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MERCY
MaryBeth is kind enough to hand me a towel and a small packet of essential toiletries before moving on to others who are more in need. With Camden in the dining hall, food is out of the question, and I’m far too wired to sleep. So, I keep to myself and start wandering the facilities in search of some way I can be of use. There are three pavilions in total, all connected by small structures made up of halls, offices, and restrooms. I’m nearly to the last pavilion when I overhear two volunteers talking on their way past me. They mention a name I recognize, and it stops me in my tracks.
“I’m sorry, did you just mention the Pruitts?” I ask.
One of the two is kind enough to turn back while the other nods a silent communication and carries on down the hall. “Are you family?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No. But I used to go out there and help out all the time. How are they doing? How are the animals?” I can feel the pounding of my heart inch its way up into my throat. The Pruitt’s place had been like a secret paradise growing up, a magical oasis of creatures more beautiful than anything I’d ever imagined or have ever encountered since.
The woman’s brow furrows with concern and her mouth drops into a frown. “No one knows yet. There’s been no way to contact anyone and the weather’s been too bad to go out there. Riders are just getting ready to check on them now.”
“Riders?” Instantly my mind is alert, ready to jump on the task. “Where?”
“Just outside the back pavilion.” She adds something else after, but I can’t hear her. I’ve already started running. Finally, I’ve found some way to be of use.
As soon as I burst through the doors and out into the rear parking lot, I spot them. At least a dozen cowboys, tacked up and ready to go.
“Excuse me,” I call out trying to get the attention of a guy cutting across my path to get to them. “Is there anywhere I can sign up to ride out with everyone? I would really like to go out and help the Pruitts,” I plead with him, though I can see his skepticism growing with each passing second of looking me over.
Then his face turns from disbelief to amusement. He even has the audacity to laugh straight at my face. “Listen, sweetheart. I’m sure you’re a real fine rider when you’re up on your fancy thoroughbred galloping your way around the arena. You may even know how to clear a jump or two. But we’re about to go out into terrain none of us know. There may or may not be a path to follow, and more than likely we will encounter fallen trees blocking our way, debris from damaged structures, not to mention, snakes, alligators, and the bodies of those not fortunate enough to have survived. Trust me, this is no job for a lady. Why don’t you go on back inside, see if you can help out in the dining hall.”
“No, you listen, sweetheart. I am more than capable of making the ride,” I huff, so angry I could scream. “So either show me where I can see about getting a horse or point me to someone who can.”
“Lady, there’s no way—”
“Get her a horse, Davis,” a man’s voice cuts in before he can finish. We both spin around, shocked, though likely for different reasons. My heart jerks in my chest the second I lay eyes on him. I can’t breathe.
“You’re joking,” Davis insists, unaware of my current state. “Frank, look at her. She’s wearing a goddamn skirt and no shoes!”
Frank doesn’t even glance in my direction. I know, because I can’t stop staring straight at him. His lean, muscular build that only seems to have filled out more in the last eleven years. The scruff of dark hair peeking out from under his felt cowboy hat, his unshaven jawline, strong and serious as always. And those eyes. God, those eyes are just as blue and deep and dangerous as I remember. A girl could get lost forever in there. “I don’t give a hell what she’s wearing. She wants to ride, let her ride.”
“You really think she can make the trip?” Davis spats, and I can’t tell if he’s more annoyed about losing against me or Frank’s lack of interest in the matter.
“I know she can.”
“How?”
“Because I damn well taught her to ride!” Frank all but shouts at him. “Now go get her a horse. If you can’t find one, Breeze is in my trailer with nothin’ to do. There’s spare tack in there too. I’m done having this argument. We don’t have time for it!” He stomps his way past us, pausing briefly as he comes up beside me, grumbling, “And for the love of God, grab a pair of jeans from the bag in my backseat while you’re there.”
And then he’s gone. As though the last thirty seconds never happened. Or maybe they did. Maybe it’s just all the years before, that simply ceased to exist for him.
Meanwhile, Davis has taken up staring at me, confusion and curiosity shrouding his unshaven face. “I don’t know who you are, lady, but you must have done something to piss him off. I’m pretty sure he’s trying to get you killed and make it look like an accident,” he mumbles, slowly starting to move again, this time headed out toward where the trailers are and away from where the riders are gathering.
“What makes you say that?” I ask, though I can hardly even feign an interest in our current conversation. Too many other thoughts are colliding inside my head. All of them have Frank’s face on them.
“Because you’re riding Breeze,” he says with a snort. “And she didn’t come along to be a riding horse. She’s here for companionship and as a pack horse. That’s all.”
I’m only half listening to him babble on about the mare, my focus is on the truck and trailer straight ahead. All these years later and Frank’s still cruising around in the same old hunter green Chevy. It’s almost surreal to see it standing here. “I’m sure Breeze won’t mind the change in plans,” I mutter, careful not to step in anything too disgusting with my bare toes. Maybe I can steal a pair of boots from Frank’s truck while I’m there getting jeans.
“I’m sure she won’t mind the change, but you might.”
We come to a stop and he reaches for the latch on the drop door.
