Chapter 6: Hail

The storm came over the Bighorns on Thursday afternoon with no warning but a green sky.

Kit had driven Lottie to Sheridan for her follow-up.

I was alone in the barn with the gray mare, who had decided to colic.

She kept going down on her side and trying to roll.

I had her on a lead rope and I was walking her up and down the aisle, and I was losing.

The first hailstone cracked against the tin roof.

Then the whole roof was roaring.

The barn door banged open and Jesse came in out of it, soaked, with ice in his hair.

"Her gut sounds?" he said.

"Quiet. Left side's worse."

"Give me the rope."

I gave it to him.

We walked her together, one on each side, up and down the aisle.

The hail drummed so loud we had to shout.

After forty minutes she passed gas, a long, wet, beautiful sound, and she lifted her head and nickered.

I laughed out loud.

I hadn't laughed in eight days.

Jesse laughed too.

We stood with our hands on the mare's neck, grinning at each other over her withers, soaked and out of breath.

For one second it was any ordinary Thursday.

Then it wasn't.

I saw him remember.

I watched his smile go out, and I hated him for it, and I hated myself because I wanted it back.

"You said no touching," he said.

"I did."

"I won't. I told you I wouldn't."

"I know what I said."

He still had the lead rope in one hand.

The hail went on over our heads, and the mare shifted her weight and blew out a long breath.

"I'm not asking you to," he said, hoarse.

I dropped the rope.

I took two steps and grabbed the front of his wet shirt in both fists and pulled his mouth down onto mine.

He made a sound I hadn't heard in two years.

His hands came up and stopped in the air next to my face, shaking.

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