pounding of feet sounded on the stairs. “Where are you going to look? It’s dangerous to be out there on a horse with the lightning!” Christine anxiously wiped her soapy hands on her jeans.
“I can’t just sit and wait. I’ll be careful.”
“How can you be careful of where lightning strikes?”
“Mom, what are the chances? Abby might have a broken leg or something.”
Christine could see that her daughter would not be deterred. “Then don’t take Dancer, he hasn’t been ridden in ages. He’ll be too fresh. Take Henry, he’ll be much calmer in this storm.”
“Mom, I’ve got the cell phone.” Hilary patted her pocket. “I’m taking Dancer. He’ll follow anyway if I take Henry, and then I’ll have two horses to worry about, like Abby.” She put on her riding gloves, turned to the door, and headed out to the barn.
The wind was powerful, and the rain felt like needles prickling her face. If her mother hadn’t been standing at the window worrying, Hilary might have been tempted to turn back.
Dancer stood in the barn out of the rain. His coat was totally dry. Dancer’s barnmate, Henry, was lying down in his stall. A solid bay gelding of Clydesdale and thoroughbred origins, Henry was dreaming happy horse dreams, ears twitching and lower lip flapping. He looked comical, like a talking horse.
Hilary carried her newly cleaned saddle and bridle from the tack room and placed them on the rack in the aisle. “Dancer, don’t look at me like that. I know it’s bad out there, but we’re going to look for Abby and Moonie, your girlfriend, remember her? And your daughter, Moon Dancer.” She laughed at herself, talking to Dancer like he was a person. She’d always done that. Somehow, he’d always seemed more like a person to her than a horse.
With Dancer tacked up and ready to go, Hilary walked into the pelting rain. Dancer tucked his tail between his legs and hunched his back when the strong wind surprised him, but he stood quietly at the mounting block as Hilary hopped on. She put her feet in the stirrups and tightened the girth.
It was good to be up on his back again. It seemed like she’d been there all along, like she’d never gone off to university. She felt his power and his strong personality through the saddle, just like the old days.
Lightning flashed diagonally across the sky and thunder boomed and crashed. Dancer spooked sideways and started to prance.
“Let’s try the woods behind the Caseys’ and travel along the ridge above Saddle Creek. Come on, Dancer, don’t wimp out on me now.”
Fiona Malone paced the kitchen, trying hard not to pour a drink. A small drink to calm her nerves, just a sip. Nobody would know. Couldn’t she be excused, with the worry of Abby out in the storm? The radio was playing “Rubber Ducky” in an effort to make a joke out of the severity of the weather. Fiona took a glass out of the cupboard and threw in some ice cubes. Her husband, Liam, thought he had gotten rid of all the liquor in the house, but Fiona always had something hidden away, just in case. When she’d bought the bottle of gin, she convinced herself that it was only to test her willpower.
The song ended and the news came on. World news about suffering and war and hunger. Fiona knelt under the sink and felt for the bottle amid the cleaning supplies. Her fingers clutched it, and she pulled it out. Local news about the firemen’s strike and the fundraiser for the animal shelter. She cut open the seal around the mouth of the bottle. An interruption for a news bulletin about wealthy businessman Samuel Owens being released from the mental hospital after being judged sane.
Fiona stared at the bottle. The glass was ready for the clear, numbing liquid. Samuel Owens? Released? The man who tried to kill Dancer? Fiona wondered if Hilary knew. She should be warned.
Quickly, Fiona found the number and dialed. It was answered on the first ring.
“Hello?”
“Christine? It’s Fiona Malone.”
“Fiona, how are you? I’m already collecting things for the big garage sale at Someday Farm.”
“I’m not calling to harass you about that, Christine,” said Fiona, smiling briefly. “Yet.”
“Has Abby gotten home?”
“No, not yet. I’m hoping to see her any minute. I’m calling because there’s something on the news. I don’t know if you’ve heard. Samuel Owens has been released from the mental hospital.”
Christine took a deep breath. “When?”
“I don’t know. It was on the radio a minute ago, and I wasn’t paying close attention until I heard his name.”
“Thank you, Fiona. I’ll turn on my radio and listen for more details.”
“I’m sorry to call with such bad news. It’ll be better next time. I promised Hilary that I’d let her know the minute Abby gets home.”
“Well, she went out on Dancer, looking for her.”
“She didn’t!”
“Oh yes, she did. There wasn’t anything I could say to stop her.”
“My God! It’s horrible out there.”
“I know, Fiona, but she’s got the cell phone. If she reports back, I’ll let you know, and if she’s gone too long, we can always call her.”
“Thanks so much.”
“Why don’t you come over and wait here with me?”
Fiona looked at the gin. “Thanks, but I want to be here when Abby gets home.”
“Of course.”
“If she gets home before Hilary calls on her cell, I’ll call you.”
“Good plan.”
Fiona hung up the phone and continued to stare at the gin. Finally she rose from her chair. She untwisted the cap and carried the bottle over to the counter, where the glass of ice stood ready. With a shaking hand she began to pour. As she lifted the glass to her lips, she was suddenly overpowered by self-loathing. What was she doing to herself? And to her family, who had been so supportive of her rehabilitation? Fiona threw the glass into the sink as if it was too hot to hold, smashing it into fragments. She dumped the entire bottle of gin after it, listening to the chugging sound with satisfaction as it emptied.
“Fiona, girl.”
Fiona swung around, startled.
“Well done, my darling. I couldn’t be prouder.” Liam Malone stood at the kitchen door, dripping water onto the mat. His face was tender, and his eyes were moist with tears. Fiona flew across the room into his open arms, ignoring the soaking wet jacket as she clung tightly to him.
Samuel Owens sat at his large mahogany desk and looked out of the big picture window over his hundred acres of rolling land. It was good to be home.
Gazing through the rain-spattered glass, he admired the sweep of the land as it melted into the woods that abutted the Casey property, which gently rose to the horizon. Even in this ghastly weather, the
