But what did he have?
Other than his acreage and a small mobile home, his only asset was his innate knowledge of horses. He had gotten started with the help of Allister McLure, one of the local vets.
Allister had fostered and encouraged Joe’s gift for working with horses. As an overworked and angry young man, Joe would periodically drop everything and go to the home of Allister and his wife, Lorna. It was Allister who showed him faith in action and Allister who showed him what a father’s love should be.
He got Joe started in horse training, recommending people he met in his practice to take their problem horses to Joe Brewer.
Every few months Joe would purchase a few unbroken one-year-olds from the auction mart and keep them, working with them when he had time and selling them for a decent profit once they were trained. It gave him extra money and established his growing reputation.
He began to dream of starting his own training facility. But until he had his own place, he couldn’t afford to quit trucking. And as long as he worked as a truck driver, he didn’t have time to expand the business.
He had lost more than he wanted to admit that afternoon in the bank.
He thought once again of Rebecca, allowing himself a moment to appreciate her delicate features, her calm demeanor that both pushed him away and intrigued him. He wished he had been a little more gracious around her. Not that it would have gotten him anywhere, he thought wryly. She was far beyond him. Besides, it looked as if Dale had staked a claim, and he was in a better position to maintain it than Joe was.
A blast from the air horn of an impatient driver behind him made him jump.
Joe put his idling truck into gear and with a chuff of brakes eased his unit forward, closing the gap between him and the truck on the scale. He couldn’t resist a quick glance at his watch, which showed him that he was well behind schedule. To get this load to Penticton on time would mean running the risk of a speeding ticket, which he could ill afford. He felt his stomach begin the all-too-familiar tightening as he tried to relax, tried to remind himself that rushing only caused accidents. But he also knew that if he didn’t get to the business on time, it would be closed, and he would have to find a spot to lay over, and that meant he would be late for his next pickup in Langley and…
He eased his truck to a halt to wait some more and forced himself not to think about the consequences. Break it down, he reminded himself. First get this truck weighed, then head out, then see what happens. But even as he went through the routine, he couldn’t stop his hands from clenching the steering wheel, his shoulders from hunching with tension, something he was doing more and more often.
Taking a deep breath, he dropped his head back. He closed his eyes. “Okay, Lord,” he said quietly, “I’m stuck at this weigh scale, and You know I get uptight when I’m behind. But I’m giving You the rest of this day. It’s Yours, and I’ll live with whatever comes my way.” As he quietly continued his prayer, he felt God’s peace wash over him.
Slowly his hands lost their grip, and his shoulders fell. He still had to get his load to Penticton on time, he still faced the possibility of an overload charge, but his tension eased. He had reached beyond the tiny confines of his truck and his life, and events were put into perspective.
Half an hour later, Joe was on the road. His load had come in just under. He was still late, but it didn’t matter as much as before.
With a quick jab of his finger, he turned on the radio. Immediately songs of heartbreak and sorrow wailed above the engine’s whine.
Joe slipped on his sunglasses. One song drifted into another as the pavement rolled along under his wheels, the dotted line clipping by, power poles slowly marking his progress. Joe couldn’t help but pull a face as he listened to the lyrics of yet another song about a lonely trucker far away from his family, trying to make a living. Given his current mood, the last thing he needed was to listen to some rich country and western singer making yet another million writing songs about the hard work and low pay Joe was trying to escape.
He hit the power button, cutting off the singer mid-sob, his mind mulling and worrying over his problems.
If he had to shelve his dream of setting up an arena, he still needed to find other work. But trucking and training horses were all he knew. The first gave him a job that earned money, and he had been counting heavily on the latter to help him get away.
He felt as if he was pushed into a corner he had been trying to escape, and he didn’t know how to get out.
Chapter Four
Joe rubbed his eyes as he leaned against the wall beside the phone at the truck stop, the receiver clamped against his ear. He had driven most of last night and needed sleep more than conversation.
“Hey, Tonya,” he said when his renter’s wife picked up the phone. “How are things?”
Joe stifled a groan as Tonya began her usual litany of complaints. Her nasal voice in one ear was a sharp counterpoint to the sparse hum of conversation inside the dimly lit café. “I know it’s not a palace, Tonya,” he said when she was done, “but it’s cheap.” Too cheap, he often thought. Kevin and Tonya lived there free and in return took care of Joe’s horses and boarded their own for nothing.
“Cheap doesn’t mean it has to be such a dive,” she complained.
Joe clenched his jaw, keeping his temper in check. Tonya squeezed in one more complaint then Kevin got on the phone.
“Hey, Kevin,” Joe said by way of greeting, stifling an urge to yawn. “Just called to see how things are going.”
“Well…” Kevin paused. “I… I need to tell you something.”
He sounded nervous. Joe knew he had to bide his time. Rushing Kevin only made him stutter.
“It’s your new horse, you remember her?”
As if Joe could forget. He had paid more for that two-year-old than he cared to admit to anyone. “Talia.”
“That’s the one.” Kevin sighed, and Joe felt a prickling of fear. “I accidentally put her in the same pen as Mack, and…” He let the sentence trail off.
“And they started fighting.” Joe finished the sentence, his throat suddenly dry. Please, Lord, don’t let it be too bad, he prayed. I know I paid too much for that horse, but You know why I did.
“Mack is okay, a few nicks and bruises on his chest, but Talia…” Kevin paused again, and Joe clenched his teeth in frustration. “She’s, well, she’s…”
“Is she dead?” Joe blurted, suddenly frightened.
“No, no.”
“But?”
“She tried to jump the fence and ripped open her left flank. It’s a bit of a mess.”
Joe sagged against the wall in relief, the sounds of the café drifting away as Kevin’s words registered. Talia was hurt, not dead. She’s just a horse, he reminded himself.
But even as the thought formed, he knew he was fooling himself. Talia was his stake, the beginning of a larger plan that was supposed to get him away from the wheel of a semi.
“McLure stitched her up,” Kevin continued.
Joe felt himself relax. Allister knew as much about horses as Joe did. And Allister would be the next person Joe would call.
Joe ran a hand over his face, weariness engulfing him. The smell of burned coffee had become nauseating. A sure signal that it was time to get some sleep, yet all he wanted to do was run to his truck and head home. “Where did