Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
It wasn’t lost on me that Fiona had the very same historical home back in Ireland, showcasing how very similar our backgrounds were. The difference being, Blackburn Farms wasn’t a prison to me the way Glenhaven was to Fiona.
But today, none of that mattered.
I was back in the fold of my family, working with my dad until school started in a few weeks.
I stood at the edge of the training ring, the dew still shimmering on the bluegrass beyond the fence. Dad stood in the center, one hand steady on a lunge line attached to a saddlebred colt, the other hand relaxed but ready with a long training whip. The sunrise painted the sky in pale pink and gold, casting long shadows over the white-fenced paddocks that stretched across the farm. In the distance, I heard the low nickers of mares and foals waking up in the pasture and the faint rumble of a feed cart from the main barn.
Normally, this scene would’ve filled me with pride and peace—our family’s land coming to life for another day—but this morning, my heart wasn’t in it.
Dad noticed. He always did and was worried about me as he glanced over his shoulder. “Bring your mind back here, son,” he called gently, clicking his tongue as the colt pranced at the end of the line. “Easy now… that’s it.” His voice was calm and deep, a voice that had guided both horses and children for decades on this farm.
I dragged my focus back to the present, watching the young chestnut circle him. The colt’s copper coat glistened with a light sweat as he moved in controlled circles, hooves thudding rhythmically on the packed dirt. Dad had him in a steady trot now, the lunge line taut but yielding as the youngster tested the limits.
I watched from the fence rail, resting my arms across the top. “He’s looking good,” I remarked, though my voice lacked its usual enthusiasm.
The colt tossed his head, showing off a white star on his face, but obeyed Dad’s gentle command to “Whoa.” Dad softened the line, and the colt slowed to a walk.
“He’s a quick learner,” Dad agreed. He glanced over at me, his gaze sharp beneath the brim of his sweat-stained hat. “That’s Nitro’s colt, isn’t it? Out of Marigold?”
“Yeah,” I confirmed. I remembered when Marigold foaled this little guy two springs ago. I was still in high school, waking up every two hours that night to check on her. Those were never hardships because watching a new being come into this world, all scrawny and clumsy, was one of the highlights of my life.
The memory made my chest ache, and I must have drifted off again because Dad cleared his throat pointedly.
He gave the colt a moment’s rest, walking him in a smaller circle. “Got a lot on your mind, Tommy?” he asked, keeping his tone casual. But I could hear the concern underneath it.
“I guess,” I said quietly. There was no use hiding it. My mood had been written on my face for days.
Dad clucked to the colt and sent him out again, switching direction on the circle. The young horse flicked an ear toward him, then obeyed, trotting the opposite way. “Thinking about Fiona?”
Dad knew the answer to that question already, but he only asked to give me an out in case I didn’t want to talk about it. Hearing her name, I sighed and nodded, leaning against the fence. “Yeah,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. Saying it out loud made the sting of her pushing me away fresh again. I swallowed hard and focused on the colt’s steady circuit rather than the pity I expected to see from my dad.
For a moment, all I heard was the swish of the lunge line and the birdsong coming from the oak trees by the barn. Dad didn’t say anything immediately, just continued guiding the horse through a few more laps, and I knew he was chewing something over in his mind. Patience was something he had taught me with horses—and people—and he was showing it now.
Finally, he spoke up, loud enough to be heard over the colt’s footfalls. “I’m sorry, son.” His voice was sincere. “I know that hurts and I wish I had some sound advice for you.”
I nodded, kicking at a clump of dirt by my boot. “Yeah.” My throat tightened, and I forced myself to take a slow breath of the cool air. The familiar scents of leather, horse sweat and fresh-cut hay rode on the breeze, usually comforting, though today they only reminded me of mornings I had spent with Fiona at Glenhaven.
Dad let out a sympathetic grunt. “You need to have faith, Tommy. Anything could happen.”
Maybe. But I wasn’t sure how it could work out for me. I knew Fiona sent me away so that I’d remain safe from her father’s wrath, but her driving force was really to save Siobhan. While I knew Fi loved me, she loved her sister more and that didn’t offend me in the slightest. I admired her for her stance, but it didn’t mean her choice hadn’t hurt.