In a time of deceit telling the truth is a revolutionary act.
― George Orwell

Chelsea was seventeen years old the morning the news reporter announced Ariana Sutcliffe had disappeared. The woman’s olive-skinned face framed by silky brown hair that fell well past her shoulders flashed on the television screen and caught Chelsea mid-swallow, causing her to spit a mouthful of Cheerios back into the bowl. Aside from her father, Jim DeMarco, this was the only other person she knew that she had seen on television and wondered why it was only bad news about people she loved that was delivered in this detached manner.

She had first met Ariana at the barn when she was seven years old and struggling to bridle one of the lesson horses. Her parents had enrolled her in riding lessons to help her overcome innate shyness. The first few lessons covered horse safety, grooming, handling, and an introduction to the tack used for riding. After that the trainers had the kids do it all themselves, including saddle their own horses if strong enough prior to starting the lesson. Anyone could swing a leg over the back of a horse, but having an eye out for colic, making sure your horse had the right food at the right time, proper foot care and bedding, and a regular training schedule were all equally if not more important for anyone who wanted to make horses and horsemanship a part of their life.

“Need some help?” Ariana had asked as she passed by the stall. Chelsea looked over and nodded, too frustrated to find words and too focused on the horse to be anxious or self-conscious. In fact, the barn had proven to be the only place her mind was quiet.

“I had trouble the first few times I tried too,” Ariana had said, taking the bridle from Chelsea and stepping to the horses left shoulder. “I think my guys like to tease us when they get the chance. He just needs to know you’re the boss.” Chelsea was battling it out with Veloce, the oldest of Ariana’s geldings, a wise and forgiving grey thoroughbred rescue who also liked to test the young riders. Ariana loaned out all her horses but Zingy, also known as Zingy Baroness on paper, for kids to learn how to ride.

“Start from this side, and he’ll think you know what you’re doing.” The woman placed her index finger into the horse’s mouth to show Chelsea the gap in between the horse’s front and back teeth. “The bit sits right in this gap, so don’t worry about getting bit yourself.”

Ariana put a gentle arm around the horse’s nose and pulled him close to her hip. He parted his lips obediently and she slid the metal into his mouth and gently pulled the bridle up over his ears, gently folding each one forward beneath the leather. “Want to give it another try?” Chelsea nodded and Ariana reversed the bridling process and handed it back to her. “Veloce is a good boy. You’ll have fun with him out there.” She tapped Chelsea on the helmet and strode off.

That was ten years ago and the moment was a pivotal training milestone tattooed in her memory like it was yesterday.

For the last five years, Chelsea had been riding Caramel, a mare born the year she began riding and she could bridle her with eyes closed today. Caramel was a quarter horse Ariana had paid the famous Buck Brannaman to start, and then had sent the horse off to work with some of reinings’ best trainers in Arizona thinking she might get into the sport herself at one time. While Caramel and Ariana had earned several points in the sport of reigning, the horse had the heart and work ethic of a Golden Retriever versus a Labrador driven to hunt. Ariana listened to her horses and didn’t force them into a job that was not aligned to their spirit and so Caramel came home to Jaynesway. She found happiness being part of the herd and became one of the more lightly used lesson horses for advanced riders. Two years ago, Ariana gave Caramel to Chelsea at a time they both needed to give and receive something no one could put a price on. Each one of them had lost someone irreplaceable—Chelsea her dad, Ariana her husband—and the barn was the only place their tears could quietly fall into the mane of twelve hundred pound confidantes.

Lately, Chelsea had to force herself not to ask Ariana why she was all-too-often at the barn on the arm of one of those men that oozed dishonest vibes. One of those men who wore gaudy jewelry, spoke loudly, and carelessly inserted himself into places that made horses—and Chelsea–uncomfortable. The type of man who was especially dismissive of plain girls like Chelsea, but tripped over themselves to impress wealthy women like her older friend. He was nothing like Ariana’s husband, who had been a kind, gentle presence and an easy touch with her horses and who immediately calmed when he was near.

