Fear Of Falling. Catherine Lanigan
going to happen. There’s just me and Mica now to run things. That leaves no time for you or for training. Maybe it would be best if I sold you to someone who could do you justice.”
Rowan stood stock-still and leveled his eyes at Rafe.
Rafe rubbed his forehead. “I must be losing it. I wouldn’t do that. I promise. In the long run, you may not like staying with me, but I won’t abandon you.” He put his arm around Rowan and then placed his face against the horse’s neck. Rafe exhaled so deeply he thought he might have expunged all the sorrow and guilt inside him. But when he inhaled again, he felt the same painful barbs clinging to his ribs. Maybe he deserved it.
It was his fault his father was dead.
Just as his dark thoughts were about to overwhelm him, Curt Wheeling came through the door carrying a bucket of feed and a plastic jug of water on his right shoulder. Curt was wearing his familiar plaid wool jacket, faded jeans, Western boots and brown work gloves. He had a horse brush sticking out of his jacket pocket and a red bandanna hanging out of his back pocket like a warning flag.
“Hi, Curt,” Rafe said, releasing Rowan’s neck and swiping his hands over his face to clear any evidence of tears.
“Rafe. Thought you’d be up at the main house.” He put the bucket down and squinted. His bushy gray eyebrows crept together until they were almost a single shelf across Curt’s forehead. “Why aren’t you with your friends and brothers?”
“I needed to get away in the worst way,” Rafe said. Clearly, it was a night for confession.
Pursing his lips, Curt replied, “I understand.” He lowered his head and picked up the tin bucket. “Gotta feed Pegasus. Your mom said she wants to ride in the morning.”
Rafe looked at Rowan. “Yeah?”
“Capital idea if you ask me. Nothing gets the cobwebs out like a ride.”
“Cobwebs?”
“Yeah. Those sticky echoes of all the ‘should haves’ and ‘would haves’ that death brings around.”
“You sound like you know about this kind of...feeling.”
Curt walked to the next stall where Gina’s purebred gray Arabian mare stood. Pegasus was only fourteen point three hands high, just barely making it past the cutoff that distinguished a pony from a horse, but she was regal and strong-boned.
There were three other Arabian horses on the farm: Rocky, the black stallion his father rode, Gabe’s chestnut, Merlot, and Mica’s bay, Misty. Angelo preferred Arabians because they could carry a heavier ride, possessed great endurance and were suited to many types of riding. Thanks to centuries of domestication, Arabians were willing to please, good-natured and quick to learn.
Rafe opened the stall door for Curt and helped him with the water. Curt filled Pegasus’s feed sack while Rafe snatched the brush from the trainer’s jacket pocket.
Running his hands over the mare’s smooth white coat, he cooed and spoke softly. Rafe wasn’t aware of what he said exactly, but Pegasus stretched her neck and laid her head across Rafe’s shoulders.
Curt stood up and laughed. “I gotta say, Rafe, you have a way with the ladies.”
“Aw, Pegasus was my first girlfriend. Weren’t you, girl? She’ll always be my number one.”
Pegasus raised her top lip in a grin.
“See?” Rafe turned to Curt. “She knows I’m her guy.”
Curt slapped Rafe on the back. “She’s a good friend to you, Rafe. She wants to make you happy. Ease your pain. That’s what friends are for.”
Rafe put his hand on Curt’s shoulder. “Like you’re doing for me now. That about it?”
“Trying,” Curt admitted. “So, besides missing your pappy, there’s something else eatin’ at you. What is it?”
Rafe looked up at Pegasus. “The horses. Rowan, specifically. With Dad gone, I won’t have time to train him, and he still needs work before we can even think about the Blue Grass Stakes.”
“That’s weeks from now. I’ll double my time with him. We’ll run him at night.”
“Without lights? He could injure himself.”
Curt scratched his head. “I thought of that. Know that old generator your Pappy bought several years back? We never did hook it up to the house. What say I get some light bars, set them on a couple tractors and position them around the track? I could light it up like a carnival.”
“It might work.” Rafe rubbed his chin with the back of his hand.
“I was thinking, too, that maybe we should lower our sights a bit. Try to get Rowan used to running real races. Maybe something a little more...small-town.”
“What are you getting at, Curt?”
“In a few weeks there’s a charity horse race here in Indian Lake. Only a five-hundred-dollar purse. Most winners give the money back.”
“Money’s not the issue. Running Rowan is.”
Curt snapped his finger. “Just what I was thinking!” He smiled broadly at Rafe.
For the first time since Rafe had held his dying father in his arms, unable to save him, he felt release. A lightening of the guilt that had weighed him down like a lead vest. It was only a local horse race, probably thought up by some bored socialite who wanted her name at the top of a brochure. But whatever the reasons, it was happening, and it was happening here. They had an opportunity to run Rowan and see what he could do.
Rafe couldn’t get his father back, but if he could train Rowan well enough to enter him in the Blue Grass Stakes, there was a chance, small as it was, that Rafe could fulfill the dream Angelo had held most dear.
The Kentucky Derby. It was a long shot, but weren’t all dreams supposed to be impossible?
Rafe opened the door to Pegasus’s stall and held it for Curt. “Tell me more about this Indian Lake race, Curt.”
“I’ve got a brochure over in the bunkhouse.”
“Let’s check it out together.” Rafe approached Rowan one last time for the night. He hugged his horse.
“Don’t give up on me, boy. We just might make it yet.”
OLIVIA LOADED THE last of her chafing dishes, trays and plates into her van. Her mother had already taken home the first load of glassware, linens and dinnerware that Gina had rented from them.
Olivia had stayed behind to make sure they had cleaned everything thoroughly and that none of the dishes were left in any of the rooms. Partygoers were notorious for dropping silverware on the floor and kicking it under a skirted chair or sofa. Many times, she’d found wineglasses on bookshelves or windowsills. She also checked all the potted plants. It was amazing what could be found in the philodendrons. After more than a decade catering funerals, weddings and countless other functions, Olivia could spot a missing teaspoon from yards away.
Several guests were still lingering in the den playing cards, talking and using every excuse not to be alone with their sorrow. She refilled water and coffee cups for Maddie, Nate, Gabe and Liz. Liz yawned and put her head on Gabe’s shoulder. He slipped his arm around her and looked at Olivia. “I think I’ll put my girl to bed.”
“Are you driving home tonight?”
Liz opened her eyes. “We’re staying in Gabe’s old room for the weekend in case Gina needs us. Nate’s got surgery in the morning, and Maddie has to be at the café for the early customers. Grampa said he’ll drive back, though I worry about him at this time of night.”
“He’ll