Montana Wild

for no other reason than she wanted to and knew I liked them. Not someone who told me all I had going for me was my face and body. But I’ve made peace with the fact I’ll never experience any of those things, and wishing for it, no matter how many times I do, won’t magically make it happen.
I’m not sure what else to say to her, and thankfully I’m saved from making small talk when Bob walks through the door. He resembles what I imagine a younger Sam Elliott looked like, down to his deep raspy voice which makes you think of the Wild West and cowboys sitting around a bonfire drinking bourbon. Then there’s the mustache.
“Montana, dear, are you all right?” He doesn’t spare my mother a glance and walks to my side, grabbing my left hand, the one not in a sling. “What the hell happened?”
I squeeze his hand before I reply, “I’m fine.” I smile, willing him to believe the lie I’m about to utter. He doesn’t know the full extent of my relationship with my mother, but he knows enough to question everything if he has an inkling I’m lying. “I don’t remember what happened. The doctor told me I was in an accident.” I shrug before I remember I broke my collarbone and hiss in pain by the slight movement.
He studies me for a moment but decides to let whatever he was thinking go. “Well, I’m glad you’re not hurt worse.” He smiles, but it’s strained. Not something I’m used to seeing from him.
“What is it?” I ask, dread filling me.
“Shit, I don’t know how to tell you this.” I brace at his tone, knowing I won’t like what I’m about to hear. Out of the corner of my eye I notice my mom whispering into her phone, but I ignore her and focus on Bob. “It’s Whisky. I noticed he was lame when we brought him in from the field, so I called Dr. Bradford’s replacement—Dr. Woods. He did an exam and found some damage to the deep digital flexor tendon in his right front foot.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. Damage to the deep digital flexor tendon can be disastrous. The challenge is to figure out the cause, which could be anything from too much exercise to direct trauma. He could be laid up for eight months or more depending on the cause and extent of the damage. “Did he say how long he thinks he’ll have to rest his leg?”
“He couldn’t tell. You know your boy, he barely lets me near him, let alone a stranger he’s never met before. Add the ultrasound machine on top of that, and we were shit out of luck. We were lucky he let Dr. Woods close enough to determine there’s damage, but we don’t know how bad it is.”
I groan and throw my head against the pillow. Whisky, to say it nicely, can be difficult. He doesn’t like many people besides me. It’s a blessing when it comes to competing, since the trust between us is so absolute, but it’s a pain in the ass when I’m not around and someone else needs to handle him for anything besides leading him from the pasture to his stall. He doesn’t like people, and most end up being terrified of him because he can be cranky, fine, he can be a jerk.
“Montana—” My mother’s sweet voice drifts toward us from the door, and I glance up at her. “I have to go. Phillipe is outside. We have a plane to catch.” Her smile is apologetic and would fool most people, but Bob has known me and my mother too long to be fooled.
I’m not surprised she’s leaving, uncaring of my condition. She’s only here to make sure her image of a caring woman and mother isn’t tarnished. Phillipe hasn’t figured out who she really is, so she needs to keep up appearances. Now that she’s shown her face for a courtesy visit, she’ll vanish as quickly as she appeared. It’s always been like this. I’m only ever an afterthought in her life, an obligation needing to be fulfilled. It’s something I grew used to a long time ago, so I don’t bat an eye at her announcement.
“Veronika, you can’t leave right now. Montana needs your help—”
“Oh, please”—my mother waves her hand dismissively through the air—“she’ll be fine. She’s got you and Dakota to help her out if she needs it.” She looks at her watch to make a point. “Now, I really have to rush. Phillipe doesn’t like to be kept waiting. I’ll call you later, sweetie.” And she’s out the door before either one of us can say anything.
“Fuck, I can’t believe that woman. Doesn’t she realize you will need help?” Bob seems baffled by her quick departure. He still, after fourteen years, expects her to surprise him and care about anyone but herself.
“Don’t worry. I can take care of myself.”
Bob lifts his eyebrows incredulously. “You can’t be serious. I spoke to your nurse before I came in here. You’ll need help with simple things like showering and dressing in the early days.”
I roll my eyes, knowing there is no way in hell I’ll ask anyone to help me shower and dress, I’d rather be in excruciating pain. Pride can be a stupid thing sometimes. “Well, you or Dakota can help in the beginning if I need it, right?”
“Montana, we can’t. Dakota and I are scheduled to travel to Florida tomorrow. We can’t cancel—”
“Of course not,” I interrupt. “I’d never expect you to cancel. I’ll just have to figure something else out.” I look out the window, for the first time noticing the darkening sky. It looks like a storm is coming in. I hate storms, have ever since I can remember. “Maybe I can hire someone to help me out at home. And I can come around to