What the heck just happened?

We’re back in my Beetle—it only took me three attempts to start it this time—heading home to the farm, and Ailith is chattering a mile a minute about her new books. I don’t really pay attention to her. I’m more worried about whether I was wrong to accept the strange young man’s money, but he didn’t exactly give me a chance to decline. He’d left the bookshop faster than I could say, Bob’s your uncle.

I regret that I didn’t manage to thank him properly, though. It was a very kind gesture he made, and it put a smile on my girl’s face.

“Mummy, do you think we’ll see him again?”

Ailith’s question breaks me away from my thoughts.

“Who?” I glance at her.

“That man from the shop?” She smiles secretively at me, making me suspicious.

I shrug and turn my head back to the road in front of me.

“I doubt it.”

“He was really nice,” she says, her voice soft. “But he spoke funny.”

I laugh at her.

“I don’t think he was Scottish, but I liked his accent,” I explain.

“Yeah, so did I. I hope we’ll meet him again. Maybe we can go to Glasgow again next week?”

I wrinkle my nose.

“I doubt we’ll find him. Glasgow is such a big city, after all.”

I reach out my hand to her, squeezing it gently when she takes it at once.

“Thank you for the ice cream,” I smile at her.

She beams at me. “You’re welcome, Mummy.” She looks back at the road when I do, the bag with her books inside placed neatly on her lap. “Mummy?” she asks me when I release her hand.

“Mmm?” I put the indicator on and look over my shoulder to check for any cars before I turn down the long, gravelled road that’ll take us to the farm.

“He looked nice, didn’t he?”

Her question throws me, and a strange mix of gratefulness mingled with trepidation, when I picture the man from the shop, fills my insides. His eyes were bloodshot, and the stubble on his face looked days old. But his clothes were clean, nice, and I wouldn’t have been a living, breathing woman if the small flip in my tummy didn’t alert me to the pure appreciation of his muscled biceps flexing against his soft-looking T-shirt. The ink on his arms was quite impressive—especially the wolf’s head on his left hand—and his light brown hair that just teased his shoulders looked soft to the touch.

“Mummy?”

I jerk when I realise it’s taking me a lot longer to answer than it should.

“Um, yes, I believe he did,” I stutter.

“He had nice eyes,” she mutters.

Blue, watchful eyes pop into my head, and I mentally slap my cheek as I stop the car in front of our home.

“Okay, Ailith, let’s get changed and head to the stables.”

She lets out a small whoop as she unbuckles her seatbelt. As we leave the car, I breathe a small sigh of relief—my evasion tactic seems to work for now. I take the bag of books from her hand and push any lingering thoughts about the strange, but kind, man from my mind.

There’s no use thinking more about him.

I’ll never see him again.

* * *

I read somewhere once that keeping a journal might be able to help me out of the darkness that held my mind prisoner for so long. I don't know if it has, but it's become a habit of sorts in the past year. One that I can't, and won't, break now. It gives me comfort, even though there is usually no rhyme nor reason to what I write in it.

Placing the pen on my nightstand, I breathe deeply as I read through my latest entry.

Being a mother is the most important job I will ever have. And it is a job, yes. Everyone who states otherwise has either lost their marbles, or they are wealthy enough to hire a nanny.

Being a mother means lying awake at night, wondering when your little girl went from being a toddler to a young lady with a very strong opinion about pretty much everything. It means feeling guilty because you can't shield her from all the hurt in the world - and, trust me, you'll want to, even though you also know that adversity in life will make her grow stronger. But, most of all, being a mother is about loving your child unconditionally, no matter what happens.

I love Ailith with everything that I am. She knows it, because I tell her often, and I know she sees the truth in my eyes when I do.

But when I can't sleep, and I'm worrying about pretty much everything as usual, I can't help but wonder if my weaknesses in the past have damaged her.

Will she make the same mistakes as I did?

I hope that she'll never have to phone me in the middle of the night, sobbing madly, snot running down her chin, because a guy has broken not only her arm but her heart and her trust. The arm will heal - her trust won't. And her heart will forever be damaged.

One thing is certain, though. If she ever does, I'll kill the man who hurts her.

I have killed to protect her once before - I can do it again if I have to.

“Tha mo ghion ort,” I whisper as I close my journal, placing my palm flat on the leather. I love you with all my heart. The darkness has lessened again - at least for tonight.

* * *

“Laura.”

Underneath my blankets, I grunt at Mum knocking on my bedroom door.

“Laura, it’s already six a.m.” Her muffled voice sounds as disapproving as it did when I was a teenager. “Time to get up.”

Yawning, I stretch.

“Coming, Mum,” I mumble. I rub my eyes, trying to clear the sleep away.

“Don’t make me come in there, you hear me?”

My eyes spring open when the memory of Mum tossing a bucket of water on my head flashes through my head.

“I’m up!” I shout as I toss the blankets away from my head. I squint as the soft glow of the sun hits my eyes, and sit up.

“Good. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

I nod as I hear her feet walk away from the door to my room. I shudder when I run my tongue over my teeth, hating the unpleasant taste, and I stand from my bed to go to the en-suite bathroom. As I brush my teeth, still not fully awake, I think about my schedule for today.

Mum runs our farm, New Beginnings, and I spend most days taking care of the horses that are brought here to either have their final days in peace or to be rehabilitated. Some are show horses that can’t compete anymore, due to the strain on their joints or other injuries. Some are old racehorses—not really old, but too old to run anymore—but most of them are Gypsy Cobs that have been overbred by thoughtless people who, too often, leave them to die of hunger and thirst when they can’t be bothered to take care of them anymore.

There are too many people in this world who shouldn’t be allowed to breathe because of the way they treat animals.

