to pull myself together.

I press the palms of my hands to my eyes and force myself to take a few deep breaths. When the tears are finally dried and gone, I force my body back to work.

Then as quick as that my area is all done. I look around and see there’s still some mess that needs clearing up over in the far corner that Sol hadn’t got to yet.

I look down at my huge wellies, then at the wheelbarrow to my right, then back to the mess.

It’ll all probably fall off the pitchfork if I walk the distance in these wellies. I’ll use a shovel.

I swap my pitchfork for a shovel and flipper my way over to the mess. After a bit of faffing, I manage to get some of the manure onto the shovel. Then, very carefully so not to drop it, I slowly walk back, heading straight for the wheelbarrow.

And don’t ask how I mange it because I have no clue, but somehow I step on the toe of my right welly with my left, lose my balance and trip forward. As I fall, I instinctively put my hands out to stop myself, dropping the shovel. It clatters to the floor and horse shit flicks up everywhere, well mainly onto me, and I land hard on my hands and knees on the concrete floor.

“
Oww!” I cry from the instant pain. I might be stronger nowadays but this still hurts like hell.

Cursing out loud, I sit back on my haunches, rubbing my bruised knees.

Great. Just bloody fucking great.
I’m bruised and covered in horse shit. It’s everywhere: it’s in my hair and all over my clothes. Why does this stuff always happen to me?

I yank my gloves off and, using my sore hands, rub my face clean, getting the manure off my skin, then shake my head roughly, running a hand over my ponytail, trying to get the manure out.

“
Sitting down on the job?” I hear Nathan’s deep voice come from the doorway.

Fuckety fuck.