She regretted not having asked her friend who is was now. Ariana had taken time to not only notice but also get to know Chelsea over the last ten years. She was quick to encourage all the young riders and say hello whenever she walked her horses to and from their stalls. She knew when to shout words of encouragement when Chelsea was struggling to get a transition or new pattern down. And no matter who Ariana was with, she always had a knowing smile or gentle wave for Chelsea. There was a special bond shared by true horse girls that transcended any ribbons or designer tack, and much like the horses in their care, words were often secondary to the energy exchanged in the spaces in between. When Ariana offered up Caramel so that Chelsea could continue to chase her dream of competing in reining events, the woman also became her hero. In the expensive world of riding, Chelsea was an outsider. Her parents—a police detective and critical care nurse—made enough money to keep her in lessons, but the cost of owning, boarding, and caring for a horse was not in their budget.

Ariana had been riding her Jaynesway horses less frequently of late, and loaning them to kids and teenagers who couldn’t afford the expense of horse ownership in exchange for barn chores was a win-win. Each of her five horses were long paid for and lived in neatly appointed stalls with plenty of shavings to cushion aging joints, the name of each horse burnished into a gold nameplate on a walnut plaque: PeeWee. Colonel. Veloce. Zingy and Caramel. Chelsea was the only one she had transferred ownership to with the agreement she would continue to cover board and all daily care would be Chelsea’s responsibility. Any veterinary care that Caramel might need would be covered by Ariana as well.

Chelsea had admired Ariana’s grace from a distance and then up close as their relationship grew from barn friends, to mentor and apprentice, and then to friend friends. Though they never discussed it, Ariana’s family wealth allowed for an unhurried presence, without clocks to punch, bosses to appease, or deadlines to hit. She was often mentioned in casual conversation on the same NRHA riding circuit Chelsea was working diligently to rise within. Showing horses of any kind was an expensive sport or hobby, and sponsors often helped promising young athletes—equine and human—continue their pursuit of excellence and prize money. Women like Ariana walked with a target on their backs in horse circles, the hopeful and the tricksters of this addictive world taking aim because it was money that bought success whether jumping fences, spinning reining horses, or racing around a track.

It was Chelsea’s slight boyish frame and shoulder length hair that turned a lighter shade of pale brown in the summer months that gave her anonymity at the barn. More than once she’d had to remind the stall cleaners what her name was unlike Stephanie Black whose thick blonde hair was always tied back in a flawless ponytail, her array of designer riding shirts each with an embroidered monogram that sat above her left breast shouting her name and announcing her presence three stalls away. Chelsea would never think to put her name on her riding shirts, and even if she had wanted to, it would be something her mother would agree was vain and an unnecessary expense.

***

She turned up the volume on the television and shut her biology textbook to focus on the early morning news report.

“Philanthropist and animal lover, Ariana Sutcliffe, longtime resident of the Fox Valley Wayne community, has been reported missing after failing to return home from her winter equestrian estate in central Florida where two of her prized hunter jumper horses were found dead. Both Florida and Illinois State police are asking that anyone who has any information about Ms. Sutcliffe or the death of two of her horses contact their local authorities. A significant reward is being offered for any information that leads to an arrest.”

The screen blurred, tears welling up in Chelsea’s eyes. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until her younger brother, Tim, waved his hand in front of her face. Her heart pounded in her chest.

“Hey! Anyone home in there?” he said. She pointed at the television where her barn owner was now being interviewed by the reporter. “What happened?”

“Ms. Sutcliffe is missing. Two of her horses were killed.” The words felt like sandpaper scraping the back of her throat.

“Holy shit balls.” Tim was fifteen and trying to find the most creative constellations of cuss words. When their Dad was alive it was a game father and son played that made everyone at the dinner table giggle. She knew this was Tim’s attempt to lighten any pain she was feeling. Ever since their Dad was killed in the line of duty, Tim had been trying to step into their father’s unfillable place in the family; to protect Chelsea and their Mom in ways only a father and husband could. Chelsea loved him even more for trying. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“Not sure.” Chelsea picked up her phone and scrolled her IG feed for clues. “She wasn’t around when I had my lesson last week. Maybe the week before?” She scrolled faster.

