by Lois Greiman
Casie shifted her gaze to Colt. He shrugged.
“The old man don’t pay much, but he’s not as ornery as some bosses,” he said and shifted his eyes toward her.
Casie ignored his implication and turned her attention back to Ty. “What about your parents?” she asked.
The boy ducked his head. Colt shrugged again. “They agreed to share him for a while,” he said, but there was something in his expression that suggested they hadn’t agreed to anything, something in his eyes that said, “Bring it the hell on.”
She cleared her throat. It felt oddly tight. “But he’ll be able to come here, too, right?”
“I think Dad’ll be able to spare him now and then,” he said and stepped onto the porch. “Get that, will you, son?”
Ty rushed ahead to open the door. For a moment the boy’s eyes met hers. His looked unusually bright, and for a second she couldn’t resist reaching out to touch his face. He permitted it for one brief instant before Colt carried her inside.
Sophie Jaegar stood beside the kitchen table. There was a bandage above her left eye.
“Sophie!” Casie said, still draped in Colt’s arms like an invalid. “I didn’t know …” She drew a deep breath, gratitude slipping slowly into her battered soul. “It’s good to have you home.”
The girl shrugged, almost smiled. “Looks like you have enough to do without tackling the weanlings alone.”
Casie winced at the bruising that showed around the other’s bandage. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, Soph. I’m sure I can—” she began, but Colt squeezed her against his tight chest, effectively silencing her before letting her feet slip to the floor.
“Well, I’m …” She felt like crying, but she wasn’t quite sure why. Probably just the pain meds they’d given her. “I’m just …” She cleared her throat. “Thanks for coming back.”
Sophie shrugged. Her expression was unreadable, but it almost looked like relief … maybe even looked a little like gratitude. “Amber moved in with Dad.”
“Oh.” Casie nodded, exhaled carefully, and almost wished for a moment that she could take the younger woman into her arms. Someone should be hugged. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged again. “No biggie,” she said. “I don’t even care. I just didn’t want people to think …” She pursed her lips and motioned toward her bandage. “This wasn’t Ty’s fault.” She sent him a baleful glance. “I mean, he’s a—” She lifted her shoulders again, an economical movement that suggested they weren’t about to become BFFs. “Of course, he did throw the curry that made Blue wheel around and kick me. But maybe I shouldn’t have—” she began. But just then Emily stepped into the room.
Her gaze met Casie’s in a clash of regret so potent it was almost tangible. But in a moment she ducked her gaze away. “There’s a tuna hotdish in the oven.” She shuffled her feet a little, army boots neatly laced. “There’s real tuna in it this time.” No one spoke. The silence was deafening. “I just stayed so I could fix your dinner. I didn’t want you to … Well …” She raised her chin. “I’ll be taking off,” she said and bent to lift her backpack from the floor.
“Emily …” Casie said.
The girl froze but didn’t speak. Her full lips were pursed, her brows crunched low over bottle-brown eyes.
“Listen …” Casie began again. “I don’t know …” She shook her head. Facts tumbled around in her brain like loose dice. “I don’t even know who you are.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said and straightened, hefting her pack. “Not anymore.”
“I think it might.”
Em shook her head.
The room went silent again. A thousand old habits whispered for Casie to let it go … let her go, but the new ways refused to allow her to take the easy path.
“You’ve been lying to me from the start,” she said.
A muscle jumped in the girl’s cheek, but she nodded.
“Was any of it true?”
Silence stretched into eternity before she spoke. “I really did need a place to stay.”
A dozen warm memories slipped into the room. Memories of shared laughter and work and worries. Memories of a friendship that had been repeatedly tested by fire in just a few short weeks of time.
Casie drew a steadying breath. “Did you sleep with my fiancé?”
Emily glanced out the kitchen window, seeming to look past the frayed tire swing to the world beyond. “I never met him before I came here.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “It’s just that …” She narrowed her eyes a little. “I didn’t want you to leave. I mean … it wasn’t all selfish. He didn’t deserve you.” She cleared her throat and shifted her gaze back to Casie. “He didn’t make you happy. And when I Googled him, I found a picture of him at that convention. He was drunk. He looked drunk,” she corrected. “He was there with his friends, and I thought …” She shrugged.
