Page 9 of All We Carry Home

At least I could always hold on to the memories of Germany and the dreams of what could have been.

I’d called in a favor from my former patient, an airman, who had promised to help me fly the horse home by Army plane. Now it would just be me and my barrack bag next to the empty cargo bay.

I slowly made my way down the street to my hotel. I stopped at the telephone in the lobby and asked the operator to connect me to the farmhouse. The operator hesitated. “Miss, I’m going to connect you with the sheriff instead.”

“What?” But she’d already changed the line.

“Eva, it’s Sheriff Lowe.” He drew in a ragged breath. “Where are you?”

“I’m in Virginia.” Fear and knowing sliced through my gut and took the wind out of me. “What’s going on?”

“We’ve been trying to reach you for days. Your grandfather collapsed in town and, well, you’d better get home quick.”

Warren

Sold. The word I’d been desperate to hear. I’d been prepared to spend anything to make it happen.

I had made a promise to look after him. I would honor that, no matter what.

I’d spent a year battling the Army’s chain of command to purchase this horse, who had been deemed spoils of war when Poland didn’t claim him after VE Day. Instead of buying him outright, I’d needed to participate in the auction, where no outcome was certain.

Now Phantom was mine.

Mira, however, was still MIA. Her records had been misplaced, mishandled, or were missing entirely. But I wouldn’t rest until I’d tracked her down too.

A bald man beside me who had the sun-spotted, wrinkled face of a horse trainer clapped me on the shoulder. “Congrats on winning that colt. He has some spunk. Good bloodlines too, from what I know of the Arabian breed.”

I knew that, and much more.

I thanked him and turned to look across the crowd to try to see who I had been bidding against. A woman, it sounded like, but the crowd was still thick, interest high over these unique horses from the war-torn lands of Europe.

Others came up, some who recognized me as a former captain in the cavalry—the captain who’d led the Ghosts of Patton’s Army to save the captive horses of Hostau, Czechoslovakia. I’d never live down that Stars and Stripes article. I didn’t want the publicity or fame. I just wanted to move on.

I responded to the comments and questions from the crowd around me, but I was itching to see Phantom. At least I could look after one of the horses that had changed my life, changed the course of the war for me and my men.

The horse that had introduced me to her.

After a few more handshakes and pleasantries, I strode with purpose toward the barn.

I wanted to see the horse that was now mine. The horse I had no idea what I’d do with. I couldn’t exactly take him back to my lonely, empty apartment in Philadelphia. I hadn’t grown up with horses, like many men in the cavalry had. Operation Cowboy was my boot camp in horse care.

Right now, I just wanted to get this horse somewhere safe. I’d contacted a stables on the outskirts of the city, purchased a truck and trailer. Kenneth Roland from the Second Cavalry would meet me there—he had a proposition he’d insisted talking about in person.

Through the crowd of spectators, I spotted a glimpse of Phantom and felt the flood of memories wash over me.

Memories of that dark-haired, blue-eyed nurse who knew more about horses than half my regiment combined. Our effort to help Mira bring the unique-colored colt into the world.

“The sign of a warrior, of good luck and great courage.”

The spark between us had also felt lucky, perhaps even a once-in-a-generation type of pull.

Lieutenant Bryant had come to mind often over the past year—especially as the reports continued to bubble up about how horrendous the military campaigns of the Pacific had been. I’d never forgotten a moment of that day we’d spent together in Kötzting, and despite my efforts, I hadn’t been able to track her down. She’d disappeared like Mira. Had she ever made it home?

“That’s one fine horse,” an old man said, pausing next to me and looking over Phantom from beneath his sweat-stained, tan cowboy hat.

I drew in a long breath. “I’m looking for a trainer, if you know of anyone.” I knew I needed at least that much, given how violent Phantom had appeared on the auction block. The colt looked a bit worse for the wear from the year since I’d seen him. His eyes were wild, his mane tangled and tattered. I could only assume he’d been frightened and neglected in transit due to the chaos of the post-war shipments from Europe.

“I own and run a stables a few hours away.” The man rubbed his cheek and looked over Phantom. He stepped closer, and at the same moment, Phantom lunged, teeth out, and bit the man’s arm.