“Why aren’t you both tightening it up and on your way to school?” Chelsea’s Mom rushed into the kitchen. “I can’t be late for work again to take you. And you can’t afford another tardy Timothy.”

“We’re on it, Mom,” Tim said. “Chels is going to do a drive by the school and shove me out the door by homeroom. You know how fast I can move.”

“Funny man,” she turned to Chelsea who quickly wiped away a tear. “You okay?”

“Yep, fall allergies bugging me.” Her Mom had been married to a police officer for twenty years, ten of which her Dad had spent as a detective on the narcotics unit. Her Mom knew when people—especially family—were trying to keep something from her whether or not it was for her own good.

“When you’re ready to tell me, you know where to find me. And whatever it is, don’t let it go too far.”

***

Chelsea made it to her first period class just as the bell buzzed in the hallway. She slid into her seat, and pulled her phone from her pocket. She resumed scrolling IG under the desk while her math teacher droned on about parabolic equations. There had to be something in the feed that would help the police find her friend and the criminals who had done God only knows what to the horses. Chelsea had been grateful the news hadn’t reported how the horses died, but she was afraid that Ariana was in real danger. Her Dad had taught her that the fewer facts the greedy news stations reported, the more grisly the criminals the detectives were trying to hunt down.

And then suddenly there it was. Chelsea had posted a picture of Caramel in her show gear to see which saddle pad would best match her outfit for the next show. In the background stood a distressed Ariana with Zingy at her side while that offensive man who hadn’t been around for some time was blocking her way and pointing skyward. The look on Zingy’s face said it all—head high, eyes wide—the horse was not happy. Now she remembered the lesson and the day vividly because Ariana hadn’t been herself. Instead of coming over to Caramel’s stall while Chelsea groomed him post ride like usual, she waved a quick good bye and told her she would catch up with her when she returned from Ocala where she kept five hunter jumper horses. This was another expensive horse world that Ariana was a part of and spent a fair amount of time going back and forth during the winter competition season. She had a team and a crew that competed at a high level, and with the season coming to an end it wasn’t unusual for her to make another trip to Florida to make sure the horses were set up for the summer heat. That was two weeks ago. She should have been back by now or at least reached out.

Chelsea raised her hand.

“Yes, Chelsea,” her math teacher said.

“I don’t feel well. I need to go to the nurse.” She gathered her books, stuffed them in her backpack and grabbed the hall pass in his outstretched hand in one fluid motion. She passed by the Nurse’s Office, and race-walked out the back door into the student parking lot. Once her escape was successful and she was safely in her car, she texted Tim.

“Left campus. Need to make sure Caramel is okay. Can u get a ride home?”

She didn’t wait for his reply and hit the gas backing out of her spot like an undercover cop racing to a crime scene, pointing her truck toward her dad’s police station. All morning she had been reacting to the news report about Ariana, but with her dad’s protective nature coming alive in her mind, she had a moment of clarity.

***

When she arrived at the police station, Carla Roberts, a narcotics detective, was the first person Chelsea recognized. Carla’s quick smile immediately fell when she saw the look of panic in Chelsea’s eyes.

“What’s up girl?” Carla asked. “Everything okay?” and that’s when Chelsea burst into tears. After her dad’s death, the station had become her safe space. A place she didn’t have to pretend to be invincible or the strong one like she did at home. It was a place she felt protected and could let her guard down. When she was little and her Dad was still a uniformed police officer, he would take her and Tim with him on the weekends to finalize reports while her mom worked weekends at the hospital. Everyone at the station welcomed the kids, showering them with snacks from the vending machines or donuts and pastries from the break room. The kids learned about gun safety at an early age too—both from her Dad and the officers around the station who always had one attached to their belt.

“Knowledge is not only power,” her Dad would say. “Knowing how to use a gun safely is a great responsibility too.” His words floating through her mind only made her tears fall faster.

“Let’s walk,” Carla said, and she wrapped a strong arm around Chelsea’s shoulders, steering her out the door she came in. Once outside she pulled Chelsea close and looked into her eyes. Carla, her Dad had said, was one of those people who could read your soul. She was his favorite person to have in an interrogation room with him because even he could see the guilt or innocence written on the face of a suspect when Carla stared them down. Her confession rate was better than anyone in the department, a testament that force was not always needed to establish justice.

