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way someone opened fire on another
person in cold blood grated on his nerves. He didn’t want to shoot
someone for the sake of killing. He wanted to save lives.
    “Isn’t that what you’d be doing?”
    Her opinion of what he wanted to do shouldn’t
matter, but he explained anyway. “No. Being a military sniper
doesn’t make you a murderer. It’s doing a job. There’s a big
difference. I’d do it to protect people, save lives.”
    “You are a warrior.”
    She was so close. If he turned his head, he’d
brush a kiss on her lips. “I don’t know.”
    “I do. You saved me. I won’t ever
forget.”
    He wouldn’t forget either. This day would
stay with him for a long time.
    “But you know, with you in the military and
me doctoring, we’ll never see one another.”
    “That’s five years in the future. You sound
as if we’ll know each other then.”
    “We will. Mark my words, Matt Carson, we
will.”
    She sounded so sure. He squeezed her hand and
felt comfort, excitement. Yeah, he liked touching her too much. To
distract his thoughts, he said, “What’s with this doctor stuff? You
want to own a petting zoo, a nursery.”
    “I do.” She scrunched her nose, and he wanted
to kiss it. “I doubt Dad will let me.”
    What parent can force their kid into a career
they decide for them? “Who’s your dad?”
    “He owns a bunch of horses.” Her voice came
out gruff.
    In this part of Maryland, some horse owners
liked to boast and behave as if others with less money weren’t
their equals. She didn’t. She downplayed it. He didn’t have
firsthand experience, but his friends from school talked about it.
Said when rich people believed you’re beneath them, they’d hold
their heads a certain way. Noses in the air, shoulders back as if
they walked with a book on the top of their head. Her reluctance
not to tell him spoke volumes about her integrity. Dad often said,
“If you don’t have integrity, you don’t have much.” He spoke
without thinking about the implications.
    She didn’t respond.
    “Sorry they control you,” he said, not
knowing what else to say into the awkwardness.
    “One day they won’t.” She slowed. “Um,
speaking of them, there’s a good chance they won’t treat you
well.”
    “Because I resemble a drowned rat?” He held
her hand tight and opened his arms to his side.
    “No matter what is about to happen, we will
always be friends.”
    He didn’t have time to process what she said
before a female’s high-pitched voice blasted his ears like an
alarm. “Katrina!” A bitter-faced woman on horseback approached from
behind them. Her red hair, the color of Katrina’s, pulled tight
into a bun.
    “My mother,” she whispered.
    “Where have you been? You’re all wet. Get to
the house and change before anyone sees you.”
    He followed her mother’s finger. The house
she pointed at was no house. Three stories, if not more, extended
at least the size of a football field. Maybe he exaggerated, but
labeling the building huge understated its magnitude.
    Another horse approached from the same
direction. A bald-headed man with a mustache sat on top. “Katrina,
listen to your mother. This young fellow,” her dad spoke, barely
acknowledging Matt, “best be going.”
    “They won’t give you a chance,” she said
under her breath. “They don’t think you’re worthy.” Her words
drifted with her last comment, as if she said something she
shouldn’t have.
    Worthy? To even think in the terms of
someone being equal or not never entered his mind. Then he
remembered his friends’ comments and grumbled. Her mother observed
him as if he was a snake she wanted to kill with a hoe.
    “Mom, Dad, this is Matt Carson. Matt, this is
my parents Sissy and Milton Lovett, the biggest snobs this side of
the Mason-Dixon line.”
    “You hold your tongue, little lady. Don’t
give your mother and I sass in front of anyone, especially
strangers.”
    “Matt, you’ll have to excuse my father’s
Midwestern