THE SALE OF SAINT
## CHAPTER 7: THE SALE OF SAINT
Daniel announced the sale at breakfast as if he were discussing weather.
“Saint will be moved Friday.”
Clara’s spoon stopped halfway through her oatmeal.
Mrs. Bellamy’s back stiffened at the stove.
“Moved where?” Clara asked.
“A private facility in Virginia.”
“A buyer.”
Daniel folded his napkin.
“A safer environment.”
“For who?”
“For everyone.”
The word everyone did not include her. Clara knew that by the way he did not meet her eyes.
She looked out the window toward the paddock.
Saint stood near the fence, white against the red-gold trees, head lowered in the morning mist. Eli was not visible, but Clara knew he was somewhere close. Maybe beyond the old stone wall. Maybe near the caretaker’s cottage. The ranch had begun to feel full of unseen witnesses.
“You can’t sell him,” Clara said.
“He is dangerous.”
“No. He is inconvenient.”
Daniel’s jaw tightened.
“He reared over you.”
“Because someone hurt his mouth.”
“We do not know that.”
“I saw the wire.”
His eyes flashed.
“So Eli told you.”
“He showed me.”
“You are still speaking to that boy.”
“Yes.”
A chair scraped.
Daniel stood.
“This is exactly why Saint needs to go.”
The rage that rose in Clara surprised her with its cleanliness.
It did not wobble. It did not beg.
It came up straight.
“You mean I need the horse gone because he proves you lied.”
Daniel looked like she had slapped him.
Mrs. Bellamy turned off the stove.
The kitchen went quiet except for the faint ticking of the gas burner cooling.
“That is enough,” Daniel said.
“No. That is what you say when you want a room to obey you.”
He gripped the back of the chair.
“You think this is strength? Letting strangers and stable boys convince you your father is the villain?”
“I think strength might be knowing the difference between protection and fear.”
His face closed.
By noon, the sale papers had arrived.
By one, Eli had heard.
Clara found out because Saint began screaming from the north stable.
She wheeled herself down the back ramp so fast Mrs. Bellamy had to jog to keep up.
“Slow down before you break your neck and prove every man in this house insufferably right,” the older woman snapped.
Clara slowed only at the stable door.
Saint’s stall was barred.
Eli stood in the aisle with two ranch hands blocking him. His hands were clenched. His bare feet were streaked with mud, and one cheek was scratched from bramble.
“He’s not getting in that trailer,” Eli said.
The taller ranch hand looked uncomfortable.
“Kid, don’t make this harder.”
“He hates enclosed trailers since the accident.”
Daniel’s voice came from behind Clara.
“And how would you know?”
Eli turned.
“My father trained him.”
“Your father nearly destroyed this ranch.”
“No,” Eli said. “You did that. He just got blamed for the sound it made.”
The ranch hands froze.
Daniel’s face went colorless, then red.
Clara rolled into the aisle.
“Move.”
The men looked at Daniel.
“Move,” Clara said again.
This time, they did.
She positioned her wheelchair in front of Saint’s stall and locked the brakes.
Daniel stared at her.
“What are you doing?”
“What you taught me.”
His eyebrows drew together.
“Making it impossible to ignore me.”
Behind the bars, Saint lowered his head until his nose reached through the opening. Clara lifted one hand.
Her fingers trembled before they touched him.
Then they settled.
Warm velvet.
Living breath.
Her foot tingled.
Not much.
Enough.
Eli saw.
Daniel saw.
Saint went quiet.
The whole stable seemed to lean toward them.
Clara did not look away from her father.
“You sell him,” she said, “and you lose me in a way no doctor can measure.”
Daniel opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
For the first time, Clara understood something terrible: her father had imagined losing her a thousand ways, but never by her choosing to remain alive without his permission.
May you like
Saint lowered his head to Clara’s lap, and Daniel looked more frightened than he had during the rearing.
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