“Tell me what happened,” she said.

“Ari…Ariana Sutcliffe…” Chelsea sputtered and then began to collect herself with anger. “She’s missing and someone killed two of her horses in Florida. I’ve got to get to the barn and check on Caramel and her other horses. I was going to try to get the Judge to come with me. Just in case.”

The Judge was her dad’s old partner. The kids had been trained early in her Dad’s career that using names could be dangerous. All of her Dad’s partners and work friends over the years had nicknames, some they even let Chelsea and Tim make up. The Judge was Chelsea’s moniker for Ryan O’Hara because he reminded her of her favorite reining circuit judge—tall, solid, calm, and fair. He was also the person who broke the news to her family that her Dad had been killed. Of all the people who could have delivered that message, he was the only one she would have believed. He was the only one who would give her every detail about what happened without trying to protect her because he knew facts were what mattered most to Chelsea.

“He’s in the field until late. I can run over with you for now and get a message to him.” Chelsea’s shoulders drop and she takes a deep breath.

“Thank you,” Chelsea said. “I just need to know they’re alright. Did you guys hear about this? They’re partnering with Illinois police too I thought.”

“Unfortunately…fortunately? This is an FBI case kiddo. I hadn’t put it together that it might affect you until I saw you walk in the door. I’m sorry.” Her tone hinted to Chelsea not to get her hopes up that they would find Ariana alive. “Let me get my things and we’ll head over there.”

“Thank you, Carla.” A sense of urgency returned. What if something had happened to Caramel too? A fire started to burn in her gut, her tears turning to a simmering rage. “How dare anyone hurt an animal? How dare anyone hurt a horse?” She didn’t realize she was speaking her internal thoughts. “I have to go. I’ll meet you there.”

Carla picked up on the switch in her mood. “Atta girl. Get that fire going. Give me two minutes. Everyone needs backup—especially if you don’t know what you’re going to find at the barn.”

Chelsea went and sat alone in her Dad’s old Bronco to wait for Carla. Everything in the truck was the same as the last time he drove it. Pictures of Tim and Chelsea at the beach remained on the flipside of the visor, along with a small wedding picture of her parents and a tattered photo of her Dad’s first dog, a black lab named Chance. If she focused, she could still smell her Dad mixed with the barn smells that consumed his truck since she became its new owner. “I need your help, Daddy,” she said looking in the rearview mirror willing him to appear. Carla tapped on her window and she startled, rolling it down.

“No lights. I’m just a friend interested in taking riding lessons if anyone asks while we’re there. Might as well do a little fact gathering and nudge the FBI along if we can,” Carla said.

***

When the weather was reasonable, all of Ariana’s horses were turned out during the day to graze, stretch their legs, and play halter tag in a pasture at the west end of the stalls. In the mercurial Midwestern spring, the weather and temperatures could be manic or soothing depending on the hour or the day and both had a direct influence on the soul of a horse no matter how well trained.  Horses being herd animals by nature are incredibly social—more so than some people. And just like people, some horses had a higher tolerance for the antics of their herd mates. The hierarchy in the herd starts with the pack leader and with Ariana’s group, Zingy was the lead mare. She shared that spotlight with Colonel, a gelding who still believed he was a stallion. His constant companion was PeeWee, a smallish gelding who stood by Colonel’s side like a well-paid bodyguard. PeeWee had won Colonel’s respect after chasing a pack of coyotes threatening the herd down the fence line and off the property late one night. Ariana’s security video had caught PeeWee rearing up and snorting at the pack more dragon-like than the watchful, collected version of himself he presented. From that point forward, Colonel positioned himself somewhere near PeeWee in the paddock. PeeWee was never quite the same after the coyote incident. A once steady horse, he was now on high alert and could spook with a strong wind or clang of a gate making Chelsea extra attentive and soothing when leading him to or from his stall. She loved helping Ariana with evening turn in, especially on warm summer nights when the air was thick and slow and the horses were calmed by the sweat on their backs from soaking in the sun all day.

