Page 49 of Valentine Nook
There’s a reason we’re doing the farrier’s visit at breakfast time—Thunder doesn’t like to miss his breakfast. He’s usually fighting Sherbet to be first in line and into his stable for a bucket of feed, followed by a long nap. But as much as he loves breakfast, hehatesthe farrier.
“You should have called me earlier.”
“Sorry, Your Grace, he’s just gone over to the far field, is all. Jack’s gone out with a headcollar.”
We try to keep the horses contained within designated spaces, but Thunder does what he wants and will jump a fence without a second thought, which makes it all the more inconvenient when he has an appointment.
I run into the stable office, grab the keys for one of the four-wheelers, and take off for the far field at the top of the valley. I’m going so fast, it only takes me ten minutes to reach the place where Will said he’d be. In the distance, I spot Jack, hurrying up the bank to the top of the hill, and hit the throttle.
Jack spins around as he hears the engine, his red cheeks puffing from his unexpected morning jog. Or perhaps his annoyance at a misbehaving horse.
I’ve had Thunder since he was a foal. His father, Zeus, was my father’s favorite horse, and every time I ride him, I feel like I’m closer to my dad. But just like his father, Thunder has a tendency to misbehave, which I find more amusing than Jack does.
“Mornin’, Your Grace.”
“Where is he?”
He taps the binoculars around his neck. “Walking the fence line.”
“But he’s okay?”
“He’s fine. Just bloody stubborn,” he grumbles. “Won’t come in if he doesn’t want to.”
Jack’s ahead of me, so he doesn’t see me smile. Because ifI’mgrumpy, there’s one person who could legitimately be called grumpier than I am, and it’s Jack. Now in his late sixties, I remember him when I was a boy running the stable yard for my father, and even then, his temperament was less than sunny.
But regardless of his mood, everyone loves him. Humans and animals alike. And while he’s less keen on the humans, no one cares for horses more than Jack, even when they’re misbehaving.
As we pass through the final gate and reach the top of the hill, I spot Thunder for the first time. Sure enough, he’s prancing back and forth along the fence line.
“What is he doing?”
When I take the binoculars from Jack for a closer look, it appears that Thunder is absolutely fine—no limp, no sullen posture, no signs of trauma or anxiety—just doing everything he can not to visit the farrier.
It’s as he jumps around that I notice something on the other side of the fence. Or should I say someone.A blond someone.
I don’t know what she’s doing or how she’s found herself there, but if I’m not mistaken, Holiday’s talking to Thunder.
My lips twist, and before I can stop it, a laugh barrels up my throat and belts out. Jack turns to me with a quizzical expression.
“It’s okay. I got this. You take the four-wheeler back, and I’ll bring him down,” I say, holding my hand out for the headcollar.
I approach slowly, taking my time to watch Holiday make her way along the drive with Thunder walking beside her, his glossy black coat shining in the early morning sun. At seventeen and a half hands, he’s a big boy, and as docile as he can be, it’s unusual for him to be quite so enthusiastic about a stranger. But there he is, matching her short strides with his long legs.
I’m wondering how she got here because it’s not an easy road to walk along from the village, when Thunder turns and spots me. His nostrils flare, and he lets out a long whinny, galloping over to me and grinding to a halt just in time to nudge my pockets.
I stroke down the thin white stripe on the bridge of his nose. It’s the only marking he has, like whoever painted him missed a spot.
“You get nothing until after the farrier.”
In response, he puffs out an annoyed snort, then turns and trots back to Holiday, who’s leaning against the fence. A pair ofaviators hang off the neck of her T-shirt, which means I can see her whole face. The edges of her clear blue eyes crease from her smile, but aside from those, her face is devoid of lines.
As I get closer, I notice a constellation of freckles along her hairline and down the rim of her nose, which spills out onto her cheeks.
Once again, I realize how incredibly pretty she is.
I can see exactly why she’s Hollywood’s darling or whatever Miles called her.
“What are you doing here?”
