Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“You didn’t . . .” I clamp a hand over my mouth.
I’d gone to look at Sugarplum Monday afternoon, but I’d yet to commit to buying her. I wanted to do some research first. Plus Atticus turns five in two weeks, and I was hoping Sugarplum could be his big gift. Apparently my parents took my visit to meet Sugarplum as a sign that I was ready to bite the bullet—er, bite the bit in this case.
“Surprise!” Mom calls from the passenger seat, her arm waving out the window like she’s a homecoming queen in a parade.
Will wastes no time hopping out and unhooking the latch on the back of the trailer.
“Tell me that’s not the cutest thing you’ve ever seen,” Mom says, already tearing up at the sight of the stocky, shaggy little pony with a forelock that looks like she walked through a wind tunnel. “I can’t wait to see the look on Atti’s face when he sees her.”
Atticus is going to lose his ever-loving mind.
“He home yet?” Will asks.
“Just got off the day camp bus a few minutes ago. He ran inside to change into play clothes,” I say.
“Well then,” Will says, grinning, “go tell the kid he’s got a four-legged responsibility waiting for him.”
I head back inside, where Atticus is mid-sock-change, and try to play it cool.
“Hey, bud? Can you help me outside for a sec?” I ask.
He frowns. “Do I have to carry groceries?”
“No groceries,” I promise.
He follows me out the front door—reluctantly, at first—and freezes the second he sees the trailer. The pony is halfway down the ramp, and Will’s holding the lead rope like he’s presenting royalty.
Atticus sucks in a long gasp.
And then, silence.
He doesn’t scream or jump up and down or burst into tears like I expect.
Instead, he tiptoes forward like he’s afraid it isn’t real.
“Is that . . . is he mine?”
I crouch beside him. “She’s yours. Her name is Sugarplum. She’s very old, very gentle, and very much needs a little boy to love her.”
Atticus throws his arms around my neck and squeezes hard.
“This is the best day of my life,” he whispers.
I blink fast, fighting the lump in my throat as I remember the last day he said those exact words, almost exactly six months ago, the morning of the wedding that never happened. He’s only four so I don’t expect he remembers saying it, but I’ll never forget—because what happened after he said them changed everything for us.
Later, after the excitement wears off and Sugarplum is tucked into the little corral beside the barn with a flake of hay and a full water bucket, we sit on the porch with iced tea while Atticus runs around the yard in his boots, playing some imaginary game where he’s somehow both the sheriff and the outlaw.
“He’s going to sleep hard tonight,” Mom says, rocking gently beside me.
“He’s already asking if Sugarplum can sleep in his room.” I roll my eyes.
Will chuckles. “You might wanna draw a firm line there or you’re gonna have hoofprints on your hardwood.”
I glance toward the tree line, the late afternoon light glowing gold behind the oaks. Beyond that, and on the top of the hill, is Hunter’s lodge.
Nothing about him makes sense.
The man is an even bigger enigma than I originally thought.
“Thank you guys for delivering the pony. Seriously,” I say. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Mom pats my leg. “Of course we did.”
“What, you were going to hook a trailer up to that hybrid thingy of yours?” Will teases.
Mom rolls her eyes at him, swatting his leg. “I know we said this already, but it’s really nice having you close again. We’re here for you and Atticus. Anything you need, never hesitate to ask.”
After a quiet beat, I ask, “Hey, what do you guys know about Hunter McCrae?”
Will tilts his head, considering. “Good guy. Hard worker. Local farmer. Been around forever. I’ve done some trucking for him, but he keeps to himself, mostly.”
“Oh, that’s right. You two are neighbors now,” Mom says. “He lives in that big house on top of the hill. He built that not too long ago, you know.” She leans in closer to me, like she’s about to divulge some top secret. “I heard he never invites anyone over.”
Fitting . . .
“I brought him cookies today. Thought I’d properly introduce myself. I don’t think he knew what to make of me,” I say.
Will smiles. “He’s not the most talkative guy, but you’ll never hear a bad word about him. People around here respect him. You’re fortunate to have him for a neighbor. Honestly, it makes me feel better knowing he’s here if you ever need anything.”
I snicker myself. I don’t imagine I’ll ever ask him for a thing. I can’t even imagine asking him for a cup of sugar.
“Why do you think he keeps to himself?” I ask.