When Chelsea and Carla arrive, Caramel and Zingy were at the furthest end of the turnout paddock, noses down foraging for nuggets in the returning spring grass.

“Hey, sweet girl,” Chelsea called and Caramel immediately lifted her head. The horse called back with a surprised whinny and sprinted toward her person like Secretariat, leaving Zingy with a mouthful of grass and a look of surprise on her face. Not wanting to be left behind, Zingy trotted off after her, a nice meal interrupted.

By the time Chelsea and Carla reached the paddock gate Caramel was there waiting, tossing her head in victory and nickering. Chelsea entered the paddock, patted the still chewing Zingy on the nose and walked over to inspect her horse. Caramel put her head down and gently nuzzled Chelsea’s chest to get her ears scratched. This was their welcome routine, one that Chelsea had worked hard to coach and calm early on. When she first began riding Caramel, the horse would spin and dance around her when she approached, moving quick and close with excitement. She thought it was funny and that Caramel was just showing off, but Ariana taught her that especially because Caramel loved her so much it was even more important to teach her 1,200 pound partner to tightening it up before someone was injured.

Chelsea ran her hands down Caramel’s neck and rubbed the muscles above her withers. The horse raised her head and smiled back at Chelsea.

“They are incredible animals, kid.” Carla said, admiring the pair. “I’m going to take a look around, and then I need to get downtown. If all is well I’m going to scoot out. Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, seeing she’s okay is a big relief. Thank you…for everything.”

“I’m sorry your friend is in trouble. If there’s anything I can do—or if I hear anything on my end—I’ll let you know.”

Colonel, PeeWee, and Veloce had all trotted up in the adjacent paddock feeding off the mares’ energy and now mill about semi-interested in the girl talk closing down next to them. Veloce hangs his big white head over the fence hoping for a molasses snack or peppermint, but Colonel chases him off, protecting the mares. Now that Ariana’s geldings are also safe, Chelsea shifts her focus and taps into her mind and body, listening to what the wind is stirring up around them. The crisp fifty degrees feels ten degrees colder despite the bright sun.

Standing with her hand resting on Caramel’s back, her mind frees up, and what her Dad had identified as her Spidey senses begin to fire. Her car is the only one parked on this side of the barn, and she suddenly feels very alone except for the horses. When Chelsea usually arrived at 3pm each day, the barn and training facility were abuzz with teens and families coming and going for lessons or to care for one of their boarded horses and horses were constantly being led from the outdoor turnout areas into the indoor arena. The silence felt foreign though not necessarily a red flag given it was barely 10am. Barns tended to have a lull once horses were fed and turned out for the day, at least for a while.

“We may as well get a workout in Cee!” Caramel nickers approval and, Zingy, not wanting to be left out, nickers too. “You can come too, Zing.” She clips one lead rope to Zingy’s halter and one to Caramel in one fluid motion, though the horse would have followed Chelsea anywhere. It was a barn rule that any liberty work needed to be done in the arena and only if lessons were done for the day and your horse was not a flight or spook risk. An untethered horse that was unpredictable could be a danger to itself or others, and it was written in Jaynesway contracts that any damage done by your horse was your liability. Ariana had said long ago it was not worth it to risk someone else’s horse setting off a chain reaction and always led her horses by lead rope setting an unspoken rule for Chelsea. Her stomach tightens with the memory of her friend’s gentle lesson.

Once inside the barn, she cross ties Caramel and tucks Zingy into her stall. “I see you girl,” Chelsea reassures the mare, scratching her neck. She silently vows to protect Zing and the boys until her friend returns no matter how long it might take. Zingy whinnies in protest now that she is separated from the action while Chelsea gathers a saddle pad and her saddle—a Sweet Sixteen birthday present from Ariana—and places them on the saddle rack in the aisle. Zingy continues to let Chelsea know she is not happy with the early turn in and being forced to watch her playmate prepping to have fun without her.

