“She has? How?”
“She’s alive.”
“I’d like to keep her that way.”
“So does every horseman worth his salt. She’s your first. Your first will always be special. Should she break her leg today, she’ll still be your first, and she’ll still be special. But she’s made it this far. I think she’ll pull through. Just do your best, and don’t panic when she limps. As long as her leg doesn’t break, we can nurse her back to health.”
I stroked Morning Glory’s nose. “What should I be doing through all this?’
“Today, you’ll walk her to the arena and back. Tomorrow, you’ll do it again. In a week, we’ll see if she’s ready to take a longer walk. If so, we’ll walk her around the arena. Each day, we’ll push her harder until she’s bouncing around like the other horses. It’ll just take her longer is all.”
“If she wanted to jump later in life, could she? Or race? Or do anything healthy horses can?”
The stable master chuckled. “I’d count on it, boy. I’ll help you with that. There’s nothing I love more in life than sticking it to the upper castes. And your filly becoming something worth their while would be sticking it to them in the best way possible. You game, boy?”
I realized what I’d been missing from my life since Princess Jessica had walked out my door: a real purpose, something I could be proud of.
What’s the Story, Morning Glory would become my purpose, and I’d prove Elana wrong.
My little filly could be great, and nothing needed to be different to make it happen.
“I’m game, sir.”
“Branst,” the stable master said, holding out his hand. I shook with him. “The first thing you need to do is learn how to ride, and you’re going to need to learn how to ride so well that you can trick the Darmills’ riding instructor that you’re far less than you appear to be. To make your filly worth their while, we’re going to have to make you even better. Some say the horse makes the man, but that’s a load of shit.”
“When do you want me, and what do you want me to do?”
“Get your filly through today. Starting tomorrow, give me every minute you can. You do that, and you work like you mean it, and I think I can make you both into something special, all without anyone being the wiser for our efforts.”
“I’ll bring a copy of my schedule,” I promised.
“Good. Now, I’ll go get the vet and we’ll get this show on the road.”
The instant the vets released What’s the Story, Morning Glory from the sling, she bounced, bucked, and refused to cooperate with anyone. She whinnied, plowed into me, and dragged me out of her stall. I hit the floor with a grunt, and both vets grabbed for her halter and lead.
Morning Glory escaped our hold and bolted down the hall, and every time she whinnied, she bobbed her head and kicked.
“Well, if something was going to break, I’d say it would’ve broke after that first buck,” Dr. Winstil announced. “Congratulations, Mr. Laycal. She’s already exceeding our expectations. Are you all right?”
Picking myself off the ground, I brushed myself off. A stable hand blocked off my filly’s routes of escape, and I cornered her near the arena door and snatched her lead line. “There’s a good girl,” I murmured, patting her neck. “Time to walk for a while, then see how you’re doing.”
Morning Glory wanted nothing to do with walking. She wanted to run, roll, and play, and she whinnied her excitement.
“Bring her to the arena, boy,” Branst ordered. “Change of plans. We’ll let her loose in the arena and see how she does. She’s already done everything we didn’t want.”
Dr. Winstil stepped out of Morning Glory’s stall. “I expected something like this. But, her leg’s holding, and that’s what matters. She’ll tire quickly, so there’s no harm in letting her work out her energy in the arena. After, we’ll see how she is. So far, so good.”
Herding Morning Glory into the arena took all three of us working together, and I hoped we’d be able to catch her again once I set her loose, but at Dr. Winstil’s order, I unclipped her lead line and released her.
She went all of four steps before she dropped and rolled, pawing at the air with her hooves. It took her less than five minutes to make a mess of the plaiting work I’d done on her mane. While I needed more practice, I’d hoped it would’ve lasted a little longer.
Oh well.
“You’re going to have fun grooming all that out of her coat,” Branst said, relaxing against the wall circling the arena.
“I think she just wants me to plait her mane again.”
“Anything for some extra attention. At least she’s not a drama queen. We have quite a few of those here.”
“Do I want to know how a horse can be a drama queen?”
“You’ll see for yourself soon enough. They pretend the sky is falling unless they get what they want.”
I fought my urge to laugh. “They’re spoiled?”
“According to their owners, they are princes and princesses without fault.”
Both vets snickered.
“Morning Glory will be spoiled, too,” I announced.
“She’ll be the queen of the spoiled brats taking up space in my stable, I’m sure. I say she’s earned it. Your next job is to coax her back to her stall when she’s tired herself out. Then the vets can do a health check and see if we need to put her back in the sling tonight. Holler if there are any problems. I’ve rounds to do.”
Once Branst left, Dr. Winstil chuckled. “You may as well head on to your next stop tonight, Randel. I can handle things from here. If she needs to be put back in the sling, I’ll recruit Pat’s help with it.”
Dr. Thams saluted. “Think you’ll be delayed doing your rounds?”
“Doubtful. I expect twenty minutes tiring the filly out and getting her back to her stall, another twenty to do a nose to hoof check before I’m done here. If run behind, I’ll call the clinic and get someone to cover for me, but I think it’ll be all right.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then.”