The beauty of horses is that they only judge you if you are unkind to them. If you treat them with love and respect, they’ll always be faithful. They’re not humans, after all. But it’s hard to gain the trust of a horse that’s been badly mistreated too much for too long, and Thunder is the perfect example of this.

Feeling more awake, I spit toothpaste into the sink. Today is a big day, as one of our older racehorses, Malik—a beautiful, seven-year-old chestnut Thoroughbred - is being picked up by his new owners, and will be leaving us for good.

While I’ve tried to do do my research on the family, I’m still a bit anxious about how he’ll take it.

Quickly, I grab a black flannel shirt, a pair of black riding trousers, and my slippers, putting them on before I pull my hair up in a messy bun. I dab some mascara on my eyelashes and then head down to the kitchen.

Hearing Ailith chattering to her Gan-Gan about Black Beauty, I smile as I walk through the door.

“Morning, ladies.” I walk towards Ailith and bend to kiss her on the top of her head. “What are you doing up so early?”

I sit down next to her on the bench, resting my chin on my hand.

Shrugging, Ailith pours some milk over her oatmeal.

“I want to be there when Malik’s new owners show up.”

I raise my eyes at her. That still doesn’t explain why she’s not snoozing away in her bed.

“But that won’t be for another couple of hours.” I smile in thanks at Mum when she places a plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, baked beans, and square sausages next to me.

We only eat like royalty when we send off a horse to its new home—it’s our way of celebrating. I pick up the coffeepot and sniff, my mouth salivating at the delicious aroma.

“I hope they’ll treat him right,” Ailith sighs, pulling the book closer. I’m surprised to see that she’s almost halfway through it already.

“Don’t worry, lass, they will.”

Mum pats her hair as she sits down next to her. “If not, we’ll just have to go get him back, won’t we?” She winks at Ailith.

I suppress a snigger when I take in the thoughtful look in Ailith’s eyes as she considers Mum’s words.

“True.”

Mum’s lips twitch as she looks at me.

“Eat up,” she orders. “We’ve got a lot to do today.”

I pick up my knife and fork and dig in. We eat in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes, and I look at the calendar hanging on the old fridge next to the Aga stove. When I notice that Mum has written the name Lise, and circled it in bright red, on tomorrow’s date, I frown at the unfamiliar name.

“Who’s this Lise?” I ask her, pointing my fork at the calendar. Mum looks over her shoulder to look at it. “Is she a new client?”

Mum turns back to me, nodding. “Yes. She’s looking for a quiet, older mare to dote on—her words, not mine—and is coming around tomorrow for an informal consultation.”

I smile at her. “If anyone can help her, it’s you.”

She chuckles and picks up a piece of toast. “I hope so. I liked the way she sounded when she phoned me last week, but we’ll see.”

Nodding, I run through the horses we have in our stables at the moment. “Maybe Daffodil will be a good fit? She’s such a sweetheart.”

Mum purses her lips, adding some jam on her toast. “Maybe. I mean, I’ve thought of her myself, but I’ll know more once I’ve spoken with Lise and shown her around.”

“Sounds good.”

Silence falls between us again, only breaking once or twice when Ailith tells us about what’s happening in her book.

I like mornings like these. The quiet and contentment we all take comfort in before our busy day really begins. I may grumble and moan when Mum wakes me up, but the truth is that I wouldn’t change my life here for anything.

“You seem in a good mood today,” Mum says after a while.

I squint at her.

“What do you mean?”

She gives me a small smile. “That smile on your lips? I haven’t seen that in a while, so I reckon that it’s a sure sign that you’re feeling good.”

Shrugging, I tilt my head at her. “I was just thinking about how good a life we have it here, Ailith and me. That’s all.”

Mum sits back and looks me over, and it makes me squirm in my seat. Then she turns to Ailith sitting next to her.

“Didn’t you say you met a nice man in the city yesterday?”

“Mum!” I protest, shaking my head at her.

“Yeah, we did. It was really neat that he gave me a book, wasn’t it?” Ailith beams at her.

“Oh, yes, absolutely.” Mum’s sharp eyes flicker back to me. “You didn’t get his name?”

“No,” I gripe. “He vanished into thin air like a fairy.”

Ailith giggles and I chuckle when I notice Mum’s aggravated gaze.

“Don’t anger the fairies, Laura. You ought to know better than that.”

I bite my tongue, only just catching the scathing words from escaping my lips.

“Pity,” Mum mutters. “I’d have liked to meet him.”

“Mum, he was a complete stranger,” I sputter. “But, you’re right, it was a nice gesture, and while it doesn’t sit well with me that I didn’t manage to thank him properly, that’s all it was—a stranger who made my girl very happy. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“He had a lot of tattoos on his arms,” Ailith butts in. “They were so colourful and cool. I think I saw a dragon! When I grow up, I want lots of them.”

Mum and I look at each other, and I have to laugh at the horror in her eyes. Shrugging, I turn my attention to Ailith.

“Sweetie, you can have as many tattoos as you’d like once you’re all grown up and move out, okay?”

“Okay, Mummy,” she beams at me.

“Right,” Mum wipes her mouth on a napkin and stands up, looking pointedly at my plate. “Time to head to work, I believe.”

Quickly, I eat the rest of my food and jerk my chin at Ailith.

“Help me feed the horses, please?” I ask her.

She jumps up immediately.

“Okay.” She marks her book, causing me to wince slightly as she bends one of the pages instead of using a real bookmark, and then she whistles at Sally lying on the floor.

“Come on, girl.” She claps her thigh as she walks to the backdoor and pulls on her boots. The dog sighs softly but obeys her, as usual.

I move to clear our things, turn on the dishwasher, and then I’m out the door as well.