The Bequest
Chapter 41—Amanda

It's barely raining anymore, so thankfully I don't get too wet on my way to the van. I'm just about to pull out onto the main road when a truck stops and turns on its flashers. The driver rolls down the passenger window. I roll down my window too, but even so, I can barely hear Eddy. "Amanda?"

"Yeah."

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I say. "But a tree knocked a fence down and the horses ran away."

"They'll probably find their way back," he says.

"The kids are freaking out." My voice feels hoarse from all the yelling. "I'm going to get Abby."

"Is she working?"

"Yeah."

He shuts off his blinkers and turns into the driveway, moving past me. He waves at me with his hand. What does he want me to do? Turn around?

He parks in between the two houses, in the place closest to the barn. It takes me some time in this beast, but I turn around and park next to him. By the time I open my door, he's standing right outside. "I can help.” His deep voice, his rain-soaked hair-it sends a shiver from my head down to my toes.

"Are you cold?" "The rain," I say.

He wraps an arm around me. "I'm sure they didn't go far. It was probably a combination of the tree limb startling them and the thunder, but if the kids are nervous, we can ride out and check on them." "We?"

He laughs. "I can ride out."

"I'll go with you," Ethan says from the porch.

Eddy drops his arm like I burned him. "Great." Then he frowns. "Do we have horses? Because the Polaris is going to be a disaster in all this mud."

"Yeah, I caught Snoopy and Captain."

"The paint, right?"

"That's Snoopy," Ethan says. "He's the one Mom usually rides."

"He'll be perfect for you."

"What about you?" I ask.

He shrugs. "I can ride anything."

How hot is that? I shiver again.

"You should go inside and dry off. I'd hate for you to get sick."

I run inside to grab a jacket to support my cover story, which feels dumb. It's like seventy degrees. But I can't just lounge around while they're riding off into the woods, so I jog out to the barn. They're still getting the saddles and stuff on, so I wasn't too late.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"I'm telling you, I know it's nerve-wracking, but it's not like they broke to the road. They're wandering around in the middle of nothing, and they'll be easy to find." "Abby said we lose cows every year to mountain lions and bears."

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"That's why I grabbed this." Eddy pats a rifle strapped to his saddle. "But honestly, Amanda, don't worry. They usually stay somewhere dry for a while after a big storm." His words make me feel better, but I'm still anxious as the two of them ride off, the mountains looming large behind them, the fallen tree marking the place where the fence is down. They're still close enough to make out their forms and a little of their faces. I whip out my phone and snap a few photos. In my favorite one, Ethan and Eddy are talking, and Eddy's clearly smiling. It's only a side profile, but I love it.

And the best part? The rain has stopped, and there's a rainbow behind them.

It doesn't even surprise me that I have a single bar of reception. I upload the photo real quick. "Downed fence let the horses out-but we'll catch them thanks to a little help." Then I tag it #MyHero #GiddyUp #Heroes RideHorses #HotCowboy and #RideItLikeYou MeanIt.

This has certainly been a weird trip-entirely different than the last twenty years of my life, almost all spent in New York City, but there's more beauty than I expected, too. And it doesn't feel half as lonely as I thought. Partly because of Abby and her kids, who are always everywhere and who take up a lot of space. But also because of Eddy, who seems to show up just when I need him.

He may insist that he's not doing anything helpful. After all, Abby scared his dad into behaving. And he says the horses would come home on their own. Even so, having a vet who rides a horse as well as any trainer, willing to ride out with your nephew to make you rest easier, isn't too bad. Judging by the preliminary comments on my post, my followers agree.

Just marry him already and have gorgeous cowboy kids.

So frigging dreamy!

My ovaries just contracted.

I'm not sure ovaries can contract, and I want nothing to do with anything that makes my ovaries do anything, but I understand the sentiment. I take the rare opportunity, with decent reception, to answer a few emails. I'm just telling Tide that I'd be happy to do a repeat post about their new stain stick when my phone rings.

I'm completely surprised that my reception is that good.

"Hey Heather," I say.

"Girl." She whistles low and long. "Please tell me that's the vet."

"It is," I say.

"I swear he gets hotter with every photo you post."

"He's just a friend," I say.

"Then move over." She laughs. "I'm booking a flight."

"I'm not sure how long I'll have reception, so..."

"You don't have WiFi yet? Geez." She sighs. "Look, I wanted to tell you that my boss loves the new cowboy posts, like even more than I do. She likes the small-town life angle, the neighbor, and the way you finally seem connected to real people around you."

"That's great."

"She'd love a few more posts with people like that elderly neighbor. Quirky people whom you're obviously meeting and connecting with."

"I can do that," I say.

"And I think I speak for all women when I say, the more of that vet, the better."

I laugh. "Got it."

"And one last thing. We're going to be making final decisions about the contract at the very beginning of July, but if we choose you, my boss wants to make sure you'll stay put, at least for the rest of the summer. Is that a problem?" I would have said that Maren would lose it and that I'd go crazy too. I would have refused if she'd asked me a week or two ago. But now, I keep thinking of Eddy putting his arm around me. Eddy riding off into the forest to help me.

No one has cared much about my life or my struggles in a really long time. I'm clearly not the kind of person who's destined to be with a vet in a town of four hundred, but it's fun to play pretend sometimes. I can allow myself a few more weeks. "Sure."

"Perfect."

I'm beginning to think that it kind of is.