Fated

ear and mumbles something in an unfamiliar language, whispering for so long, I’m not sure if he heard.
    “Is she mine?” He chuckles, glances at me. “Technically, I suppose that she is. I got her from a client who’d lost his job and could no longer afford to care for her. But in the grand scheme of things—no. Kachina belongs to herself. Now that she’s entered my life, I’ve agreed to watch over her for however long she chooses to stay. Unless you’d like the job, that is?”
    I squint. Sure I misunderstood.
    “I know Paloma will be keeping you busy with your training, but this also plays a part. Horses have a lot to teach us about stamina, strength, and companionship. And on a more practical level, they make for good transportation—at least until we can get you your license. Paloma has plenty of room at her place for a stall—what do you say?”
    My own horse?
    I’ve never owned a pet before, even though, according to Chay, I won’t actually own her—still, there’s no way I can turn down an offer like that.
    Yet I manage to say, “Shouldn’t she be the one who decides? I mean, I’m the one who made her eat her snack off the floor. She may not want me looking after her.”
    Chay takes a moment to consider my words. “Okay then, let’s give you a leg up and see how you two get along.”
    I balk, unsure how to respond. “Seriously?”
    He nods.
    “But what about my cast? Paloma said I should wait ’til it comes off, which might be as early as tomorrow. Still, she specifically told me I could look, touch, but not ride.”
    Chay smiles in a way that makes his eyes appear hooded. “Paloma can be a bit overcautious. You’ll be fine. And I doubt Kachina will mind. I tell you what—I’ll take full responsibility should anything happen to either one of you, deal?”
    I hesitate, though it’s not long before I nod my consent, and the next thing I know he’s lifted me onto her back.
    We ride for a while, my paint and his Appaloosa walking the trail side by side, kicking up dirt. Though we don’t run, we don’t lope, we don’t so much as break into a trot. Chay says there’s plenty of time for that later, but for now, I need to get used to the feel of being on horseback again.
    “So, do you live here on the reservation?” I ask, my voice competing with the rustle of wind moving through the trees, the leaves jostling each other like chimes. A bit embarrassed by the question, it seems like something I should already know, but I was looking for something to say, something to break up the silence, and it’s the best I could do.
    He squints into the distance, his gaze searching long past the nearby grove of trees, focusing hard on something I can’t quite make out. His voice vague, noncommittal, when he says, “Not anymore. Though my father does. He’s a tribal elder.”
    He yanks on the reins, and I do the same, our horses coming to a halt as I strain to follow the length of his stare. But other than a juniper tree with branches so twisted they appear almost deformed, I can’t see much of anything. “He’s nearly eighty,” he adds, returning his attention to me and pulling on Kachina’s bridle until we’re both turned around and heading back the same way we came. “Nearly eighty and still strong as a bear.” He grins in a way that tells me he’s struggling to find his way back to my question, though his mind resides elsewhere. “He lets me keep some of the horses at his place, while the rest stay at mine.”
    I gaze around a wide open plain marked by the occasional adobe, thinking that other than the absence of a town (though there is a casino just off the main road, along with a gas station/convenience store), it doesn’t look all that different from the neighborhood where Paloma lives.
    “Have you always lived in Enchantment?” I ask.
    “Went away to college.” He shrugs. “Then from there, I went on to vet school at Colorado State—but it wasn’t long after I graduated when I found my way back.”
    “Why?” I ask, my tone betraying what I’m really thinking: Why would an educated person—a person with choices—choose to remain in this place?
    But if Chay’s offended, he doesn’t show it. He just laughs, shakes his head, and says, “Oh, I suppose there’s all sorts of reasons—some more compelling than others.” Then, without stating what those reasons might be, he adds, “So, what did you think of your first ride?”
    “I liked it.” I shrug. “I think