Casie let the silence lie undisturbed, let her own soul mend, let herself realize that for reasons she might never be able to fully comprehend, she was relieved. Happy even.
“How did you and Ty meet?”
“I was in a foster home for a spell.” The boy’s voice was quiet with shame. He shifted his feet. “Em was there for a while, too.”
Casie nodded and turned back to the girl. “Is your mother really in Wisconsin?”
Emily shrugged and glanced toward the door. Her eyes looked tired. “I think I have a mother … somewhere.”
A hundred questions jostled to be asked. Casie drew a deep breath, weeded through them. “Are you pregnant?” she asked.
Not a soul breathed.
“Yeah,” she said. “That part’s true, too.”
Casie nodded and drew a careful breath. Colt stood a few inches away, solid and steady beside her.
“Well, we’d better eat then. Build up our strength. Looks like we’re going to have to set up a nursery,” Casie said, but Emily shook her head.
“You don’t need to do that. I’ve got places to go anyhow. I’ve always wanted to see the ocean and—”
“Em,” Tyler interrupted, tone solemn. “I don’t know much. But it seems to me that if you don’t know where you’re going, it might be a good idea to quit using your spurs.”
She opened her mouth to object, but he spoke again.
“And don’t never miss a good chance to shut up.”
The kitchen went silent. The scent of strong coffee and fresh starts permeated the air. Outside a pheasant called to its mate.
Emily cleared her throat. “Can I at least say thank you?”
Ty shrugged, uncomfortable being the center of attention. “Far as I know, a little gratitude never killed nobody,” he said.
“Then …” A lone tear welled up and spilled slowly over the girl’s spiky lashes. “Thanks.”
“Yeah,” Sophie added.
“All right. Enough of that. Let’s eat,” Colt said, and setting a warm hand against Casie’s back, steered her toward a chair.
She settled into it, and as the others slipped into place around the table, she smiled in her soul, because her face still hurt too much to try any crazy expressions. But damn, it had been worth it, she thought, and against her better judgment, she cracked a careful grin.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Like Casie, I was born on a cattle ranch in the Dakotas. I enjoyed working with all the livestock, but horses have always been my passion. My first experience with adopting animals in need, however, came as a result of a particularly difficult loss.
Baby Titan was born in our front pasture on a dewy May morning. His mother was a strong, healthy mare, and we had, at first, no reason to anticipate problems. However, horses are prey animals, up on their unsteady legs and ready to run mere hours after birth, so when he didn’t rise in a short time, we called an equine specialist. After examining Titan, the doctor suspected he had what is colloquially known as dummy foal syndrome, a condition that makes it difficult for colts to nurse and navigate. He also had co
ntracted tendons, making it impossible for him to rise, though he could stand with assistance.
Splints were crafted for his front legs and he was put on several medications, one of which would cause his tendons to relax. So began the process of helping him to his mother’s udder every few hours, of medicating, of praying. But he became progressively weaker. At three days he could no longer be convinced to remain on his feet, even with assistance. We then milked the mare by hand and encouraged him to suckle from a bottle. Later he was fed through a tube, but we were fighting a losing battle.
After five days I had spent so much time in the stall that the mare associated me with her baby. I could no longer leave without her becoming agitated. We began to worry that she would trample the foal after I left. In an attempt to calm her, I hung my outer clothes in her stall. It was a ploy that was strangely soothing for her, but in the end, none of our efforts mattered.
After one heartbreaking week of nearly round-the-clock ministrations I conceded defeat and told my husband I was leaving. The baby was dying and I couldn’t bear to watch. He euthanized little Titan while I was gone. The emotional fallout was not easily forgotten.
But you may have heard about God opening windows after doors have been closed.
A few months passed before I received a phone call from a friend. Colleen had just been contacted about a filly with contracted tendons. The owners could no longer care for her. If she didn’t have a new home in the next couple of days, she would be shot.
Remembering the gut-wrenching ordeal of the little one we had lost, I had serious misgivings. Depression is not something I openly court. But after some debate, we determined that it couldn’t hurt to go look. My husband, had I told him, would have known better than to believe such tripe. But we hooked up the trailer and headed north. Two hours later we arrived at the farm. It was a dreary day. The paddocks were deep with muck. The barn where the foal was kept was dark. Wind blew through holes in the walls.
