Percy, after an examination that resulted in several wads of spit landing on Morgan’s torso; and one nearly hitting her face, had a suspicious swelling on his breast. She took a few cultures from the abscess, then checked over the flock. Some bacterial causes of abscesses were contagious. When she turned up a ewe with similar symptoms, she turned to Abby.

“It could be pigeon fever. I won’t know for sure until I get the cultures back, but it can affect horses, too. I’ll need to check Olive.”

“I’ll grab her,” said Abby, relenting. Olive didn’t need much coaxing. The mare had been hanging out by the gate with bright, curious eyes. She nuzzled Abby as Abby slipped a halter over her head and led her into the barn. Her left hind snapped up and then down to the cement floor of the barn with a hard clunk that made Morgan wince in sympathy.

Stevie headed up the horse while Morgan performed her examination. Olive, despite the stringhalt and an overly round stomach, was in remarkably good health as far as Morgan could tell without running blood work.

“What did your cousin do with her?”

“Kid wanted to barrel race.”

“With a Belgian?”

“She’s supposed to be a quarter horse cross.”

Morgan looked at Olive. Any quarter horse blood had been obscured by her Belgian heritage, save for her shorter stature. She wouldn’t be racing any barrels with a weak hind end.

“You could probably still do something with her. Stevie, try her at a trot.”

Stevie led her out of the barn into the yard and clucked a reluctant Olive into a trot. The stringhalt affected the trot, too, and without a round pen or a ring Morgan doubted they could convince the mare to canter.

“I don’t ride,” said Abby.

“I can keep an ear out if you’re looking for a home for her,” said Morgan. Stevie returned to them with the horse trailing her, ears perked forward.

“Thank you. She’s a sweet horse.” Abby watched Olive with a resigned expression. “She deserves better than this. And she needs a job. Follows me around like a dog.”

Morgan stroked the mare’s shoulder and studied her vet tech. Stevie had an odd, almost dreamy, expression on her face as she tickled the horse’s lips. Morgan knew that look. It was how Stevie had ended up with her pitbull, but there were vast differences between bringing home an unwanted stray dog and bringing home a horse.

• • •

Emilia held one paint chip up to the wall after another. None of them spoke to her, but all looked like they’d be an improvement over the tobacco stains. Her options consisted of eggshell versus gloss versus whatever other type of paint she somehow needed to select, and she had no idea what each term meant. I could Google it. She thought of Doug and his YouTube advice and pulled out her phone, but before she could start her search, it rang.