“A couple months before, if I recall. Your father was great with the horses. He really knew his stuff.”
She shrugged and smiled, not sure what to say. Other than seeing him heading over to the barn or working outside on fences and equipment, she never knew that side of her father.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” he said. “Where have you been the last few years? Away at school? Claude never told me Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood had a daughter.”
Julia swallowed. She didn’t want to lie, but she didn’t want to tell him the truth either. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Sorry. Sure.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “So when was the last time you were around the horses?”
“It’s been a while. I wasn’t allowed in the barn when I was growing up.”
He jerked his head back, his eyebrows raised. “What? Why not?”
She hunched her shoulders against the cold, or maybe it was against her emotions. “Like I said, my mother loved rules. She said it was too dangerous for a young girl to be in the barn, and it was a business not a playground. I’m pretty sure she didn’t want me in there because she thought I’d cause trouble or ruin something.”
Fletcher looked down at his feet as he walked, his brows knitted. “That’s too bad. Most young girls love horses. It would have been good for you.”
She studied him out of the corners of her eyes. What made him think she needed something good for her? Did she look that beaten down?
When they reached the round pen, Claude tipped his cap in her direction. “Morning, Miss Blackwood.”
“Please,” she said. “Call me Julia.”
Fletcher rested one arm on the fence. “So, what do you think?”
Inside the pen, three horses ran back and forth, their tails held high, like black flags in the wind. Their coats shined like oil and their hooves pounded hard on the dirt, making the earth beneath Julia’s feet tremble.
Seeing the horses up close, a memory came to her. She was nine years old and home sick from school. Normally, Mother was always home, but that day she had an important appointment in town. Father was supposed to check on Julia when he came in from the barn around noon, but as usual, he went into his den and locked the doors. When Julia crept down to the kitchen to get something to drink, she looked out the window above the sink and saw a black horse in the garden, trampling the tomatoes and eating the lettuce and carrot tops. She ran to the den to get her father and started to knock on the door, then stopped, her knuckles on the wood. On the other side of the double doors, her father was weeping, his favorite record—“Little White Lies”—turned up loud.
She stood for a moment, sick and scared and not knowing what to do, then hurried back to the kitchen, put on her shoes, and went outside. At the edge of the woods, she picked a bunch of clover, then went over to the garden and slowly approached the horse, her hand outstretched. The horse yanked up its head and snorted, startled by her presence. Talking soothingly, Julia took one step at a time toward it, not making any sudden moves. Finally, the horse took a step forward and nibbled at the pink blossoms in her hand, its soft lips like velvet on her palm. When the horse moved closer, munching the clover and looking down on her with big brown eyes, Julia stepped backward and the horse followed. She kept going until they reached an empty paddock outside the barn, then opened the gate and led the horse through. After putting the rest of the clover on the ground, she shut the gate, went back to the horse, and ran her fingers through its black mane. The horse nickered and rubbed its heavy head against her side, loving the attention.
Overcome by the horse’s show of affection, she wrapped her arms around its muscular neck and pressed her nose into its warm hide. It was the first time she had ever touched a horse and, somehow, it seemed as though she could feel its strength, radiating like the warmth of the sun into her skin. It was like nothing she had ever felt before. On her way back to the house, confusion stirred in her mind. Why would her parents keep her away from such wonderful creatures? It didn’t make sense.
After that encounter, she looked out her bedroom window every day, aching to be with the horses. Once in a while, when Father wasn’t watching and on the rare occasion Mother was out, she snuck over to the fences near the back of the barn. But she only dared stay a few minutes. Sometimes the horses came over to eat clover out of her hand or let her pet them, but other times they were too busy grazing, running, and sleeping. Either way, she was happy just to be near them. When she ran away from home three years ago, the horses were the only things she missed about Blackwood Manor.
Now, seeing these stallions—her stallions—up close, she was surprised to feel the old longing return with such undeniable force. “They’re beautiful,” she said, a lump forming in her throat.
“We have a buyer interested in the black one, and the one with the white blaze,” Fletcher said. “But it’s up to you if you want to sell or not.”
“Not sure if you’re aware,” Claude said, “but your father bred a lot of blue-ribbon winners in his time. Course, it was Mrs. Blackwood who bought the stud that started it all. But these are some of our best stallions yet. All you have to do is say the word and we can keep them and rebuild our reputation.”
Julia had no idea what to do. Her head was spinning with memories and doubts and insecurities. Of course she wanted to keep the horses, but could she really run this farm? Could she really take care of these beautiful animals and make the right decisions for their future? “Umm . . .” she started. Then she noticed Fletcher studying her, as if trying to read her mind, and her face flushed with embarrassment.
Fletcher grinned and turned toward Claude. “Maybe we should give Miss Blackwood a minute to catch her breath,” he said. “After all, she just got here. I know you told the buyer we’d have a decision right away, but the buyer can wait.”
Claude scowled and pushed his thumbs into his belt.
Julia breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at Fletcher to show her gratitude. “Can I have a day or two to think about it? I haven’t decided anything yet, if I’m selling the horses or keeping them. I haven’t even unpacked yet.”
Claude’s frown deepened. “You’re the boss,” he said. “But I’m telling you right now, selling these studs is a big mistake.”