“Alright, Zing. Sit tight and I’ll get you a snack.” Though Ariana would have likely told Zing to ‘zip it’, it, Chelsea is so grateful to see all her horses healthy that a little spoiling today feels justified. She heads up to front of the barn where a special mix of second cutting Alfalfa is stored for their horses. Chelsea loved helping Ariana feed all five horses in the evenings after she rode. If she had it her way, she would home school and work at the barn all day, but her parents insisted that she have balance in her life. And she really did enjoy learning and playing basketball in the winter months when competition season slowed down on the local reining circuit.

When she reaches the end of the aisle, she hears a man’s demanding voice grow louder on the other side of the door separating the stalls from the public. She recognizes his booming tone and her heart begins to race. Instead of fear it is anger that propels her forward. She passes by the hay, then pushes open the steel office door with such force that it silences both Beth and the man in her Instagram photo. The three wait for someone to speak.

“No school today?” Beth breaks the silence and the man begins to scroll his phone. Chelsea weighs her reply, trying to decide if she should let them know she has heard the news about Ariana or play dumb.

“Nope,” Chelsea lies. “Caramel and I have a show this weekend and I want to work on a few things without all the littles around. What’s going on? I thought I heard shouting?”

“This man…what did you say your name was?” says Beth.

“I didn’t,” he spits. “It’s Dominic.”

“Dominic claims that Ariana asked him to come pick up her geldings and drive them to Florida,” Beth says, and exchanges a silent “he’s so full of shit” look with Chelsea that the man, oblivious to anything but his own agenda, misses completely.

“No!” Chelsea almost screams, then collects herself and simply says: “You can’t do that.” Dominic’s attention is now squarely on her. A fleeting look of recognition crosses his face.

“No what, little girl?”

“No, you can’t take her horses,” her voice sounding self-assured and calm, unlike herself.

Dominic looks Chelsea up and down, sizing up this latest obstacle.

“Are you going to stop me?”

“Are you crazy? What makes you think you can come in here without Ariana and just take her horses?” Chelsea continues, channeling her father now fully present in the spirit of the interrogation mounting. “When did you talk to her?”

“That’s between me and Ms. Sutcliffe. And if you’re a smart kid, you’ll go back to whatever you were doing,” he says.

“Excuse me?” Beth jumps in. “There’s no need to talk to her like that.” Beth cuts him off, then continues. “The FBI called this morning, Chelsea. It seems two of Ms. Sutcliffe’s horses that she keeps in Ocala were killed over the weekend. They couldn’t reach her in Florida or here either. I’m sorry if this is the first time you’re hearing about this.” Chelsea doesn’t flinch.

“I heard it,” she glares at Dominic. “And no one is taking Ariana’s horses out of this barn until she comes here and tells us that’s what she wants. When did you talk to her?” Chelsea asks again.

Dominic chuckles but a red heat immediately moves up his thick neck and across his face. “Who are you to question me?”

“Ariana is my friend and I look after her horses. If her horses were going anywhere, she would have told me and Beth.”

Chelsea is not an obstacle Dominic considered. The dismissive look shot her way making it even more laughable to Chelsea that he would think he could walk in and take Veloce, Colonel, and PeeWee. The horses themselves would wage a healthy protest to have this man with such negative energy come near them.

“Maybe we should call the police to help us sort this all out?” Beth interjects with an edge. “We do need Ms. Sutcliffe’s approval before anyone takes her horses off property. Especially someone we do not know. If you talked to her, she must have told you that—so you can see why we’re concerned.”

“I’ll have her call you,” he says. “And I’ll be back tomorrow to pick them up.” He turns to leave and takes a step toward Chelsea who stands her ground, the horses having taught her that leaders don’t move their feet. “You got a lip on you, girl. You stick it out there like that and you might just get licked.”

The more Dominic speaks, the more Chelsea hates him and her parents had taught her never to hate anyone—to give grace and forgive others for being human and to forget about people and things that did not go as she would like. She stares back at him and intentionally says nothing,  her Dad’s words “there is power in silence” stronger than ever. She breathes a silent victory despite the growing awareness Ariana is already in danger.

Once he is out the door Beth leaves the counter and hugs Chelsea. “I’m so sorry about all this. I know how close you and Arianna were—I mean are. When was the last time you talked to her?” Chelsea collects her thoughts and returns to the moment. Channeling the strength of her parents felt like an out of body experience.

