Page 42 of Stitched Up in You
The old greenhouse door creaks from years of disuse as I push it aside. The place is empty, a brownish-green color stains the glass walls closest to the ground as earthy smells greet my nose, making me wish I had even an ounce of green thumb.
I glance up at the oval and curve-shaped glass overhead creating the dome-like formation I noticed earlier and my heart trills a little. I bet this place was beautiful once upon a time.
I exit back the way I came, my brows coming together at what can only be the sounds of hoofbeats in the distance.Frank Stein has horses.
A true smile pulls at my lips as excitement thrums in my mid-section. I hurry through the tall grass, following the ruckus. I haven’t ridden a horse since I was a teenager, but I still love them. Grandmother loved to ride just as much as I did. Horses were the one thing we agreed on, and she insisted I go with herevery race she attended. It was the only true hobby we ever had in common.
My grandparents even bought me my own horse and kept me outfitted in all the tack I could handle, but eventually I found riding polo riders far more entertaining than riding horses.
Once she caught me rolling in the hay with more than one horseman in a week, my polo riding hobbies went bye bye.
I round a copse of trees obscuring the view and come to a large field with a wood fence and paddock in front of a large building outfitted with at least three bales of hay, but what captures my attention is the horse.
My mouth drops. “Oh my god, you’re beautiful,” I gasp. Delight thrums in my middle when the black horse’s ears prick up at attention, but he doesn’t shy away.
His great big horsey head homes in on me and I let out a small squeal as he flicks his magnificent tail in response.
Obviously well cared for, the gigantic mammal stands well taller than me, a perfect size for a great big man like Frank Stein who has to be over seven feet tall. The horse’s mane is braided with gold and silver beads that shimmer in the light, and the dark hair at his hooves mark him as likely being a big Percheron.
“My goodness, what a handsome boy you are,” I croon, walking slowly so as to not to scare him as I move toward the big metal fence to see him better.
“Oh my gosh. You have got to be the prettiest horse I’ve ever seen,” I breathe with a little laugh, watching how his hind quarters quiver with power. I’ve seen a lot of horses—he’s amazing.
“Hello,” I say, when it ventures closer to where I stand, several feet from the metal fence.
The horse is huge, so big he’s much taller than the small paddock and could easily become startled and jump it or hurt himself or worse, hurt me.
He knickers and tosses its head, sending streaks of light through its dark as night mane, making it look soft as velvet. I smile and move closer holding out a hand to sniff me, as the horse exhibits all the displays of a well-behaved and very well trained horse.
He’s so big I’m sure I’ll have no problem finding him on some Ascot server, if I can ever get my hands on my phone.
“Hi pretty boy,” I call out as I reach the metal fence, surrounded by the sounds of the grass whistling in the breeze and the horse’s short chuffs as oxygen enters and leaves his nostrils. “My gosh you’re really really big, aren’t you?” I decide he really must be a Percheron, or maybe even a breed of Shire with how tall he stands.
He hangs his massive head low, his black ears flicked forward in an attentive stance as he makes his way toward me, obviously wanting to investigate his new visitor.
I know better than to try and pet an animal I’m not familiar with, but he seems so sweet, like something out of a fairytale, that I don’t hesitate to reach out when he pushes his big snout over the metal fence and let him sniff his fill.
He snorts into my hair, making a happy sound, and I laugh as he moves to nuzzle my cheek, his overgrown nostrils the size of my head it seems like.
A sloppy kiss comes next as the gigantic beast acts more like a puppy than a horse. “How does Frank Stein have such a sweet boy like you, huh?” I ask, rubbing and scratching at his thick mane and the underside of his chin. He snuffles a bit and goes back to nudging me with his big head.
His tail swishes as he whinnies happily and before I know it, I’m losing track of time, playing with probably the biggest horse ever.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” A voice shouts in the distance.
Dread pulls at my gut as I fix my glasses on my nose and twist over the horse’s head to see Frank Stein running up the dirt path near the front of the horse barn near the metal enclosure, wearing a white shirt and black dress pants like he’s fresh from the office.
Jeez, does the guy ever stop working?
“What?” I ask, feeling a frown overtake my face almost immediately.
“Get out of there,” he yells, his expression madder than I’ve ever seen as he continues to run at me.
My hands tighten on the horse, as short as I am, I can barely reach his belly, but I rub one last time and pat the animal. “Ugh, okay. I’m coming, I’m coming. Don’t get your luxury boxers in a twist,” I sigh.
Knowing Frank, he probably has some work for me and must have been super pissed when he didn’t find me in my room.
“Run, damn you!” he yells.
