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“He’s doing good,” says Sovereign.
“Better than when he just jumped aboard,” Westin says. “He’s a lot more cautious this time around.”
“It’s a good colt,” Sovereign muses. “Help him train it right and he’ll have a solid horse for a while.”
There’s a sad note in his voice. I know he’s longing for a horse he clicks with right away too.
“I have a filly from the same sire,” I say. “Black, white socks and a blaze. You should check her out.”
He works his jaw, eyes squinted as he watches River start leading the colt around the paddock. They go slow and steady, taking their time.
“Yeah,” he says. “I might take a look at her.”
“She’s in the barn,” I say. “The back one.”
Sovereign pushes off the fence. “Let’s go on then.”
“You take him,” says Westin. “I’ll make sure River doesn’t get trampled.”
We head through the house, out the back, and past the chicken coop. My hens are scattered through the yard. It’s warm today and they’re splayed out in the shade, sitting in the dusty holes they dig in the tree roots.
The barn is open. I turn on the industrial fan as we pass through the door, heading to the middle stalls. Everything smells sweet and clean. This is the barn where we keep the horses we plan to sell. The working horses stay in the original barn by the front paddock.
I pull open the top half of the stall. “That’s her.”
Sovereign leans past me and his eyes fall on the filly standing with her head hanging out of her window. He puts two fingers to his mouth and lets out a low whistle, quiet enough it won’t spook the horses. The filly swings her head around and blinks, eyes glassy as they fall on him.
“What’s her name?” he asks.
“Allison calls her Sweet Clementine,” I say. “Her dam is Sweet Americana.”
He opens the stall and steps inside. “Sweet Americana is one of Deacon’s mares. She a barrel racer?”
“She’s got the genes for it,” I say. “Sweet Americana could turn on a dime in her day. I think her filly would make a good ranch horse.”
He holds out his hand and waits. The filly throws her head, showing a little fire, but he doesn’t move. It takes a good five minutes for her to take a few steps closer and start sniffing up and down his arm. Finally she pushes her nose into his hand. He runs his touch down her neck, inspecting the white blaze and socks.
“She’s nice,” he says finally. “Anybody tried to ride her yet?”
I shake my head. “I think Westin planned on selling her unbroken. He’s been pretty busy.”
He puts his hands on his hips. “Mind if I take her up to Sovereign Mountain and work with her a bit first?”
“Be my guest,” I say. “If you want, Westin can hitch up the trailer and you can take her today.”
He mulls it over and nods. “Yeah, I might just do that.”
We head back, but before we go, Sovereign gives Sweet Clementine a pat on her shoulder that tells me he has high hopes for this filly. I know it would make Keira happy if he could finally settle on a horse.
He’s been through this before a dozen times. But who knows? Maybe Sweet Clementine can prove me wrong.
Stranger things have happened.
CHAPTER SIX
WESTIN
TWO YEARS LATER
