"But you understand his world. Help with negotiations, I'm sure. Make connections." He shifts his weight. "That's valuable in its own way."
I move to examine the mare's legs, running my hands carefully down each one, feeling for heat, checking the joints. "I suppose."
"And Trigger, he's in rodeo? That must create interesting dynamics between your families."
"He's not in rodeo," I correct, my hands continuing their methodical examination. "He knows how to ride a bull, but his family breeds Thoroughbreds. Like mine." I pause, feeling the slight heat in the mare's left hind fetlock. "That's actually part of the problem between our families."
There it is again, that studying quality to his questions, like he's trying to piece something together.
"Our families have their differences. We make it work."
"Competing breeding operations. That must be complicated."
"It can be." I move to the mare's abdomen and palpate carefully. At seven months, the foal should be easily felt. "How long have you had her?"
"She was born here. Offspring of one of our prized stallions." There's genuine affection in his voice when he looks at the mare. "She's been part of our family since the beginning. One of our best."
I nod, continuing my examination. "She's beautiful. Excellent conformation."
"How large is Trigger's operation?" Rohan asks, shifting topics. "Compared to yours?"
I glance at him as I pull out a portable ultrasound. "Why do you want to know?"
"Just curious. Mother is always interested in successful breeding programs. Maybe there's room for this to be more than just a land use agreement." He shrugs, but his eyes are sharp. "What about your family? How many generations have you been breeding?"
"Just one," I say, moving the ultrasound wand over the mare's abdomen, searching for the foal. "Well, technically, our land has been in the family for three generations, but we've only been breeding for one. When my father married my mother, theland was a farm. They grew flowers and food, but my father had big ideas and converted the land into a ranch."
The silence that follows is heavy. When I glance at Rohan, his expression has changed. There's something razor-sharp in his focus now.
"Your mother's family," he repeats slowly. "What was her maiden name?"
The question sends a chill down my spine, though I can't explain why. Maybe it's the way he's looking at me. Maybe it's the sudden shift in his demeanor. Or maybe it's just that I'm on edge after this morning with Trigger, reading into things that aren't there.
"Why does it matter?" I ask, trying to keep my tone light.
"It doesn't. I'm just curious." But his posture has changed, and there's an intensity in his gaze that wasn't there seconds ago. "Please. Indulge me."
The foal's heartbeat shows up on the screen, strong and steady, and I focus on it, using the examination as an excuse not to look at him.
"Fairfield," I say finally. "My mother's maiden name is Fairfield. The estate has been in the Fairfield family for three generations before my parents married and my father took over managing the land."
Silence fills the space, and I look up from the screen to find Rohan's face has gone carefully blank. Not surprised, not shocked, just blank in a way that suggests he's working very hard to control his expression. His jaw is tight, and I can see a muscle ticking in his cheek.
"Fairfield," he repeats, his voice quieter now.
"Yes." I turn back to the ultrasound, suddenly uncomfortable with the weight of his stare. "Is something wrong?"
"No. Nothing's wrong,” he says, though his tone says otherwise.
"I'm almost done."
"Good." He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture that mirrors Trigger so exactly it's almost jarring. "I'll wait outside. Let you work."
Before I can say anything else, he's gone, the stall door clicking shut behind him. I stand there for a long moment, my hands still on the equipment bag, trying to understand what just happened. The way his entire demeanor changed the second I said my mother's maiden name. The way he looked at me not like someone who's attracted to me, but someone who's just had a suspicion confirmed.
I finish the examination on autopilot, checking the mare's teeth and gums, taking her temperature, and examining the heat in her fetlock more closely. When I'm done, Rohan is leaning against the wall across from Sahara's stall, his arms crossed, his expression distant. When he sees me, he straightens, and I can see him physically composing himself.
"Well?" he asks, his voice carefully neutral. "What's the verdict?"
