A Dust Cloud, a Dark Bay, and a Prayer
Haylee Graham
5 min read ⭑
My friend, CC, burst through the door after work, nearly out of breath with excitement. “I met a horse trainer at Dad’s studio. She’s looking for volunteers for her small riding club in town and said we should stop by for an interview.” Tears welled up, and we looked at each other, saying nothing — because we didn’t have to. CC had lost her childhood horse, Julian, and we both knew the ache of losing our four-legged friends who once gave us comfort, purpose and a place to belong. Maybe being around horses again would help heal the parts of us they left behind.
That weekend, we headed to the ranch where we met Marlene, a dark-haired woman with a tight ponytail and one of her legs encased in a bulky cast. After introductions and pleasantries, Marlene explained the variety of successful programs offered on the ranch. Autistic kids would speak their first words from the perch of a saddle, or those with neurological disorders would ditch their crutches and walk with the helpful shoulder of a patient horse. They hosted therapy programs tailor-made for veterans struggling with PTSD and even had weekly AA meetings inside one of the barns.
CC and I exchanged excited smiles. This was no ordinary ranch; this was a place that was making a real difference, and we wanted to be part of it.
Unsplash+
“So,” Marlene drawled, “tell me about your experience with horses.”
CC and I took turns — with perhaps a bit too much zeal. Marlene sat back with the slightest hint of a smile. When we were done, she seemed satisfied with our credentials. I thought we had broken enough ice for me to ask about the cast on her leg.
She shrugged. “I was walking a stallion, and he spooked at something — probably the wind for all I know — and he landed right on top of me. I’ve fallen off a horse before, but I’ve never been trampled.”
“I’ve been trampled once, and once was enough,” I said with a chuckle, shaking my head and hoping Marlene would just laugh it off. But she didn’t. Her gaze sharpened, silently urging me to go on. Without mentioning Cartier’s name, I explained the catastrophic accident. “My horse saved me that day,” I finished quietly.
“Were you conscious for it all?” Marlene asked.
I paused. “I only remember standing up and seeing my horse flailing on the ground. I ran after him and screamed ‘Cartier!’ and then blacked out.”
CC inhaled sharply through her nose — and that’s when it hit me. I’d said his name. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could have hit rewind on the moment. Cartier’s name was never spoken, especially not in front of a horse trainer.
“Is he a bay?” she asked cautiously.
I looked at CC for help, but she only looked at me with panic. Marlene glanced between us. She was waiting for an answer. “He was a dark bay,” I finally managed.
Bullet dodged — not. Marlene stared at me. “There’s a lot of drama tied to that horse.”
CC jumped in. “Yeah, it’s all pretty crazy, but Haylee’s past it now. We’re past it.”
But Marlene’s eyes stayed locked on me, unreadable. Slowly, she leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowing like she was piecing something together. “So, you’re the girl?”
I decided not to answer that one.
“It’s okay,” Marlene reassured me. “I already know what happened. Someone owed money to someone else, and they tried to confiscate the horse. Right?”
“Kind of,” I winced, wishing it were that simple.
“Then we heard that the family — or you — took the horse and fled.”
I nodded, and Marlene waited for me to continue. I didn’t know where to start, but I found the courage to try. I explained everything from the very beginning, every last detail.
Finally, Marlene said in a steady tone. “We heard about some girl hiding with her horse to keep him from going to a bad place. And Haylee, to be honest . . .” She paused, and I braced for rejection. “I think anyone who loves their animal would’ve done the same thing. I know I would’ve.”
“God was listening, mending my broken heart.”
I froze and looked at her, then at CC, who was smiling, my face silently pleading for confirmation.
“So, where is Cartier now?” Marlene asked.
“He’s at a place called Meadowbrook in Malibu. I tried to go visit him once but the owner kicked me off her property. I have a friend who keeps me updated on him, and a trainer there takes care of him. I just don’t know her name.”
Marlene laughed. “I do,” she said, her eyes crinkling with a mischievous smile. “And I don’t just know her name. I’m good friends with her.”
What began as a simple interview quickly turned into a job offer — and an unexpected opportunity to reunite with Cartier, even if only for a few weeks. The plan was simple: Marlene would reach out to her contact at Meadowbrook to inquire about leasing a horse, specifically one that might be a good fit for one of the therapy programs.
Days later, I was lugging a bucket of water to a stall on the ranch when I spotted Marlene’s truck, flanked by a horse trailer, barreling down the driveway and kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake.
“Is that him?” CC’s voice came from behind me, but I couldn’t respond; I was watching the dark silhouette of a horse in the trailer. Marlene parked and carefully maneuvered her leg out of the truck. I dropped the bucket and sprinted toward her.
“You did it!” I exclaimed, wrapping Marlene in a tight hug that nearly knocked her off balance.
Minutes later, Cartier leaped down from the trailer, his strong legs landing gracefully as he curiously looked around. I stepped in front of his face and brushed his forelock, feeling a rush of familiarity, euphoria and nostalgia. I blinked hard, half expecting this moment to vanish. But with each blink, Cartier chose to stay and gently pressed his muzzle to my cheek. I smiled up at him, then stepped to his shoulder and wrapped my arms around his neck. Burying my face in his dark, glistening coat — the same one that had caught so many of my tears — I finally let myself break, finally let myself breathe.
After our reunion, Cartier was handed off to a volunteer, who led him to his stall. The barn staff dispersed, and Marlene approached me and CC. “Listen, God brought you both here; brought him here. I don’t know for what, or for how long, but there’s a reason behind all of this. Have faith.”
I nodded and took a deep breath. Marlene was right. Cartier was here — not by chance, not by coincidence, but by the careful, unseen work of divine hands. God was listening, mending my broken heart, still weaving Cartier and me into the same story. I was exceptionally grateful, yet as I turned back toward the barn, a question lingered in my mind.
How long will this answered prayer last?
Haylee Graham has been a professional writer for over a decade, earning recognition at the International Christian Film Festival, Indie X Film Fest, CARE Awards and the 168 Film Festival. She is the author of four Young Adult fiction novels and has worked as a screenwriter, developing faith-based projects for RockFish Studios in Raeford, North Carolina. Her short film Out of the Quiet earned more than 28 awards and nominations at film festivals nationwide, while her most recent project, Planted, won the top prize at the prestigious 168 Film Festival, including awards for “Best Screenplay,” “Best Speed Film” and “Best of the Festival.”
Taken from “Take the Horse and Run” by Haylee Graham. Copyright © 2026. Used by permission of Tyndale Momentum.
