Finding Home Read Online Free PDF Page B

“Ty,” he said finally.
    She stared at him, waiting.
    â€œTyler Roberts.”
    She was tired enough to do a face plant right onto the dusty floor, but she lowered the hoe finally and searched for her last drop of human kindness. “I’ll give you a ride home.”
    He didn’t move.
    â€œIt’s too dark to bike there,” she said, but he pursed his lips and raised his stubborn chin.
    â€œI ain’t getting in no car with you.”
    She paused, wondering what kind of rumors had been started about her. Maybe that she was crazy. She glanced toward the hairless goat, the bossy goose, the ugly, emaciated horse. Could be that particular rumor had some truth to it. “Can I ask why?”
    â€œDad says never to accept rides from no strangers.”
    She couldn’t quite manage to squelch her snort. “Does he recommend pawing through other people’s barns in the middle of the night?” she asked, then wondered if he just might. The Gilbert Roberts she had known as a kid didn’t necessarily frown on felonious behavior.
    The boy’s ruddy color increased, but she couldn’t tell if it was caused by anger or embarrassment.
    â€œCome on,” she said.
    He didn’t budge. “I told ya, I ain’t goin’ with ya.”
    â€œFine, then.” She was weary to the marrow of her soul. “Just get out of here.” She turned toward the house, but he mumbled something.
    â€œWhat’d you say?”
    He slouched even lower and stared out the broken window to the west as if he wished to be elsewhere. “I said, you shouldn’t feed Angel that hay.”
    Casie glanced toward the mare’s ten-gallon head. “Her name’s Angel?”
    She wouldn’t have thought his scowl could get any darker. Wrong again. “Gotta call her something.”
    True, but Angel? The horse resembled a celestial being about as much as a toad looked like a ballerina.
    â€œShe’s got heaves,” he added.
    The mare had returned to munching contentedly.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œIt’s an allergy thing. Makes ’em cough if they get dust in their lungs.”
    â€œI’m familiar with the disorder,” she said.
    His body looked as stiff as a T-post. “Then you shouldn’ta fed her that crap.”
    She felt her pride prickle a little. Her equine knowledge team had been state champions back when she’d participated in 4-H events. “I haven’t noticed any symptoms.”
    â€œThat’s cuz she’s been getting good hay.”
    She raised her brows and sent a pointed glance at the mare’s jutting hip bones.
    â€œWell, she was before we started running low on bales. She looked real . . .” He paused. “Whatever. Do what you want. She’s your problem now,” he said and turned away.
    She ached to let him go. To see the last of him. To forget about his belligerent voice, his accusatory eyes, and his caustic body language, but she spoke nonetheless.
    â€œDoes she ride?”
    He stopped, shoulders as square as a soldier’s. Then he lifted his hand hastily to his cheek and turned back toward her. “ ’Course she rides. Horse that don’t ride is worthless as tits on a boar.”
    Ah, one of South Dakota’s many charming maxims. “You didn’t ride her in the auction.”
    â€œBony like she is?” He almost managed to hide his wince as he glanced at her sorry state. “Woulda hurt . . .” He stopped himself. “My butt don’t need that kind of abuse.”
    He could have saddled her, she thought, but didn’t mention it. He was already pivoting toward the door at the south end of the barn.
    â€œCan you fit her?” she asked.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œCan you fit her? Get her in shape?”
    He canted his head warily. “Not till she gets some flesh back on her.”
    She paused, fighting those many lamented weaknesses, but there was a streak