Page 16 of All We Thought We Knew
We stood in silence, watching Moonlight wander off to nibble at a patch of grass.
“I had a good offer from Brooks Farm to breed her with their stallion, Sir Admiral,” he finally said. “They lowered the stud fee and want to buy the foal if it’s a colt.”
I glanced over to find Dad’s attention still on the horse. His words were measured in the careful way he always spoke. Never full of emotion and passion, like me, or with humor and ease, like Mark.
He leaned his forearms on the top fence rail and squinted in the sunlight, causing even more wrinkles to appear on his weathered face. “We always planned to breed her. She comes from good stock. Her offspring will fetch top dollar.” After another stretch of silence, he said, “You can take her out. Just go slow and easy.” Then he turned and walked away.
A long breath pushed past my lips.
I knew I was acting immature. I’d wanted to be taken seriously since I was a kid, but how could I expect anyone, especially my father, to treat me like an adult when I acted like a petulant child?
I decided to hold off on the ride and climbed up and sat on the fence. Moonlight glanced at me, but when I didn’t call her over, she continued to graze.
My eyes traveled her sleek, strong body.
I had to admit it made sense that she would be bred now that she was old enough. Her sire, Glory’s Blaze, had an impressive pedigree, as did her dam, Midnight Pride. If I were honest, my annoyance at finding she’d been bred came more from the fact that I’d wanted to choose the sire myself. Before Mark died, I’d started to research stallions, some as far away as Colorado. With Moonlight’s chestnut coat and lineage, I’d hoped to find a sire that would produce an offspring with buckskin coloring.
A pang of guilt ran through me.
Was it Dad’s fault that I’d disappeared for a year? I’d still be in California if I hadn’t been summoned home. The business of raising and selling horses had to continue, whether I was present or not.
I glanced at the green-roofed stables behind me.
Dad mentioned the sire, Sir Admiral, came from Brooks Farm, a well-run Tennessee walking horse operation north of Shelbyville. I couldn’t remember if that particular horse was on my list of possible sires, but now my curiosity was piqued. What was his coloration? Did his pedigree include names of horses I would recognize?
There were two ways to get the information I sought. Ask Dad, or look in the records stored in the office, located at the back of the stables. Since the latter seemed the path less likely to create conflict, I hopped down off the fence and hurried in that direction.
The stable door sang out as I entered, but a quick glance down the long aisle of horse stalls told me I was alone. I crept to the office. Even though I’d been here too many times to count through the years, I had a feeling of trespassing where I didn’t belong.
In the office, I pulled open the top drawer on a four-drawer filing cabinet wedged between the desk and the wall. Various ledgers were stored here. Sales and purchases. Supplies. Employee information. But there was only one I needed now. A familiar thick black binder. Using both hands, I took out the book thatheld the names and information of every horse associated with Delaney Farm since before Dad married Mama. Stallions. Mares. Foals. Sires and dams. I used to love reading through the names, picturing the horses in my mind. As a girl, I dreamed of working alongside Dad in the family business. I had big plans for the farm in those days.
But then everything changed.
He and I couldn’t get along, while he and Mark grew closer. They’d talk about football and things I had no interest in, and Mark started spending more and more time with Dad instead of with me. I resented it. Resented my own father for taking my brother away from me. I once tried to explain this to Clay. He was older and known in our hippie community for having wisdom, and I respected his opinion. But when I claimed my dad was the reason Mark was dead, Clay wouldn’t have it.
“It sounds like you were jealous of their relationship,” he’d said, while smoke from a joint swirled around his head. “Your brother needed his dad to help him become a man, but you wanted to keep him all to yourself.”
The recollection didn’t improve my current mood.
I flipped open the ledger. Handwritten notations filled the pages. Although individual files were kept on each horse, the ledger told the history of Delaney Farm. I would have enjoyed reading through the many names and reminiscing, but I wasn’t sure when Dad might come back. I didn’t want to be caught prowling through things that may not be my business anymore.
I’d just landed on the page with the information on Sir Admiral when I heard a door shut and a low whistle come from somewhere in the building. Should I remain where I was and risk getting caught? The whistling grew louder. I recognized the tune—“Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond. Since Dad wasn’t into popular music, I doubt he’d know it.
Sure enough, Nash appeared in the doorway.
The whistling stopped.
His brow rose. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were in here.”
I’m sure I had guilt written across my face. I gave a shrug. “I wanted to find out more about Sir Admiral.”
He nodded toward the desk. “Find what you’re looking for?”
“Yes.” I glanced back to the ledger. “This says he’s a bay sabino Appaloosa. That’s surprising. His coloring isn’t what I expected Dad would want in a sire.”
“He’s a beautiful animal.”
I looked up. “You saw him?”
