Brant's Return

The older stableman grinned, taking my hand and shaking it heartily as he used his other hand to squeeze my shoulder. “Look at you. Heard talk you turned into a bona fide city slicker, but I didn’t know the extent of it.”

I laughed. “How have you been, Gus? How’s Edna?”

“Oh, we’re both fine. Not getting any younger, I suppose, but can’t complain.” He patted my shoulder again. “I?

??m sorry about your dad.” He shook his head. “His diagnosis was a real kick in the gut for all of us. I know you haven’t been back for some time but . . . I imagine for you too.”

“Yeah.” I looked away for a second and when I looked back at him, he was studying me, a knowing look on his craggy, sun-wrinkled face. “You planning on staying awhile?”

“No. I’m actually leaving today.” I cleared my throat. “I was looking for Isabelle before I leave though. I need to talk to her.”

“Isabelle drove into town to pick up your father’s prescriptions. She should be back shortly. I believe she’s planning on working with Scout Leader in the yard.”

“Scout Leader?”

“Horse we’re training for a ranch in Lexington. They prefer to send their wily ones here. We get ’em started on the right foot, and they take over the training in hopes of creating a star.”

“So you do all the hard work, and they eventually get the glory.”

“Essentially.” He laughed. “Isabelle makes it look easy though. A damn fine sight to behold.”

“Huh,” I said, looking at him sideways. “I thought Isabelle was my father’s secretary.”

“Oh, she is, but when your dad noticed how skilled she was with the horses, he wasn’t going to pass up utilizing her talent. Your pop’s many things, but he’s no dummy.” He paused for a second. “I think it’s good for her too, you know? She started coming here for the equine therapy classes, and it seems to me, the horses are still providing that for her, though in a different way.” A shadow passed over his face.

“Equine therapy classes,” I repeated. “When did Graystone Hill start offering those?”

Gus scratched his balding head. “About three years back. Isabelle was in one of the very first classes. She still participates in them as an instructor once in a while.”

“What doesn’t Isabelle do?” I muttered.

Gus smiled and I could see the clear affection for Isabelle in his expression. “Not much, I guess. She’s a gem.”

“What happened to her, Gus? I mean why was she in those classes?”

Sadness passed through his eyes, but he shook his head. “Figure she should tell you about that.”

I nodded, knowing Isabelle wasn’t likely to tell me anything other than to fuck off.

A loud whinny sounded and Gus looked up. “All right, I’m coming, Ms. Impatient.”

I followed him as he started walking toward the horse stalls. “This girl wants to run.”

“Could I take her out, Gus? I’m a little rusty, but I think I can still manage to stay in the saddle.”

Gus looked at me sideways, raising his eyebrows as he took in my jeans and black button-up shirt, eyes landing on my loafers. “In that getup? You sure those duds are meant to get dirty? Dry clean only has no place on a horse, city slicker.”

“Funny.” I couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped my throat. I glanced at my outfit. Buttoned-up blowhard. Hell, I did look ridiculous, like I’d walked out of the pages of a damn catalogue, hoping to be taken seriously by these tough, sun-browned, hard-working men who didn’t know a designer label from a hole in the ground. Nor cared to.

“Didn’t you bring any real clothes?” Gus asked.

Real clothes. “Nope, just these,” I said, but I shot Gus a self-deprecating smile. Okay, I’d grown up on horses. I knew better than to show up in a barnyard this way.

Gus chuckled as he opened the stall, leading the mare out of the pen. “You want to take this girl out for a ride? She’s real gentle. She’ll be easy on you. Buttons, meet Brant.”

The pretty gray horse blew a big gust of breath out of her nose, dancing in place. I rubbed her cheek and she leaned into me. Yeah, she was a sweetheart.

Ten minutes later, I was sitting in the saddle, clicking my heels on her belly as she trotted out of the pen into the pasture beyond.