Page 11 of All We Carry Home

I glared at him. We’d had this discussion too many times to count. “You know how I feel about that, Gramps.”

“I’d hoped facing death firsthand on the battlefield might change your perspective a bit.” He pointed at me with a crooked finger. “That it would have shown you what matters in the end. You’ll never be free if you don’t let your parents’ deeds go. You can’t spend the rest of your life carrying their sins on your shoulders.”

But Gramps hadn’t seen what they’d done, the lives they’d destroyed.

“Where is that nurse?” I looked at my watch. “Perhaps I should go find her.”

“Evelyn Christine Chalmers,” he whispered commandingly.

I went still, my blood going cold at the use of my full name. My real name—not the name I’d put on my dog tags.

That name was poison.

“Gramps,” I hissed. “Don’t say that so loud.”

For once, I was grateful for the emptiness of the hospital wing. No one had heard that horrible name—the daughter of legendary criminals.

“Listen to me.” He took my wrist and covered my hand with both of his massive, arthritic palms. “I know I’m not your true blood, but I hope that my words mean something to you.”

“Your words mean everything to me.” A sob escaped my throat.

“Then hear me.” His eyes glistened. “You’re always holding so tightly to what you think you can control. You know what happens when a horse pulls and pulls . . .”

“The rope breaks.” Dozens of horses that Gramps had cured of such a dangerous habit flashed before my eyes.

“So let the past go.”

“I wish it were that simple.” The world didn’t work that way. No matter how much I wanted to erase my family’s name from the headlines, the public still clung to it as if it were some sort of cosmic joke.

“The press, the gossiping crowds—they can’t hurt you. You’re not a helpless little girl anymore.” He jerked my hands as if to jolt me from my thoughts. “You’ll never have a husband or a family with that secret weighing you down.”

I already knew this, and I’d resigned myself to that fate. It was what held me back from dating the way the other nurses did. There was no future with me.

Because I’d never reveal this secret.

In the quiet moments, I pictured life with others around me—children, friends, a husband. Dozens of animals, horses, and laughter. That was a life I’d never known firsthand, had only read about in novels. It was a life that belonged to others.

But Birkstrom Ranch? If I poured enough of my blood, sweat, and tears into it, perhaps I was worthy of that much.

If not, there was truly nothing left for me.

Warren

Phantom and I burst out of the trailer, and I held tightly to the rope to keep him from bolting away. The horse pawed his front hooves and snorted viciously at the onlookers around us.

“You weren’t kidding.” Kenneth Roland—formerly Colonel Roland—circled us on the lawn of the sprawling stables outside of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Lean, with lines at the corners of his eyes and a slow smile, he’d be mistaken for Roy Rogers if he was wearing a cowboy hat. “He’s impressive.”

Kenneth, an experienced horseman, held his hand out and approached Phantom tentatively. The horse flared his nostrils and swung his hindquarters around to kick, but Kenneth anticipated the move and stepped free of the horse’s range.

One of the stables’ trainers approached hesitantly, took the lead rope from me, and led Phantom into an open pen.

Relief flooded me as someone more knowledgeable and capable took the horse. I hoped this time I’d find someone who would take Phantom and address his behavioral issues. We’d been rejected at three other stables so far.

The trainer in the pen pulled at Phantom’s lead rope, but the horse reared and broke free as the metal clasp gave way. The man darted through the fence boards to get free of the charging stallion.

I pressed my hands over my eyes and sighed.

“I’ve seen a lot of horses,” Kenneth said. “Never seen one quite this volatile.”