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I make note of where everything goes so I can do it myself next time. If only I would’ve waited on getting my nails done, I could’ve loosened the girth without the help of the surly cowboy who’s still staring at us.

“Holy shit,” Lincoln whispers, his mouth slightly open as he stares at us. “She looks just like you.”

My eyes flit briefly to Hank, noticing not for the first time our similarities. It’s strange to meet this man I share genetics with, but who’s basically still a stranger to me.

Instead of responding to Lincoln’s comment, Hank smacks his palm against his ranch hand’s shoulder as he walks past him, leading Dolly back to her stall. “Lincoln here knows the words to every Dolly Parton song,” he teases, changing the subject. “Even her album with Kenny Rogers. “Islands in the Stream” is his favorite.” Hank winks at me.

Lincoln blinks, registering the sarcastic comment. He narrows his eyes at Hank. “Funny.”

I look away, trying to picture Lincoln singing along to Dolly, but I can’t. “There’s no way he’s a Dolly fan,” I say, finally. “He’s too unhappy. Dolly Parton makes people happy.”

Hank snorts a laugh. “I swear I’m completely serious...well, except for the “Islands in the Stream” part.”

I laugh at the joke, but Lincoln doesn’t.

I follow Hank as he pulls Dolly into her stall and closes the door, then removes her bridle and opens a cabinet across the way to hang it up, along with several others. There’s a bag of apples in the cabinet and he takes one out and feeds it to her.

“Hattie,” Hank says, turning to look at me. “You wanna come check on the mamas with me?” he chews his bottom lip, looking worried that I might say no.

“I’d love to,” I tell him.

I think spending time together today has been much easier for me than it has been for him. But I’ve had weeks to process him being my father—and he’s only had a few hours. I’m grateful our shared love for horses has given us some common ground to start with.

I follow Hank out of the horse barn, where he keeps his personal horses. I’ve discovered that Whispering Pines has four horse barns. One for Hank’s mares, a small barn that holds a stallion, a medium-sized barn that can hold up to four broodmares—that barn includes a foaling stall, which is pretty cool. And then a final barn where broodmares can stay with their foals before they’re ready to be transported to their buyers.

It’s an impressive operation Hank and Otto run here, and I’m fascinated by the inner workings of everything. All morning, I followed Hank and Otto around for a thorough tour of the ranch—Bandit and Bronco joined in, of course. Otto did most of the talking, while Hank was quiet. I’m assuming he was silently grappling with me being here and learning he fathered a child.

As the morning turned into late afternoon, Hank slowly started to loosen up.

We head toward the ATV parked right outside the barn and slide into the small vehicle before he takes off toward the foaling barn. He parks outside the smaller red barn, and we stride towards the door. He opens it for me, and we walk inside the cozy building. The floor is cement instead of dirt, like the barn where his personal horses are kept.

Earlier, Otto showed me the screen in the main cabin where he and Hank can watch the broodmares closely. They even have a birthing sensor, so they know exactly when the birthing begins. I didn’t realize until today that such technology existed. But when a broodmare worth forty thousand dollars is birthing a foal being sold for almost five figures, it’s something they take seriously. Even without the hefty price tag, they seem to truly care about the animals and their well-being.

There are only two broodmares currently living in the foaling barn; Barbara and Anita. Hank opens Barbara’s stall of the first.

We stride into Barbara’s stall, and the pregnant white Appendix Quarter horse flares her nostrils. She looks cranky and uncomfortable. Hank chuckles and moves toward her, scratching her chest with his hands. Barbara closes her eyes like she’s at a spa.

Barbara has a white body with gray spots sprinkled across her torso and a black mane, tail, and hooves. She’s gorgeous.

“How you doing, Mama?” Hank coos. “You’re almost there, just a few more months. I promise.” He stops his scratching and walks a full circle around her. “In January her belly will drop,” he says, looking at me briefly. “When that happens, we know they’ll give birth soon.”

Barbara blows air through her nostrils loudly, like she heard his analysis and is annoyed.

I laugh and he gives Barbara a few more scratches before we leave her in peace and check on Anita.

Anita isn’t as far along as Barbara. She’s a chestnut like Oakley, but her mane and tail are lighter. I walk toward her with Hank, and she nickers.

I run my hand along her plump belly. “Good morning, Anita.” She leans her weight against me, and I lay my head on her back.

Hank smiles at us, almost wistfully, before blinking and clearing his throat. “Looks like Anita isn’t as cantankerous as Barbara yet.”

“Give it a few weeks,” I say, causing him to raise his eyebrows.

“True,” he concedes.

“She reminds me of my mare back home, Oakley.”

He crosses his arms, contemplating. “Does Oakley have a star on her forehead?”