The foal named Trinity was a narrow chestnut filly with a kinky tail and only a few white markings. She raised her head from the ground to issue a squeaky little greeting when we entered the barn; at three months of age, she couldn’t yet rise on her own. The owners, unable to afford veterinary assistance, had been valiantly keeping her alive by splinting her legs with paint-stirring sticks and duct tape, but she had run out of time. Either we took her or she’d be put down. But she had guts, and God had gone through all the trouble of opening that damned window. We sedated her and lugged her into the trailer. Colleen rode beside her, holding her steady so she wouldn’t panic and try to rise. Two kindly nonprofit organizations, Side by Side and Changing Gaits, came to the rescue and helped pay medical expenses that were incurred even before we reached home. Once there, little Trinity was put on the same medications baby Titan had received. Veterinarians splinted her legs with heat-molded PVC pipe, and rehabilitation began in earnest.
On a cool October morning two months later, the splints were removed for the last time and Trinity was turned loose in the field. She took a few uncertain steps on her long, spindly legs, then exploded across the grass like a loosed cannon, bucking and kicking, squealing with unfettered joy.
Trinity lives with Colleen now. I sometimes drive by her pasture just to see her run, to see all her legs working in perfect alignment, like well-oiled machinery, like inexplicable magic.
Since then, we’ve adopted two other horses. Not youngsters like Trinity, but horses well into adulthood. Horses that were sound but untrained, horses whose owners could no longer afford to feed them. Sonny, the Pony of America, is clever, handsome, and sometimes naughty. Silhouette, our Arabian mare, is gorgeous, hot-blooded, and frequently difficult, but she’s got eyes that will melt your soul. Born to race the wind, she has never been out of the ribbons in long-distance competitions. We love them both like children.
These are just a few examples of animals that need help, just a tiny list of pets that have been bred to please people, but whose people could no longer care for them. I know that not many have the opportunity to take in a thousand pounds of fractious horse. I realize it’s an outrageous luxury to have the acreage and time required to rehabilitate animals in need. But if you have a few hours to volunteer at your local shelter or a couple dollars to donate to a nearby rescue, the world will be a better place. And some crisp autumn morning you might have the inexpressible privilege of seeing them frolic across the grass like tangible happiness, sunlight shining on their coats, eyes gleaming with mischief. It’s a gift I never grow tired of.
A READING GROUP GUIDE
FINDING HOME
Lois Greiman
ABOUT THIS GUIDE
The suggested questions are included
to enhance your group’s
reading of this book.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
1. Few people would argue that Casie Carmichael is an extremely nice person. Is she too nice? And is that just another way of saying she’s weak?
2. As a reader, when did you begin to suspect that Emily Kane was being dishonest about her past?
3. Emily could be considered a pathological liar. Is there ever an excuse for that kind of dishonesty?
4. Casie is a highly intelligent individual who had dreams of becoming a doctor. If she remains on the Lazy Windmill, will she be wasting her abilities?
5. Sophie Jaegar’s experience on the ranch seems to radically change her attitude in a relatively short period of time. Do you believe a few weeks in a different environment can make such a difference?
6. Even though Casie cares a great deal for Emily, she sometimes feels jealous of the girl’s easy relationship with Colt. Have you ever experienced that kind of irrational emotion?
7. Life on the ranch is often difficult, but is rewarding. If you had the opportunity to spend time on a ranch, would you enjoy that lifestyle? How would it change you?
8. It could be argued that Casie remains engaged to Bradley even though she has strong misgivings about their relationship. Why do some women have trouble letting go even though they know it’s time to move on?
9. Throughout the book, Casie has trouble fighting for what she wants, but near the end she’s willing to physically do battle to protect Ty. How does she find the strength to stand up for him when she couldn’t do the same for herself?
10. It’s obvious that Colt has strong feelings for Casie. Do you think there is something in his past that has kept him from pursuing her?
11. The Lazy fulfills a need for Casie, Colt, Ty, Sophie, and Emily. How are those needs different for each character?
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Copyright © 2012 by Lois Greiman
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ISBN: 978-0-7582-8121-0