“Thirty-six regular and four foaling. But this is only a small part of Elk Run.” He led her outside to a large arena and pointed at a building on the opposite side. “My office is over there, if you’d like to see it.”
Rorie nodded, and they crossed to the office. Clay opened the door for her. Inside, the first thing she noticed was the collection of championship ribbons and photographs displayed on the walls. A large trophy case was filled with a variety of awards. When he saw her interest in the computer, Clay explained the system he’d had installed and how it would aid him in the future.
“This looks pretty straightforward,” Rorie told him.
“I’ve been meaning to hire a high-school kid to enter the data for me so I can get started, but I haven’t got around to it yet.”
Rorie sorted through the file folders. There were only a few hours of work and her typing skills were good. “There’s no need to pay anyone. If I’m going to be imposing on your hospitality, the least I can do is enter this into the computer for you.”
“Rorie, that isn’t necessary. I don’t want you to spend your time stuck here in the office doing all that tedious typing.”
“It’ll give me something productive to do instead of fretting over how long it’s taking to get the MG repaired.”
He glanced at her, his expression concerned. “All right, if you insist, but it really isn’t necessary, you know.”
“I do insist.” Rorie clasped her hands behind her back and decided to change the subject. “What’s that?” she asked, gesturing toward a large room off the office. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the arena.
“The observation room.”
“So you can have your own private shows?”
“In a manner of speaking. Would you like to go down there?”
“Oh, yes!”
Inside the arena, Rorie saw that it was much bigger than it had appeared from above. They’d been walking around for several minutes when Clay checked his watch and frowned. “I hate to cut this short, but I’ve got a meeting in town. Normally I wouldn’t leave company.”
“Oh, please,” she said hurriedly, “don’t worry about it. I mean, it’s not as though I was expected or anything. I hardly consider myself company.”
Still Clay seemed regretful. “I’ll walk you back to the house.”
He left in the pickup a couple of minutes later. The place was quiet; Mary had apparently finished in the kitchen and retired to her own quarters, a cottage not far from the main house. Skip, who had returned from helping his friend, was busy talking on the phone. He smiled when he saw Rorie, without interrupting his conversation.
Rorie moved into the living room and idly picked up a magazine, leafing through it. Restless and bored, she read a heated article on the pros and cons of a new medication used for equine worming, although she couldn’t have described what it said.
When Skip was finished on the phone, he suggested they play cribbage. Not until after ten did Rorie realize she was unconsciously waiting for Clay’s return. But she wasn’t quite sure why.
Skip yawned rather pointedly and Rorie took the hint.
“I suppose I should think about heading up to bed,” she said, putting down the deck of playing cards.
“Yeah, it seems to be that time,” he answered, yawning again.
“I didn’t intend to keep you up so late.”
“Oh, that’s no problem. It’s just that we start our days early around here. But you sleep in. We don’t expect you to get up before the sun just because we do.”
By Rorie’s rough calculation, getting up before the sun meant Clay and Skip started their workday between four-thirty and five in the morning.
Skip must have read the look in her eyes, because he chuckled and said, “You get used to it.”
Rorie followed him up the stairs, and they said their good-nights. But even after a warm bath, she couldn’t sleep. Wearing her flower-sprigged cotton pajamas, she sat on the bed with the light still on and thought about how different everything was from what she’d planned. She was supposed to be in Seattle now, at a cocktail party arranged for the first night of the conference; she’d hoped to talk to several of the authors there. But she’d missed that, and the likelihood of attending even one workshop was dim. Instead she’d made an unscheduled detour onto a stud farm and stumbled upon a handsome rancher.
She grinned. Things could be worse. Much worse.
An hour later, Rorie heard a noise outside, behind the house. Clay must be home. She smiled, oddly pleased that he was back. Yawning, she reached for the lamp on the bedside table and turned it off.
The discordant noise came again.
Rorie frowned. This time, whatever was making the racket didn’t sound the least bit like a pickup truck parking, or anything else she could readily identify. The dog was barking intermittently.
Grabbing her housecoat from the foot of the bed and tucking her feet into fuzzy slippers, Rorie went downstairs to investigate.
As she stood in the kitchen, she could tell that the clamor was coming from the barn. A problem with the horses?