Page 53 of All We Carry Home

An hour later, the three of us stood at an auction yard on the other side of Baker, but this wasn’t like the US Army auction in Virginia. At this auction, most of the horses were bound for the slaughterhouse.

I leaned next to Eva along the broken and aged wooden fence, looking over hundreds of horses that were half starved, swaybacked, and dirty. “I hadn’t expected this,” I whispered to her.

She nodded somberly. “Gramps and I came here a few times a month. We’d buy any horse that looked like it could be saved, rehabilitate it, and sell it as a working cow horse to the local ranchers. It was steady income, and it was nice to save whichever horses we could.”

The horses were of all different colors and sizes, but among the dust and muck of the pens, it was hard to really tell what lay beneath the jagged bones and drooping heads. I had to admire Eva’s gumption and resourcefulness.

“How do you pick?” I asked.

She drew in a long breath. “It’s a bit of a gamble, but I look for ones that don’t limp, ones that look a little bit younger.”

Lucky walked up with our bidding number, and the crowd quieted as the auctioneer stepped up on the block. The rest of the crowd were gray-haired, sour men with looks of disinterest. They were here to process the horses into dog food or glue.

“We can’t save them all,” Eva said as if to herself.

The auction began, the horses crossing the block in defeated, tired strides. Eva watched them with her eyebrows pinched together and her lips tight.

How did she handle this time and time again?

A dark brown horse plodded across the center pen. He was tall and lean with mud and manure caked to his tail. His left eye was missing, just a void of shadow as if it had been gone for some time.

The bidding started at twenty dollars. Eva lifted her number and won the horse uncontested.

Lucky turned to her with a teasing grin. “You trying to tell me something?”

She chuckled. “He has good bone structure and is at least ten years younger than every other horse so far. Maybe we’ll call him Lucky.”

“Well, I’m glad you see through the rough exteriors,” Lucky said as he turned back to watch more of the bidding.

As I studied Eva the rest of the afternoon, it was true. She anchored onto the most harrowing cases and seemed to find something that no one else could see.

I grew only more impressed with this woman who stood so confidently among a rough-and-tumble crowd and yet commanded such respect in the most subtle way. She interacted with those around her with a warm smile and remembered the auctioneer’s name and even his wife’s name.

A few of the men—those who were buying for the slaughterhouses—bowed out of the bidding anytime she lifted her number for a horse. It was as if they wanted her to save them.

Two hours and five purchased horses later, Eva led the quiet, bedraggled horses into the trailers. Their conditions were all similar to that of the one-eyed chestnut she’d first picked. One had half an ear missing from a trailering accident, and the others were starved and shaky on their feet.

As she shut the heavy metal door behind the last of them, she leaned against the trailer and let out a long breath. It was the only moment I’d seen her slow down all day. Where did she find such drive?

“You all right?” I asked. The buzz of the crowd had finally calmed as the auction grounds emptied. Lucky was checking the trailer hitch and doors on my truck and trailer, leaving Eva and me a rare moment alone. Evening set in around us, the dusky air and sky above glowing orange.

She nodded, but weariness in her eyes shone through for the first time. “These days are hard.” She motioned to the auction building. A smile flashed across her face. “I always hated coming with Gramps and begged him to leave me at home. He told me I needed to face it and not hide from the truth of the world.”

“I can’t picture you hiding from anything.”

She pressed her lips together and looked away as her cheeks flushed. “You might be surprised.” She straightened and walked toward the cab of her truck. “We’d better get on the road. It’s getting late.”

As I drove my truck behind Eva and her trailer full of three horses ahead of us, Lucky studied me from the passenger seat. “So, what’s the story with you and Eva, Captain?”

“There isn’t a story.”

“There should be.”

“Give it a rest,” I growled back. “This isn’t high school. She’s training my horse, that’s all.”

“That’s not what the rest of us see.”

“In the five seconds you’ve been in Baker?” I shot him a look of annoyance. “Keep your nose out of it.”