usual, Zoe had pulled her blazing red hair into a braid that ended mid-back. “Were you trying to talk to Mr. Porter again?”
“Yep.”
Zoe’s eyes danced against her porcelain skin. “I’m impressed.”
“Why don’t you talk to him more? You like to chat with people.”
“Sure, I do. But Mr. Porter doesn’t. I answer when he asks mequestions and approach him when I have an issue to discuss. That’s about it. I mean, I’m filled with respect for him and all. But he’s intimidating!”
“Well, I’m going to keep talking to him. It’s good practice for . . . life. Don’t you think?”
“I do think. If I ever work my way up to assistant trainer around here, Mr. Porter will have to put up with a lot more of my talking.” She grinned. “I’m not sure he’d like that. He’ll probably never promote me.”
“He could always send you to his Florida barn. He wouldn’t be able to hear your talking from there.”
Zoe laughed, a young and lighthearted sound.
They’d reached the tack room. Lyndie hopped off and went to work unfastening the saddle while Zoe switched Silver’s reins out for a halter and lead shank. “Mr. Porter wants me to walk him for twenty minutes. Are you going to join me for his bath today?”
“See you there.” Since Monday, Lyndie had spent an extra few hours each day with Silver.
Lyndie finished cleaning the morning’s tack, grabbed a granola bar from the warm room, then met Zoe. The horses’ bathing station had been set up outside a far corner of the barn. A water spigot connected to a wall-mounted hose that looked like a showerhead on a three-foot-long pole. Two buckets held brushes and supplies. The third waited empty, for use during baths.
Lyndie took hold of Silver’s halter and worked on her granola bar. Zoe rubbed the soft oval curry brush into Silver’s back, concentrating on the sweaty area where the saddle had rested.
Zoe was a girl after Lyndie’s own heart. Over the past days, Lyndie had learned that they’d both been horse-crazy youngsters. Both had started volunteering for Thoroughbred trainers as teens. Both had ended up working for Jake.
At the moment, Whispering Creek Horses employed both Zoe and her brother, Zach. The siblings worked in the early mornings and lived at home so that they could afford to take college courses in the afternoons and evenings.
“Did you know that I used to want your job when I was younger?” Zoe asked.
“You did?”
“Yeah. But since I’m not one hundred and fourteen pounds and five four, that didn’t really pan out for me.”
“Exercise riding only panned out for me because my father’s medium-sized and my mom’s tiny.”
“I wish I had a medium-sized dad and tiny mom. Instead, thanks to my parents, I was six feet tall by the seventh grade.”
Lyndie winced. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes.” Zoe switched to a dandy brush that resembled the end of a long broom. Expertly, she moved it in short, fast strokes across Silver’s body. “I was taller than my middle school teachers, even. I was probably the tallest person in the whole building. I started walking around like this”—she curved her back into a C shape and hunched her shoulders—“hoping nobody would notice. It wasn’t that great for my self-esteem. Horses saved me.”
Lyndie understood. Animals had helped her through numerous rough patches. “Did you have any horses of your own?”
“Our family only had one old mare. Her name was Sweetie, and she was in her twenties. I’d talk to her and take care of her and ride her every day. A few times a week at least, I’d have a little sobbing fit on her neck, and she’d make me feel better. I’m guessing you know what I’m talking about.” Zoe raised one copper-colored eyebrow hopefully.
“I know exactly what you’re talking about.”
“You see? This is why I like you. I can tell you stuff and you get me.”
Lyndie tossed the granola bar wrapper in the trash. “I love your height.”
“I
“Yep.”
Zoe’s eyes danced against her porcelain skin. “I’m impressed.”
“Why don’t you talk to him more? You like to chat with people.”
“Sure, I do. But Mr. Porter doesn’t. I answer when he asks mequestions and approach him when I have an issue to discuss. That’s about it. I mean, I’m filled with respect for him and all. But he’s intimidating!”
“Well, I’m going to keep talking to him. It’s good practice for . . . life. Don’t you think?”
“I do think. If I ever work my way up to assistant trainer around here, Mr. Porter will have to put up with a lot more of my talking.” She grinned. “I’m not sure he’d like that. He’ll probably never promote me.”
“He could always send you to his Florida barn. He wouldn’t be able to hear your talking from there.”
Zoe laughed, a young and lighthearted sound.
They’d reached the tack room. Lyndie hopped off and went to work unfastening the saddle while Zoe switched Silver’s reins out for a halter and lead shank. “Mr. Porter wants me to walk him for twenty minutes. Are you going to join me for his bath today?”
“See you there.” Since Monday, Lyndie had spent an extra few hours each day with Silver.
Lyndie finished cleaning the morning’s tack, grabbed a granola bar from the warm room, then met Zoe. The horses’ bathing station had been set up outside a far corner of the barn. A water spigot connected to a wall-mounted hose that looked like a showerhead on a three-foot-long pole. Two buckets held brushes and supplies. The third waited empty, for use during baths.
Lyndie took hold of Silver’s halter and worked on her granola bar. Zoe rubbed the soft oval curry brush into Silver’s back, concentrating on the sweaty area where the saddle had rested.
Zoe was a girl after Lyndie’s own heart. Over the past days, Lyndie had learned that they’d both been horse-crazy youngsters. Both had started volunteering for Thoroughbred trainers as teens. Both had ended up working for Jake.
At the moment, Whispering Creek Horses employed both Zoe and her brother, Zach. The siblings worked in the early mornings and lived at home so that they could afford to take college courses in the afternoons and evenings.
“Did you know that I used to want your job when I was younger?” Zoe asked.
“You did?”
“Yeah. But since I’m not one hundred and fourteen pounds and five four, that didn’t really pan out for me.”
“Exercise riding only panned out for me because my father’s medium-sized and my mom’s tiny.”
“I wish I had a medium-sized dad and tiny mom. Instead, thanks to my parents, I was six feet tall by the seventh grade.”
Lyndie winced. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes.” Zoe switched to a dandy brush that resembled the end of a long broom. Expertly, she moved it in short, fast strokes across Silver’s body. “I was taller than my middle school teachers, even. I was probably the tallest person in the whole building. I started walking around like this”—she curved her back into a C shape and hunched her shoulders—“hoping nobody would notice. It wasn’t that great for my self-esteem. Horses saved me.”
Lyndie understood. Animals had helped her through numerous rough patches. “Did you have any horses of your own?”
“Our family only had one old mare. Her name was Sweetie, and she was in her twenties. I’d talk to her and take care of her and ride her every day. A few times a week at least, I’d have a little sobbing fit on her neck, and she’d make me feel better. I’m guessing you know what I’m talking about.” Zoe raised one copper-colored eyebrow hopefully.
“I know exactly what you’re talking about.”
“You see? This is why I like you. I can tell you stuff and you get me.”
Lyndie tossed the granola bar wrapper in the trash. “I love your height.”
“I
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