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better colt.”
    Aunt Peg was like a Labrador with a tennis ball. She just couldn’t let it go.
    â€œThen he probably was the better colt,” I said. Leaning up from the backseat, I looked across at Erin. “Wasn’t he?”
    â€œI don’t know,” she replied. “I wasn’t paying that much attention.”
    â€œAunt Peg doesn’t know either,” I said. “But that’s never stopped her from having an opinion.”
    â€œI may be new to horses,” Aunt Peg told me, “but I do understand the make and shape of a good, useful animal. It has to do with balance, and proportion, and a pleasing blend of parts. The chestnut might have been flashier, but the bay colt was an athlete.”
    â€œEven if that’s true,” I said, “you shouldn’t have butted in.”
    I looked to Erin for support. After a moment, she nodded.
    â€œSomeone had to say something!” Aunt Peg insisted.
    Never mind about the Labrador. Aunt Peg was more like a Bulldog, tenacious and stubborn. And apparently never wrong.
    I supposed there was a bright side. At least we’d made our escape before Billy Gates had had us thrown out.
    â€œYou’re probably glad we don’t visit often,” I said to Erin.
    She turned and flashed me a quick grin. “Not at all. Most days are pretty routine around here. It never hurts to shake things up a bit.”
    â€œMy sentiments exactly,” said Aunt Peg. She sounded very pleased with herself.
    So help me, I wish I’d kicked her when I had the chance.

Chapter 6
    E rin drove us back to the farm’s office and dropped us off in the small parking lot out front. I was sure she heaved a sigh of relief as she drove away and left us behind. Aunt Peg headed into the building where Ben Burrell was waiting for her. I hurried over to the minivan where I’d left Faith.
    As I approached, I heard the sound of a sharp whine through the van’s half-open window. Wounded censure, Standard Poodle-style. I deserved the rebuke. When we’d left earlier, I hadn’t realized that we’d be gone for so long.
    A second later, Faith’s head popped up into view. Her long muzzle pushed out through the slender opening. Her tail was wagging so hard that her whole body undulated with delight. She woofed softly under her breath.
    â€œI know, I’m sorry.” Quickly I slid the door open. Then I climbed onto the seat and gathered the big Poodle into my lap. “That was all my fault.”
    Faith tipped her head back and gave me a look that was easy to read. I know that, she said.
    As usual, my Poodle and I were in perfect agreement.
    I was still sitting in the backseat of the minivan half an hour later when Aunt Peg emerged from the office. Faith’s long, warm, body was draped across my lap. My arms looped around her neck. Her head angled upward so that her muzzle rested in the crook of my shoulder.
    â€œYou baby that dog,” Aunt Peg said with a snort as she climbed into the driver’s seat.
    As if that was a bad thing.
    â€œYou’re just jealous that you didn’t bring along a Poodle of your own,” I told her.
    Aunt Peg harrumphed under her breath, but she didn’t disagree.
    When we reached the outskirts of Louisville, I took out my phone and called Bertie. She had left Connecticut very early that morning, which meant that she should be arriving soon. If Bertie was almost here, I figured I’d have Aunt Peg drop me off at the Expo Center rather than to going back to the hotel.
    â€œHey, it’s me,” I said when Bertie picked up. “Where are you?”
    â€œAlmost done,” she replied.
    â€œDone what?”
    â€œUnloading. Setting up. I got in early and I’m finishing up at the Expo Center now.”
    I sat up straight. Jostled to one side, Faith exhaled a sigh of protest. I resettled her and frowned into the phone.
    â€œWhat do you mean ‘finishing up’?