Once outside of the snack bar, Wyatt plunked his hat back on as I fell into stride next to him. The afternoon session had let out and families were leaving. Wyatt waved at a couple of children who called his name, their guardians waving back as they guided the kids toward the parking lot. He couldn’t be all bad, right?
He led me into one of the smaller stables, his hand resting casually on my lower back, wreaking havoc on my guts as he nudged me forward. The smell of wood shavings and alfalfa surrounded me, and my heartbeat increased, the thumping loud enough in my ears that I thought Wyatt might hear it.
Horses popped their heads out of the stalls one by one like monsters in a Halloween maze, grunts and whinnies filling the emptiness like cackling witches and woken spooks.
They’re only
