Claire was well aware that Harley wanted a horse. Harley’s riding instructor at the school had mentioned it more than once to Claire, and each time Claire would use her fake smile and say something along the lines that she and Garrison would take it into consideration. First and foremost, Harley was at that school to learn, not meddle in the dirt.
“Is that what the finest girls’ school in New York teaches you? That it’s fitting to throw temper tantrums during charities? Maybe I should look into schools abroad.”
Claire Tatum was the second generation of her family to live in the U.S. and often threatened to send Harley overseas for refinement, among other things. Basically, she threatened to take Harley away from her father, but thus far her father had never allowed that to occur.
“I was discussing an investment with my father.”
“An investment? How so? Are you really that na?ve? This little whim of yours will do nothing but cost money. You are already spoiled beyond measure. ”
That statement was ludicrous. Harley never asked for anything, mainly because at a very young age a response like this would come. Somehow, she had taught herself never to show how much she wanted something, loved something—she knew if she did, whatever it was could or would be taken away in some form.
“It’s an investment in my future.”
“The nerve,” Claire said with a furious gasp.
Harley never spoke back to her mother. She took what she was given, seen but never heard.
“This sport teaches me respect, patience, diligence, mannerism, pride. I could go on,” Harley said as evenly as she could, she could hear her heart thundering, feel the heat in her cheeks. She felt the danger in this plea.
Before Claire could say a word, they both heard Garrison’s voice from the second level of the library. “Character. An investment in character, no doubt.”
Claire let out a tense smile. “Darling, why on earth are you in here? The governor was asking for you.”
Garrison moved down the stairs gracefully. For an older man, he was fit, too. He was fifty-eight when Harley was born. His greatest accomplishment, as he said in the statement he gave to the press when they sought a comment, as well as any other time he introduced Harley to someone new.
“I was rudely interrupted when speaking to Harley before. I wanted to finish our conversation.”
“It’s nonsense, dear. Just a whim, some girlish daydream that she will be over before the next week is out.”
Garrison had reached the bottom stair now. Under his arm was a file, but it wasn’t the one Harley had given him. She assumed she had just lucked out, that he was in his study on the second floor getting that file and happened to overhear them. It was rare that Claire had been caught speaking to Harley in this tone. In front of Garrison, she treated Harley the same as he did, basically doted on her.
“Girlish daydream,” he grunted. “Strong imagination you have there. Harley, how long has this fantasy played out now? Six months?”
“At least,” Harley said, a bit shocked that he knew that—but then again, not much got past Garrison.
“Garrison, the horse her trainer brought to my attention is an infant, only four, and will cost a fortune, and I’m not even speaking of all the training he will need, everything he will need. Harley needs to focus on school now. This horse, that bloodline, is intended for professionals. It would be a travesty for him to have an inexperienced rider.”
Garrison smirked, glanced at his wife. “This horse is worth less than what you are wearing tonight, my dear.”
Harley glanced over at her mother, not sure how her outfit added up to two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, but she was positive the jewels, if not her wedding band alone, helped meet that mark.
“I do, however, agree that a horse such as this needs a skilled rider.” Before Harley could even dare to think that her dreams had just ended, he went on. “So I had my assistant contact the best trainer for Harley. Willowhaven Farms has agreed to meet with us.”
Harley’s gaze was shifting between her parents. She knew her father was efficient, so was his staff, but researching farms in under an hour was a push. Harley knew exactly where Willowhaven Farms was. She had ridden in competitions against Camille Doran’s students. She knew it was at least a thousand miles away, deep in the south. In her mind, her father was going to buy this horse, but she would never ride it, at least not for years down the road.
Garrison laid out a file on the center table of the library and pulled out a pen from his breast pocket. His glance motioned for Harley to come closer. When she reached his side, she saw the four-year-old gelding she had been dreaming about endlessly, his coggins, all of his papers.
“You sign here, and he’s yours.”
Harley was speechless. She wanted to ask how he knew or when she could ride him, everything.
Her father let out a deep laugh at her expression. “In order for the Dorans to train you, your horse, you will need to board there. Does that bother you? Are you willing to give up your summer holiday for this?”
“Yes.”
She heard her mother gasp, but she didn’t care. Harley had no desire to go abroad for the summer or on whatever lavish vacation her mother had booked.
“Exactly where is she boarding? In a stall? Garrison, we should discuss this.”
“You are correct. We should have discussed it when the trainer brought this matter to your attention, how advanced Harley was. Instead, I heard of it from one of my colleagues that had seen her ride. You can imagine how shocked I was when I called the school and spoke with her trainer to see what we could do to help Harley aid this passion, only to discover options were already laid out.”
Garrison nodded for his daughter to sign, then looked back at his wife. “Tomorrow, you will fly to Willowhaven Farms. If you find any reason that I would not want Harley to stay there, you will tell me, and then I will fly there myself to see your reasons. If the place is not found lacking, when the semester is over Harley and her horse will be traveling to and staying in Willowhaven for the summer.”