Page 57 of Deadly Revenge

He wanted to play hard to get. She put her forefinger and thumb to her lips and whistled. Abruptly the horse’s demeanor changed, and while he didn’t trot over to her, he did walk. At least the months she’d worked getting him to come when she whistled worked. She slipped the halter on. “You’ve been a bad boy.”

He nudged her with his head.

“Don’t try to make up now.” She patted his sleek black neck.

“How’d you do that?” Kirk asked.

“By whistling ... and hours of working with him.”

She led Ace to the barn with Kirk following. He peeled off at the gate.

“Granddad said I could ride my four-wheeler once Ace was up.”

“Go ahead, and thanks for calling.”

Max met them at the entrance to the barn.

“Impressive,” he said as they walked by.

She blew on her fingers and rubbed her shirt.

“Not that impressive.”

Jenna laughed, hooked Ace in the crossties, and grabbed a hoof pick.

Max rubbed his forehead. “Beautiful horse.”

“Thank you.” She cleaned each hoof and then grabbed a brush and ran it down Ace’s sleek ebony neck. The horse nuzzled her hand. “Sorry, no carrot yet.”

“What is he, sixteen hands?”

Jenna eyed Max. “You’re close. Sixteen-two.” Most people didn’t typically know horses were measured in hands—four-inch increments—from the ground to the withers at the base of the mane. “How did you know?”

He studied her. “What part of ‘I grew up on a place like this’ did you not believe?”

What was wrong with her? Max had never given Jenna reason to doubt him. But then neither had Phillip. “Sorry, force of habit.”

“So I’ve noticed,” he said quietly.

An uncomfortable silence followed until Ace nudged her with his nose then stamped his foot. “You want exercise, don’t you, boy. Just give me a minute.”

“You’re not riding now, are you? You’ve had a long day.”

“I feel fine, and if I don’t work off some of Ace’s energy, he’ll kick the wall half the night. I won’t ride long, just enough to tire him a little.”

Max looked as though he wanted to say more, but he turned to the horse instead. “He looks like a warmblood. Hanoverian?”

“No, Dutch Warmblood. He was given to me.”

“Really? How did that happen?”

Jenna brushed Ace’s neck again. “My uncle was good friendswith the owner, Hank Thomas—they served in the Gulf War together and stayed in touch even though Hank lived in Chattanooga. When he had a stroke, Sam recommended that he let me take over the horse’s care, which included riding—this was after I recovered from the shooting. It saved my sanity.

“Unfortunately, Hank never recovered enough to ride again, but sometimes he came out to the barn to watch us work dressage tests. When he died, he stipulated in his will that Ace went to me, and I brought him with me when I came home.”

“That was nice of him,” Max said. “Is your uncle still a trainer?”

Jenna nodded. “He works at another barn here in Pearl Springs, training young riders.”

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