He turned away and headed to the far end of the barn. ‘Buttercup’s down here. I’d be glad of your opinion, Josh.’
The mare at the centre of all this fuss was standing in a large clean stall, her head drooping to the floor. Her fur—Did horses have fur? Or was it hair?—was a deep red. Beautiful, in fact. The other remarkable thing about her was her size.
‘She’s enormous,’ she said, staying out in the aisle when the two men let themselves in the stall. There was no way she was getting into that confined space with such a gigantic animal.
‘Thoroughbred,’ Tom said.
Josh gave her a smile. ‘What Tom’s trying to say is she’s a racehorse. The other horses in here are workhorses, and they’re built for endurance, not speed, so they’re short and stocky. Buttercup here is something else entirely.’
He turned away to the horse, ran his hands over her sides, down her legs to her hooves. ‘She’s beautiful, Tom. I can see why you think she’s special. How long have you had her?’
‘Not long. She was already in foal when she arrived.’
‘I’ll take some blood, check there’s nothing sinister going on.’ He swung his hand down under the horse’s bulging belly and smiled. ‘Foal’s kicking like a champion, Tom.’
Tom grunted. ‘I’ll save my cigar for after the birth.’
Josh stood up and the horse butted her muzzle into his shoulder. ‘You mind if I call her previous owner? Maybe she’s missing someone. Her old groom, her old stablemate perhaps. These thoroughbreds aren’t called high maintenance for nothing.’
‘That’s a great idea.’ Tom pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped its screen. ‘I’ve sent the number to you. Flick Taylor, she’s English, and as stroppy as she is successful, but she cares about her horses. If she’s got any ideas, she’ll share them.’
‘Great. I’ll take the blood samples then they’ll need to go in the fridge while we ride. You still okay with lending us two of your trail horses?’
Tom nodded. ‘Bridget will saddle them up for you. Make sure you call into the house on your way home, though. Mrs LaBrooy got wind you were headed this way, and she’s had ovens burning ever since.’
‘Will do. You ready, Vera?’
She was as ready as she’d ever be. Which wasn’t saying much, as just standing in a stable with a four-foot timber wall between her and a horse was making her nerves fray. She tried to ignore the queasy feeling in her stomach and followed Josh out of the barn.
Peace. That’s not what she’d expected to find on the back of a horse on a steep trail ride through the upper slopes of the mountain the locals called Old Regret. But undeniably, she felt more at peace in this moment than she had since—well—as long as she could recall.
The late morning sky was so blue and deep it shimmered to purple behind distant mountain peaks. Leaves crunched under hooves, horse-breath huffed into the crisp air … her senses felt alive, carried along on the lush scents of the long native grasses.
How had she not known such beauty existed?
Josh rode up beside her, looking romance-novel perfect in his checked shirt and battered akubra. ‘Glad you came?’
She flashed him a smile. ‘So glad.’
‘There’s a waterhole not far from here that should be running with all the early snowmelt we’ve had—maybe ten minutes further—and the track takes us past a grove of wild lavender. I wouldn’t mind picking some for Buttercup.’
‘You give flowers to horses?’ Odd, but sweet.
He winked. ‘Whatever works. Lavender is a proven relaxant, and horses have an excellent sense of smell. We hang a bunch in Buttercup’s stall, who’s to say it won’t help her settle down?’
Hmm. Perhaps she could pick a sprig for herself.
‘Only, the track’s a little steep. You up for it?’
She rested a hand on Calypso’s neck. ‘You hear that, my sweet? Josh has doubts about our trail-riding skills.’
The little horse the stablehand had saddled for her was not the plunging, frothing, rearing stallion she’d envisaged the whole drive out here to Ironbark Station. Instead, she was a black-and-white pony with kind eyes and a broad back who could have carried a toddler safely through these mountain trails.
Josh looked down at her feet in their ratty sneakers. ‘It’s not Calypso I’m worried about.’
Was he worried on her behalf? God, how sweet that sounded. But Josh was that kind of guy. All the more reason why she had to nip this … whatever this was … in the bud before he got caught up in the worries she had ahead of her.
‘Lead on, Cody.’