break loose. “’Course I have. Why do you think I roll my own?”
I’m not amused. “That’s worse!” I tell him. “It means even more tar and nicotine are getting into your body.”
He drags heavily on the cigarette. It glows red before turning to ash. Sam exhales, and a cloud of smoke dances off with the breeze. He coughs again.
“You should quit,” I say.
He nods. “I do quit. At least two or three times a day. Matter of fact, I quit just before I went to pick you up. Problem is it never seems to take. Quitting isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.”
“But you —”
Sam grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. Then he flicks the remains of his cigarette into the fire pit. “There you go,” he says. “I didn’t even get my money’s worth out of that one. Now don’t be a nag. You’ll never land yourself a husband. Besides, I don’t need another conscience. Believe it or not, I already have one. And the truth is you can’t tell me anything I don’t already know. Come on. I want to introduce you to someone.” He starts tugging me toward the shed.
“Who?” I do a quick scan of the area. As far as I can see, Sam and I are the only ones around.
“A girlfriend.”
“She lives in your shed?”
“Yup.”
“Wow. You really know how to treat a girl.”
He sends me a dirty look. “I’ve never had any complaints.”
The shed is open on both ends, and the evening sun shoots dusty beams of light straight through and into my eyes. Otherwise, the inside of the shed is in shadow. A plank fence barricades one side while the other is clearly used for storage. There are shelves of lanterns, blankets, brushes, and coloured bottles. A sawhorse under a saddle. Huge rusted spikes hung with harnesses and horseshoes. A couple of wooden barrels of feed. In a corner, a white pail. Beside it, a pitchfork and shovel. Every other bit of ground is taken up with pallets of sweet-smelling hay. More bales in the rafters.
Movement behind the fence catches my attention. I squint into the shadows, but before my eyes can adjust, I hear a whinny. Then I see the horse. Her coat is tawny, but her mane is black, and an elongated white diamond runs down her nose. When she sees Sam, she neighs again and rubs her big body against the fence, reaching for him.
Stretching her neck and head, she nuzzles him, knocking his hat nearly off. His face relaxes into love. He strokes her nose and rests his cheek against hers. Then he whispers something into her ear that I don’t hear.
“Okay?” he says.
I swear the horse nods.
Then he turns to me. “Dani, this is Jasmine. Jasmine — Dani.”
I go to stand by Sam. “Her name is beautiful. She’s beautiful.” Tentatively, I lift my hand. “Can I touch her?”
“Here.” He digs into his pocket and pulls out a sugar cube. “Give her this. She’s a lady who can be bribed. Just offer it to her on your open hand. She has a gentle mouth.”
I do as Sam says. Jasmine briefly sniffs my hand before taking the cube. Her breath is hot, and her lips tickle my palm. She makes a big show of chomping the sugar. When she’s done, I stroke her nose. It’s velvet-soft.
“Is Jasmine your rodeo horse?” I ask.
“One of them,” Sam says. “My last one. When I retired, so did she. No more calf-roping or steer-wrestling for Jasmine. These days she’s lucky to find a rabbit to chase. Mostly she’s happy to wander through the wildflowers and gallop in the creek.” He pats her rump. “Aren’t you, girl?” Then he looks at me and says, “I have ten acres here. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough for me. And Jasmine knows every rock and blade of grass on it. She’d be more than happy to take you for a tour.”
I feel my eyes open wide. “You mean ride her?”
Sam shrugs. “Unless you’d rather run behind.”
“But I don’t ride,” I tell him. “I’ve never been on a horse in my life.”
“Well then, I reckon we’ll have to teach you.”
He says it as such a matter of fact that I don’t even consider arguing. Besides, how hard can it be? All I have to do is sit.
———
The next morning I wake up to the delicious smells of bacon frying and coffee brewing. For a few minutes, I let the tantalizing aromas float over me and weave themselves into my dream. Then reality works its way into my dream too, and suddenly I’m wide awake. But I’m not in my comfy bed in Vancouver. I’m on a narrow, lumpy futon in a dingy trailer in the middle of nowhere, and down the hall in the kitchen is a man I’ve known for about sixteen hours.
Then I inhale the food smells again and suddenly remember — it’s my day to cook! Crap! I must have slept in. What time is it? I scramble for my watch on the TV table and blink at its face, trying to clear the sleep from my eyes. It’s 8:15. Really? Just 8:15? That’s practically the middle of the night. The only time I’m up that early is when I have to go to school. A girl should not be awake at 8:15 on her summer vacation. It’s obscene.
I disentangle myself from the bedding and swing my feet to the floor. The scratchy indoor/outdoor carpeting beneath them makes me wonder if I spent the night on a miniature golf course. I have to pee something fierce, but I don’t want to run into Sam in the hall. He might be my uncle, but I’m not ready yet to show off my pajamas — T-shirt and flannel sweats actually — nor my morning bed head. So I dance around as I throw on jeans and a fresh T-shirt and drag a brush through my hair.
By the time I make it out to the kitchen, I feel nearly human. My bed is even made, and yesterday’s underwear is stashed away in a pocket of my suitcase.
Sam is on his cell. “Great,” he says to the person on the other end. “That sounds real good. See you about ten.” He switches off the phone and smiles. “Good morning, sleepyhead. Or should I say good afternoon?”
I make a face. “It’s not late. At home I wouldn’t be up for a couple more hours yet.”
He makes tut-tutting noises. “Shame on you. And shame on your mother for allowing that.”
“Ha!” I retort. “She sleeps later than I do! She doesn’t move until she smells the coffee.”
Sam lowers his head and squints at me through his eyebrows. “So that’s where you learned that trick.”
Now I feel like a jerk. I shake my head. “No. I know it’s my day to cook. I didn’t forget. I would have made the coffee. Really. I just didn’t realize I was going to have to set the alarm to do it.” I look past him to the dirty plate and frying pan on the counter. “I guess I missed breakfast, huh?”
“There’s coffee,” he says, “and juice in the fridge. I would’ve rustled up something for you, but I didn’t know what kind of breakfast food you like — or if you even eat breakfast.” He spreads his arms to take in the kitchen. “But you’re welcome to cook up