Dr. Winstil waited for Dr. Thams to leave before snickering. “He’s a cheater.”
“He is?”
“I’d bet he used his talent to check on her, refuses to admit it, and is itching to get on with his day. And since he enjoys annoying me, he’s not going to tell me what he discovered using his talent. Unlike me, he can do his work from a distance. I have to touch my patients. If he thought there’d be a problem, he’d be hovering.”
“And since he’s leaving to go to his next appointment, he thinks she’s fine?”
“Fine is a stretch, but she’ll do. This is just the start, Mr. Laycal. But it’s a good start.”
I could work with that.
Chapter Eight
I went home a lot happier about my situation, and I embraced my new schedule, determined to be too busy to have time or energy to worry about anything else. As a general rule, it worked. On the weekends, when most went to rodeos or horse shows, I split my time between Morning Glory and my parents, hiding from my changed life in a bastion of normality.
To maintain the illusion of being the same old me stuck in the same old rut, I refused to talk about my work or my horse, not sure how to tell my parents how I’d somehow stepped into an odd reality where I straddled my low caste and the world of the elites.
My mother suspected something. Every time I came over, she watched me like a hawk.
Four weekends after my first invasion, she cornered me in her kitchen, her hands planted on her hips. “Something’s going on. What are you up to? You’ve been over here every Saturday and Sunday, and you haven’t cooked us chicken not once. Seven meals, and not a piece of barbecue chicken in sight.”
Busted. “I take it you want me to make yams and chicken with some chocolate cake tomorrow?”
“Now I know you’re hiding something. It’s not my birthday yet.”
Damn it. I either had to tell her about my new job or tell her I’d met a prince
ss that I couldn’t stop thinking about several times a day. All in all, my work was the safer choice, although I could tell her I’d met the princess in a convenience store.
That was safe enough.
“Pat?”
“I got a new job.”
“Well, that’s not surprising. You’d been at your old place for a while. It was only a matter of time. Otherwise, your boss would have to pay out extra benefits.”
“I hadn’t been there for even three years, Mom.”
“Sounds about right. They don’t want any chance of a successful claim. Cut your hours?”
I nodded.
“What’s the problem? Are you having trouble finding a new job? Your old bedroom is always open if you need it.”
“I found a new job.”
“Good. Were you blacklisted?”
“The hiring company ignored the blacklist if there was one. I quit due to cut hours, but that’s all right. It worked out well.”
“What are you worrying about, then? This is you worried, Pat.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m worried.”
My mother raised a brow. “Oh, really? What are you, then?”
“Slightly concerned you’re not indulging in your usual butchery of the English language.”
“Don’t you get mouthy with me. Both your father and I have been hired by some of them snooty folks, and they don’t like when we don’t talk right. So we’re talkin’ right. Mostly. Pay’s better this round, so we’re enjoying it while it lasts. Might last, too, if we keep talkin’ right. My employer kept the last maid around for ten years, but she’s retirin’, and I got lucky.”
“That’s great, Mom.”
“Great enough you’ll swear over your dead body I get my chocolate cake tomorrow?”
“I’ll make you yams and chicken to go with it, too,” I promised. “Work’s been strange for me.”
“Well, why don’t you tell us about it? Darlin’, our son’s gone and got himself in a predictament,” my mother announced. “Come have a sit and figure out his problem so he stops trying to make our kitchen fancy.”
Despite my efforts to play closer to my real caste, I realized I’d done exactly as accused, attempting to make the most out of what they had to extreme levels.
Macaroni and cheese from a box didn’t need elaboration. I sighed and bowed my head. “Should I just go to the store and be properly fancy?”
“Considering you just butchered a box of macaroni and cheese using spices and anything else you could get your hands on, that might be a good idea.”
“I’ll be back in thirty minutes, and I’ll make a vanilla cake to make up for this.”
“That’s a little better. If you want to be all fancy, be all fancy, Pat. But don’t try to be something you’re not—and don’t try to make that poor box of macaroni and cheese something it’s not, either. It won’t end well. It never does.”
My mother had no idea how right—and wrong—she was, but she’d find out soon enough.
I splurged on steaks, the kind my mother and father had once or twice a year, more aware of the growing gap between us than ever. It would change me.
Not worrying about money changed people. It changed how I viewed the world. When every penny no longer mattered, I saw things differently. The relationship between the pennies and what they bought changed. A few extra pennies bought me something a little bigger and a little better.
While tempted to buy the biggest and the best the store catering to our caste had to offer, I shopped through their eyes, making my pennies go the extra mile. Bigger wasn’t better for them.
Bigger would worry them.
They wouldn’t be able to see what I made while focused on how much I’d spent. I wanted them to enjoy what I cooked. For that to happen, I needed to work within their comfort zones rather than mine.
Before being hired by Sundale Reserves Industries, the dance hadn’t been quite so complicated. Then again, once I came clean with my new situation, maybe they’d accept me splurging on them.