“Cut to the chase, Davis. What is the big deal with Breeze?” I ask, too frazzled to keep playing his games.
“No big deal.” He shrugs, grinning. “Except Breeze is short for her real name. She’s a Breeze. That’s what it says on her papers.” He turns his gaze outward, chuckling quietly. “But that’s not what anyone calls her.”
“Buck,” I say, staring directly at him. “That’s what everyone calls her. Because she has the most wicked buck of any mare at Kingston Ranch. I know.”
His jaw drops and his eyes bug out, gobsmacked. “You know?”
I nod. “Yes, I know. Now can we do this, or what? I don’t want to miss the group heading out and I definitely don’t want to be the reason they have to wait.”
He drops the loading ramp and steps aside. “Be my guest. She’s all yours.” Then he leaves me alone to sort things out from here.
If it weren’t for the fact it’s been over a decade since I tacked up a horse on my own, I wouldn’t mind the solitude so much. I glance inside the trailer to see the mare Davis was making such a fuss about.
“Yep, same old girl I remember,” I say gently. She turns to greet me with curious interest. “You and me together, just like it used to be.” She’s still tied, so there’s no rush to unload her.
“First things first,” I mumble to myself, starting for the truck. “I need some proper clothes to wear if I want to make it through the next few hours riding with the likes of Davis.”
As expected, the backseat of the truck is unlocked and an open duffle bag is sitting in wait, clothes already disheveled as though someone else were recently digging through them.
It doesn’t take me long to find a pair of jeans. I pull them on in a matter of seconds, then grab the first lead rope I can find and lace it through the belt loops in lieu of a belt, because there’s no way these pants are staying up without assistance. Then I roll up the legs by several inches until I can see my toes again. Toes. I need footwear. I scan the truck but there’s nothing here I can make use of.
Quickly, I make my way to the back and check the bed of the truck. Even among the odds and ends flying about, there’s not a single boot to be found.
My last hope lies with the small tack room of the trailer. I swing the door open and step inside.
“A-ha!” I shout with glee, snagging the pair of sneakers someone left behind (probably to put on boots). As luck would have it, they’re even close to my size. “Looks like I’ll be buying Esther a new pair of shoes.” Frank’s sister, younger by two years, and once upon a time, a friend of mine.
Because I’m on a thieving roll already, I also yank the hoodie hanging from a hook beside the door on my way back out to the back of the trailer.
“Alright, mare. You ready to show the boys how we get things done around here?” She snorts in response. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Much to my relief, horses are a lot like bikes. Some things you just don’t forget. Even with the added saddlebags filled with flashlights and other supplies needed for the recovery and rescue ride, I manage to tack her up without too much trouble. Before long, I’m joining the huddle, Buck walking with ease at my side as though we’re headed out for a leisurely trail ride, same as we used to.
“Mercy?”
I look up to follow the voice and find a tall, skinny guy with straw-blond hair sticking out in every direction under his backwards baseball cap and a smirk for days on his thin lips. “Wade!” I leap forward and he catches me in a bear hug I haven’t felt the comforts of in way too long. “I should have known you’d be here too.”
“Too?” Then an unspoken understanding moves into his bright blue eyes as they travel past me to the mare behind me. Frank’s Mare. “Ah. Yeah. Too.”
Before we have a chance to catch up beyond our greeting, Frank rides up on a stocky buckskin and commands everyone’s attention.
“Looks like we’re all here,” he says, though he still does little to actually acknowledge my presence. “We’ve got about five hours left of daylight, hopefully without rain, so let’s not waste any of it.” Even as he’s speaking, riders are placing their boot tips into their stirrups and mounting their horses. I follow their lead and do the same. Buck starts walking before my butt even hits the saddle, weaving her way into the group, eagerly inching her way forward. I know her. She’s eyeing the lead, never did like being behind the others, but today we’re not going anywhere near the front.
“Slow down, girl,” I whisper, taking the reins in a bit. “We’ve got a long way to go, no reason to rush.”
I watch as every rider files into place, forming a long, single row with Frank at the lead and Wade bringing in the rear. As tempted as I am to fall back and settle in near Wade, I fight the urge to do what’s easy and take my place in line between two riders I’ve never met before today. If nothing else, at least I won’t have to answer any questions about a past neither of them know about, or the present that came after.
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FRANK
Mercy Rose. That girl always did know how to show up and turn my world upside down. I don’t know if I’m surprised or not to see her timing hasn’t improved any in the last ten years. There are about a million other things I need to keep my focus on, and yet here I am, unable to take my mind off her.
“You gonna tell me about that damn girl, or what?” Davis says, moving up closer to me while we still have solid ground to ride on.
“Nope.” Davis is a good enough friend under most circumstances, but Mercy Rose falls into her own category. If you were there, you know. If you weren’t, it’s not for you to find out about. Mostly because I have no desire to talk about it.
“Come on, man. She shows up out of nowhere, driving what I hear looked like a battery operated toy car that should have been swept from the road in this weather, and not only do you let her come along, but you put her on Buck of all horses. I know there’s a story here, and I want to know what it is,” he demands, half laughing half serious.
