spray, closing her eyes and making a conscious effort to relax. She could deal with this stuff—even if most of it took her well out of her comfort zone.
Liv sighed as she reached for the shampoo. Maybe in a year or two it would be easy. Or easier. Right now it was a constant effort to hold her own, not take the easy way out and become invisible and/or compliant. She just wasn’t certain how much was enough when it came to standing your ground.
The water was turning cold by the time she turned off the faucet, and her shoulders felt only slightly better. She put on her threadbare flannel pajamas and headed to her bedroom, combing her hair with a large wooden comb as she walked. Liv did not own a blow-dryer—hers had given up the ghost shortly before she moved home and she had yet to replace it—so instead of trying to sleep, she propped herself up against the headboard and started reading her new patients’ case files as her hair dried. Shopping with her mother and Shae meant having hair that didn’t look as if it had been slept on wet. It would be amusing to see their expressions if she showed up with bent hair, but Liv couldn’t do it.
She finally closed the last file close to midnight and snuggled down into the sheets, closed her eyes. And realized she was nowhere near being ready to sleep.
Was her dad asleep? A few nights ago she’d heard him pacing his room, but it was silent tonight.
She flopped over onto her side.
Was she up to watching her mother fall all over herself tomorrow trying to make Shae’s special day even more special? She hated seeing her mom doing everything in her power to keep Shae happy, because she knew why she was doing it—to please David, her husband and Shae’s father.
Liv pulled in a breath, closed her eyes even tighter.
Would Matt make yet another attempt to get her horse? And if he did, how was she going to handle it without upsetting Tim? She’d think of something.
Liv rolled onto her back, resolutely tried to close off the racing thoughts, then after another ten minutes, gave up. How many nights had she spent like this over the past year and a half? Awake and wondering, worrying?
Too many after breaking up with Greg.
Liv pulled the flashlight out from under her bed and silently left her room, creeping down the hall to the mudroom where she eased her feet into her barn shoes. When she left the house, she didn’t quite shut the heavy door behind her. Her father had excellent hearing and the last thing she wanted was for him to get up to investigate the sound of the front door closing.
Gravel crunched beneath her feet as she crossed the driveway, the sound unusually loud in the stillness of the night. Once inside the barn, out of view of her father’s window, Liv turned on the flashlight and grabbed a brush out of the grooming box. Beckett’s stall was empty, so she headed for the rear man door, clicking off the flashlight as she went.
Beckett, familiar with the late-night ritual, nickered softly as Liv started across the pasture to where he stood under the Russian olive tree, moonlight bathing his back. He ambled over to meet her halfway and then stopped, obligingly turning his side toward her, waiting for the grooming to begin.
Liv started on his neck, following each flick of the brush with a stroke of her hand. She worked her way over the healed saddle sores on his withers and lower back, now evident only by the white hairs that covered the scars. It still angered her to think about his wounds. Did Matt think a horse was just a tool to be used and abused for his benefit? Did he even care that the saddle he was using didn’t fit or that Beckett’s mouth had been injured from too large of a bit and the way Matt had handled him?
Liv gritted her teeth, the brush flying over Beckett’s coat in quick, agitated movements before she suddenly stopped and leaned against the horse, squeezing her eyes shut as she inhaled deeply. A moment later, Liv set the brush on the ground and started working the tangles out of Beckett’s mane with her fingers. The gelding pulled in a deep breath and then exhaled. A horsey sigh, which Liv echoed. Beckett didn’t like having his mane untangled, but he