I wouldn’t splurge on myself, not with the awareness I’d have an equine mouth to feed later down the road.
I replaced the box of macaroni and cheese I’d been experimenting with, although I wondered if I could’ve transformed it into something worthwhile given some time.
Within the promised thirty minutes, I returned to my parents’ apartment, plunked the steaks on the kitchen counter to warm to room temperature for proper cooking, and leveled a glare at my mother. “I bought steaks, and you will enjoy yours without complaint.”
When I turned my glare to my father, he chuckled and replied, “I won’t complain about the price, but you spent too much.”
“I got hired by a bunch of insane, stupidly wealthy elite, and they pay me more than they should to put up with them, so I can afford the occasional splurge. This is the occasional splurge.”
“That explains why you were so antsy. They’re payin’ you the cap?” he asked.
“Not quite.”
“Then what’s got you so antsy?”
“I got bumped to middle caste pay with bonuses and benefits.”
My parents stared at me like I’d grown a second head.
“Say what?” my father asked, and his brows rose.
“The company has a caste exemption for hiring, and they wanted me cooking for the executive floor. My former boss cut my hours, so I submitted for a fast-track application line, which was approved. They found my application, called me, and asked me in for an interview. I was hired on the spot. They needed someone who could work nights and cook for employees who were staying late. So, that’s what I do now. I clean, and I cook.”
My mother’s eyes bulged. “You’re cooking for elites?”
“If you think that’s strange, I met a member of the royal family in the convenience store near my old work. It was surreal. Then they had dinner at the restaurant. Twice. That’s actually what reduced my hours. I guess the boss didn’t want someone of our caste polluting his kitchen while there were Royals around.”
If I told them I’d cooked for them, they’d freak.
My parents stared at each other, and I wondered what they thought—and what they communicated through their expressions. Mom worried, but I couldn’t read my father at all.
“They don’t know about your talent, do they?” my father asked.
“My employer knows. Part of my hiring condition is working at a stable down the road from my new workplace. It’s something they do for all employees, and it’s part of why they have the rank exemption. They’ll never turn my talent into anything, but they’re making sure I’m around horses. I’ve been there for a while now. They…”
“They what?” my mother demanded.
“They gave me a sick filly as a hiring bonus; one of the employees would’ve had to send her to the meat market, so they decided they’d pay for all her care, feed, and board while I’m working for the company. I’ve got her papers and everything. Once she’s on the mend, I’ll see if you can meet her. Her name is What’s the Story, Morning Glory. She’s a palomino. I’ve got her ownership papers and everything.”
The silence dragged on, and I couldn’t tell what they were thinking; their expressions went slack from shock.
“They gave you a hoss?” my father whispered.
“As part of my hiring bonus. They’re absolutely helpless in a kitchen, Dad. They needed the help. I don’t know how they survive. Do they hire people to feed them at home? Do they order food every day? They look at appliances in the kitchen and break them—or burn them. I think some of them just bought food they could take out of the refrigerator and eat without preparation.”
“But why’d they give you a hoss?”
I loved my father, but I swore he mispronounced horse to annoy me. “Morning Glory was going to be sent to the meat market otherwise, and I guess Miss Elana would rather take an expensive gamble using me as an excuse. She really likes Morning Glory. Morning Glory’s dam is her horse.”
My father’s expression cleared. “That makes sense. Nobody wants to send their pet to the market. What was she sick with that she’d be good for meat?”
“Leg deformity. She’s doing much better now. It took time, but she’s on the mend. So, she’s not really valuable to anyone other than me, but since she’s valuable to me, she made a good hiring bonus. The company bought Morning Glory from Miss Elana to give to me. Her board and vet bills are covered as part of my wages. I’m saving all my extra money for in five years, assuming I’ll be bumped, but considering how much they’ve invested in me so far, it makes no sense for them to dodge the five percent raise and extra benefits.”
While my mother seemed hesitant, she nodded and ultimately smiled. “They’re not attempting anything drastic with your talent?”
“Not at all. I’ll be working with horses sometimes after work, but that’s to make sure I know everything I need to work with Morning Glory. And if I help them with horse sales, I’m paid a percentage of the sale. Horse empaths help breeders sell horses, apparently. I haven’t seen any of that yet, though. They want Morning Glory to be in better health first, so I’m spending most of my time at work and with her.”
“How far do you have to travel to get to where she lives?” my father asked. In his tone, I heard many more questions, and I could guess at a few of them. Without a car, I could only go where my feet—or the public transit system—could take me, which wasn’t far.
They’d lived the realities of our caste for far longer, and I’d never judge my parents for looking for the hidden catch, the fault in the deal that would bring the whole thing crashing down.
I still wondered when it would all come crashing down.
I forced a chuckle and checked the steaks, masking my annoyance when they weren’t quite ready for me to work with, thus unable to provide me with an excuse to dodge the rest of the conversation. “Morning Glory lives close to my work, and it’s not bad to get there from my apartment.”
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