“May I help you?” Julia said.
The man spun around and took the toque from his head. “Sorry,” he said. “You caught me daydreaming. I’m Fletcher.” He grinned and thrust out a hand. “Fletcher Reid. I’m here to see Miss Blackwood.”
He was tall and lean and looked to be in his late twenties, with a square jawline and chocolate-colored eyes. His short, sandy hair stuck out in all directions above his tanned, rugged face.
She shook his hand. His handshake was sturdy, his skin rough. “I’m Miss Blackwood,” she said.
His brows shot up. “You’re the new owner?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re so . . . so . . .”
Heat rose in her cheeks. “I know. I’m too young to own this place.”
His face filled with instant regret. “Oh. No, I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. Please forgive me.” He glanced over his shoulder as if plotting a quick getaway, then gave her a broad smile. “Um . . . can we start over?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Sure.”
He shook her hand again. “I’m the vet.”
She hesitated, surprised. For some reason, she expected the veterinarian to be old, like Claude, with a bristled face and age-spotted hands. She couldn’t have been more wrong. He looked like one of the surfers she used to watch on Long Island. “Pleased to meet you,” she said. “I’m Julia.”
“Pleased to meet you too, Julia. Claude and I were wondering if you’d come over to the barn and take a look at the horses.”
“Me?”
He nodded.
“Is something wrong? Because I don’t—”
“No, it’s nothing like that. A buyer is interested in a couple of our, I mean your, stallions. We were wondering if you wanted to sell or not.”
She frowned. Why were they asking her to make decisions already? She had just arrived and didn’t know the first thing about horses. “I don’t know... I . . .” She groaned inside. Suddenly, she couldn’t string two words together. He’s going to think I’m an idiot. “Whatever you think will be best for the farm. I trust you and Claude to make the right decision.”
“All right,” he said. “I know what Claude is thinking, but he said we had to ask you first. Are you sure you don’t want to come and take a look? They’re some of our best stallions yet. Perfect specimens from Blackwood Farm’s most famous lineage. When you see them, you’ll know what I mean.”
She thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. There was no harm in looking, and she had to go over to the barn sooner or later, not to mention she needed to ask Claude how to turn up the furnace. “Okay.”
“Better grab your coat,” he said. “It’s a cold one out there today.”
She opened the door wide and stepped back. “Please, come in and stay warm while I get it.”
He entered the mudroom, closed the door behind him, and waited with his hat in his hand at the edge of the kitchen while she went to get her coat. “Nice house,” he called after her. “It’s got a great kitchen.”
She grabbed her coat from the foyer closet and hurried back to where he stood. “You’ve never seen it?”
He shook his head. “Mrs. Blackwood was an odd duck. She never allowed us inside. If we needed something we had to call on the barn phone.”
She pushed her arms into her coat and buttoned it up. “That sounds about right. My mother loved rules.”
He grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t realize the former owner was your mother. I thought she was a long-lost aunt or something.”
She smiled. “Don’t worry. If anyone knows how odd my mother was, it’s me.” She started to take her crocheted beanie out of her coat pocket but changed her mind. It was dirty and the edge was starting to unravel. Then she realized her coat wasn’t in much better shape. If Fletcher and Claude knew how she’d been living the last three years, they’d never take her seriously. She stuffed the beanie back in her pocket, at the same time realizing she couldn’t go over to the barn wearing Keds. She quickly scanned the mudroom for something to wear and, for the first time since her return, noticed Mother’s barn boots in their usual spot beneath the bench. She slipped off her sneakers and pushed her feet into the rubber boots as if she’d done it a hundred times, despite the fact that they were two sizes too big. Somehow, it felt wrong to put them on. She stood and did her best to ignore the hollows and lumps in the soles, misshapen from years of wear and tear beneath Mother’s bunioned feet.
“Claude didn’t tell you I was Coralline’s daughter?” she said, trying to act calm and composed.
“If there’s one thing about Claude,” Fletcher said, “it’s that he does his job and keeps his mouth shut. He never breaks the rules or gets into anyone’s business.”
“Well, that’s good to know. So why didn’t you call me on the barn phone?”
“It was disconnected after your mother, mean, Mrs. Blackwood, passed. Claude didn’t see any reason to have it working again until you arrived.”
She started toward the door. “Makes sense to me. I’ll call and have it connected again.”
He grinned, put on his toque, opened the door, and held it for her. They left the house and she walked beside him toward the barn, her hands in her pockets. Her hair whipped in her eyes, and a cold wind made her nose run, making her wish she’d worn her hat despite its appearance. Maybe later she’d find a more suitable coat and hat in the house, until she could buy new ones anyway.
Unfazed by the harsh wind, Fletcher turned his face to the sun and strode across the lawn, scanning the distant horizon. Then he turned his head and smiled at her, as if going out to the barn together was something they did every day. Unlike Julia, who hated awkward silences and always tried to fill them with conversation, he seemed completely at ease with the silence between them. Somehow, walking side by side was enough.
Then again, she didn’t like small talk either, so she was glad he wasn’t commenting on the weather or landscape. Life was too big and too short and too important to talk about the lack of rain or the latest gossip. She wanted to know how people felt about themselves and one another, whether they were happy or sad. She wanted to know what made them feel loved and what hurt them to the core. She wanted to know about their past, how they got where they were, and their relationships with their mothers and fathers and siblings. She wanted to know if she was the only mixed-up person in the world who felt completely and utterly alone. But she couldn’t ask Fletcher about any of those things, and she had to say something.
“How long have you worked at Blackwood Manor?” she asked.
“I don’t just work here. I work at farms all over the county.”
“Of course,” she said. Maybe sometimes it’s better to keep your mouth shut. “Well, how long have you been the vet here?”
He twisted his mouth to one side, thinking. “Around three years, I think.”
“So you started right after my father died.”