Page 89 of Iron Unicorn

While I waited, I observed the spitfire of a yearling, who indulged in a temper tantrum over containment, bucking as much as she could in the confined space. I chuckled at her antics, not at all blaming her for her attitude.

I’d have an attitude, too, in her position.

Sure enough, the tell-tale black stripe of a grullo marked her back.

Within a few minutes, the vet returned, holding out my cards. “The payments have cleared for the horses and the vetting bill.”

“Grullo, is it?” I asked, regarding the energetic yearling who needed some time out in a pasture to play and be a horse.

“That’s my thought, but I’ll get her registration updated with her actual color as soon as the tests are back. We were told she’s negative on her panels for genetic disorders, but I’m going to do the panel myself so you have a copy. Knowing the dam and sire? She’s probably clean, but I’d rather you have the information if she does have a genetic issue.”

“Much appreciated. Does she have a halter?”

“She came to us bare, but I’ll grab you one. Color preference? We keep the rainbow here.”

“Let’s go with something bright to contrast against her coat. Make her beautiful for me, Aileen.”

The vet chuckled. “Now that I can do. If you’re interested in spending five hundred, I’ve got a Navajo bridle and halter set in autumn colors available that’ll fit her—and I’ve got the same color way in a size up for when she’s done growing.”

“How much for the larger set?”

“Six twenty.”

I handed over the credit card again. “Obviously, I must spoil her.”

“Obviously. I’ll be back with the halter and give your card to Waylon to hold on to until you’re done shopping.”

“That might be a good idea. You better hook me up with a halter and lead lines for the colt and mare while you’re at it.”

“You got it.”

Heaving a sigh, I waited for Aileen’s return so I could at least pretend I was a good example for Eddie and Olivia when in a barn loaded with horses worth writing home about.

* * *

Fortunately for my sanity,the yearling proved to be tractable once I had her in her new halter and on a matching lead line. She accepted my presence readily enough, sticking close and behaving despite the excessive number of stimuli that would send most horses bolting for safety and security.

Within ten minutes, I determined she could be trained to be a stellar example of an RPS horse, and I would be keeping her in New York to be my primary mount as soon as she was cleared to be trained and ridden.

Fifteen thousand was a small price to pay for a bombproof horse.

A flurry of activity at the auction block indicated they had some energetic bidding going on, and I spotted Olivia and Eddie in the crowd armed with numbered sticks. I could only assume one of them had spotted a promising horse, had gotten sucked into the bidding, and would be there the rest of the day. I shook my head at the insanity of it all.

“Good buy,” one of the barn’s staff complimented, and he reached over to reward the yearling with a pat. “I’m Joe, and if you need anything, let me know.”

“Got any broken bombproof horses? I’m in the market for a new one. I was off riding duty for a while, and mine’s out to pasture.”

“I’d heard you got sent to New York, Agent Pattens. What brings you to Texas?”

Damn. Was I that recognizable even when wearing glasses? “I’m accompanying a Montana royal,” I admitted, and I nodded in Olivia’s direction. “I figured since I was here, I may as well start teaching those New Yorkers the joys of horses.”

“I got a bombproof horse that’ll do you justice until that yearling of yours grows up, but I got something even better you might like. I’ve got a lovely young mare fit for a queen, and she’s already started training. She’s 17.1 hands, so she falls outside of breed standards the owner wants, which is why she’s here. They normally want no taller than 16.3.” Joe waved for me to follow him, and I led my new mare through the aisles, careful to keep her on a short lead and away from any horses she might want to pick a fight with. “She’s bred for carriage racing, but she’ll make an excellent pleasure horse. She’s registered, but the owner opted against pursuing harness racing with her due to size. She handles bareback with grace, and while she has a lot left to learn, she’ll be bombproof with some work.”

The blood bay Standardbred he led me to would turn heads, possessed picture perfect conformation, bright eyes, and friendly demeanor. All-in-all, I agreed with his evaluation of her. “And she’s only six grand?”

“Yep. She might make a good recip mare at her size, but the Standardbred breeders don’t want her.”

I took a picture of the young mare and texted it to my queen.

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