“That’s the strange thing,” she replies. “I didn’t talk to her at all last week. She was in and out of the barn so fast the last time I did see her. She had asked me to give Zing and the boys some extra attention while she was gone, but she did that on the regular so I didn’t think much of it.”

“The FBI is sending someone out to take a look around. They asked if they could view our security camera footage too,” Beth says. “I’m worried about her.”

“Me too.” Their worry hangs in the air. “I need to get back to Caramel. She’s on the cross-ties and Zingy was pitching a fit. I was on my way to grab hay and soothe her through her stomach when I heard that dirtbag yelling at you.”

“It was a well-timed interruption. I wasn’t sure where that was headed. Go do your thing. I’ll keep an eye out up here.”

Chelsea picks up the flakes of hay and power walks down the aisle, Caramel nickering until she reaches her side.

“I swear one of these days words will come out your mouth.” She scratches the underside of her horse’s neck and moves past to enter Zingy’s stall and tosses two flakes of hay in the corner. “Have at it, girl.”

She picks up the metal curry brush and removes clumps of dirt from Caramel’s cinch area. It didn’t matter how well-trained horses were, if they were out in the pasture together they were going to be horses. That often meant rolling in dirt, mud, puddles and finding whatever wasn’t tied down—and some things that were—to play with often at their own peril and the chagrin of their owners.

Once satisfied Caramel’s cinch area is clean she trades the curry for the soft brush and with quick flicks of her wrist, removes the remaining layer of dirt from head to toe. She could lose herself and track of time when caring for, playing with, or training Caramel. There was something soothing about putting her hands on such a strong animal and finding a silent pathway of communication. She sometimes thought Caramel could read her mind especially when they rode together, the slightest hip shift or touch of the rein to her neck was all she needed to transition her horse faster or slower or change directions.

At the end of the aisle a car driving by jars her back to reality. She unhooks Caramel from the cross-ties, slips the bridle over her head and together they turn to investigate. Her Dad had told her she would make a great detective, that her instincts for sensing the truth in people was a little like Carla and a gift not many people had or tapped into if they did. “You’re a natural, Kid,” he once told her. “Your answers may lie within, but the world out there is what’s coming at you. Knowing how to read people like you do will save you a ton of heartache.” She loved when her Dad called her ‘Kid’—the nickname didn’t make her feel small, it made her feel loved and like one of his team. It was time to go into stealth mode, to start acting if she was going to help Ariana.

“What do you think about a little outside warm up, girl?” Chelsea puts one foot in the stirrup and pulls herself up into the saddle. They walk out of the aisle, Chelsea patting Caramel and eyeing the parking lot on both sides of the barn at the same time. An empty black sedan sits idling opposite the geldings pasture. Caramel turns her head and sniffs the air then stops quick ready to move in any direction. Danger.

Standing at the pasture gate is Dominic, talking on his phone. Caramel starts to pull on the reins and Chelsea contemplates riding past him at a thundering lope when he turns around.

“Hey little girl,” Dominic yells in her direction. “Still here, huh?”

Chelsea remains silent but Caramel senses her ire and tosses her head.

“Pretty horse you got there. They don’t move too well with broken legs.”

From inside the barn, Zingy kicks at her stall. The impact of hoof against board startles Chelsea and Caramel rears up. She moves easily with her horse, leans in and whispers, “Easy girl. He’ll get his.”

The geldings feel the energy shift and race up toward the barn slamming on the brakes at the gate. Dominic stumbles backward. Once Caramel is settled, Chelsea slides her cell out of her pocket and calls the station. The dispatch operator picks up.

“District 622, what can I help you with?”

“Jason? This is Chelsea DeMarco, I need…”

“Hey girl, how you been? Haven’t seen…

“Jason, I need help. There’s an asshole at Jaynesway, and he just threatened me and Caramel.”

RA DeMarco is a rising fiction writer who has spent a lifetime protecting vulnerable populations. This work is a tribute to Helen Brach, who likely died protecting the horses she loved.