“She didn’t show up out of nowhere. Her family’s from here, owns The Rose Petal. We were neighbors growing up. She used to come over and ride. End of story,” I say before clicking my tongue and encouraging Dash to speed up a bit. He doesn’t need to be told twice and within in seconds, I’m out of earshot of Davis’s rambling again.
Not long after, our solid path turns to black liquid and our horses are wading through water that reaches up to their chests. My feet are soaked, and my pants are wet up to my thighs, but I hardly notice. I finally have things more pressing to pay attention to than trivial thoughts about a girl I haven’t seen in over a decade, and I definitely have more important things to worry about than a bit of wet clothing.
We don’t even make it all the way out to the Pruitts’ before we need to split off, riders going in twos and threes to release cattle trapped in a flooded field at one place, and dogs left locked in their kennels in another. Before long, it’s down to just three of us. Me. Wade. And her.
We ride in silence, except for Wade making the occasional small talk to try and diffuse the awkward tension. He never was good at keeping his mouth shut. Finally, we’re passing through the gates to the sanctuary. The land lays at an angle here, the front pastures lying lowest as the property climbs toward the house and main barn, making most of the water pool down to where we are. Our horses are swimming, it’s so deep, and in the distance, a lot of the structures appear half as tall as they usually do. Even the main house up ahead which stands two stories high, looks small surrounded by all this water. It’s only beyond that, the land seems to sit high enough to have escaped the extreme flooding.
I can hear Mercy gasp repeatedly behind me, likely at the sight of all we’re encountering. Some of the animals didn’t make it, and we’re seeing the evidence of that as we move through. It’s enough to send your heart plummeting to your gut, but there’s no time to feel the loss now, not when there are still some lives to be saved.
“There,” I hear Mercy call out behind me. “Horses.” I turn back over my shoulder to see where she’s pointing. “Six or seven of them.”
I follow her outstretched finger until I find them. She’s right. They’re all huddled together near a gate, or where I’m assuming there’s a gate based on the large posts still visible, treading water with nowhere to go and likely exhausted. Without access to dry land to stand on, they won’t hold out much longer.
“What’s the plan?” Wade calls out from behind.
“We stay together,” I yell back. There are at least three fence lines separating us from the small herd. Three gates we’ll need to open to get through and no telling what usually lives in each paddock or if it survived.
“No,” Mercy cuts in, “there’s too much at stake for all of us to go open a few gates. Not when most of the animals are probably still trapped inside the barn, unable to escape without help. You two keep going. I can do this.”
“You heard her.” I wave at Wade to keep going and he does without arguing. At least until we’re out of earshot.
“You really think that’s a great idea? Leaving her to handle that by herself?” he hisses at me from my left.
“I think I have a clear shot from where we’re headed to where she’s at and I’ll know if she’s in trouble.” I tip my head sideways in her direction and watch as Wade turns to see for himself. “It’s easier to let her think she’s on her own than argue with her.”
Mercy’s at the first gate already. Buck is a handful under most riders, but she’s trained well and works seamlessly with the right partner. She likes Mercy, a fact she proves as I’m watching them working together, Buck moving with ease to align Mercy with the gate, helping her reach the chain with minimal effort, then pushing it open for her once it’s free.
“Besides,” I point out the obvious, “she’s not handling things by herself.”
Wade shakes his head as if he’s trying to shake loose the old memories. “I don’t remember the last time I saw that mare cooperate with someone so willingly.”
“Hasn’t happened in a long time.” Not even when I ride her. Though, to be fair, she challenges me on purpose, knows I need it. Thrive on it even.
We’re approaching the barn when I glance back one more time to check on her. She’s made it through the second gate and is near the third which appears to be already open, meaning she’ll be able to pass through with next to no struggle. From there, she’ll only have to get the one trapping the horses in the back pasture, and given how smoothly she’s handled things so far, I’m confident she’ll pull it off.
Then, I hear it. Scratching. Frantic pawing and other desperate sounds of distress coming from inside the barn confirming our worst fears.
I look to Wade. “You hear that?”
The expression on his face is all the answer I need.
I turn to check on Mercy one last time, she’s just about to get the gate. “She’s got it from here. Come on, we can’t wait.”
He knows it too. Neither of us like it, but she’s really on her own now.
Fried Pickles and First Kisses
My now-husband and I worked at a tutoring center together when I was in grad school. He taught math & science while I helped with English and essays. After a few brief, cute interactions, he asked me if I’d like to go get coffee on our break...while I was obviously holding a full cup of iced coffee. So I slurped it down and joined him on a coffee date. As we sat across from each other on that suburban Starbucks patio, I felt like I’d found my home in a person. After an hour, we went back to work like our whole lives hadn’t just changed. At the end of our tutoring sessions, he asked me to get drinks. I agreed, of course. We ate fried pickles at a bar down the street and then sat in my car, sharing kisses and our favorite songs with each other until 5 a.m. We went back to my apartment, made breakfast, went to get more coffee, and then he drove me to an editorial meeting followed by a midterm exam (don’t worry, I aced it!). We haven’t spent more than 2 days apart since, and we always order fried pickles when they’re on the menu 💛
~ Jaclyn