CHAPTER 1
“She’s definitely got more whoa than go, this one.”
The young cowboy vanished into the stock trailer as he spoke, his boots creating a metallic echo against the aluminum floor with each thud. In the next heartbeat, the rhythmic clopping of freshly shod hooves fell in line with his footsteps, and he and the horse backed cautiously down the ramp until they were both on solid ground.
As soon as she was free from the confines of the trailer, the mare snorted, her hot breath billowing out in a foggy cloud. Her ears perked up, her tail swished nervously, and her head was held as high as a giraffe’s. If she was truly as calm and collected as the cowboy had boasted, Spencer Major couldn’t see it. But he knew horses. Trailer rides, new surroundings, and unfamiliar faces could turn the most bulletproof animal into a bundle of nerves. He figured he’d have to give the animal a little grace.
“She got any Hancock in her?” Josephine Major ran her palm over the horse’s dappled flank, circling the mare like she was inspecting a car at a dealership.
Spencer had wondered the same thing. Most blue roans had some Hancock somewhere in their bloodlines and on their papers, which also meant they typically had a bit of buckingspirit in them, too. Not exactly the ideal temperament suited for a gentle mount for his grandmother, that much was evident.
“She’s out of Blue Ace, but don’t let the name fool you. Those horses have just as much heart as they do grit,” the cowboy explained, tipping his hat and smoothing down his sweat-matted hair before jamming the Stetson back into place. Although Snowdrift Summit had experienced their first dusting of snow just last week, it was back to unseasonably warm temperatures in the Sierras once again.
“Like I said,” the young man drawled on, “she’s a walk-trot type of horse. Her previous owner couldn’t even get her to lope without some strong leg and a spur in her side. She’s not going to take off with you on her back, and she’ll keep all four hooves on the ground at all times, guaranteed.”
Spencer glanced at his grandmother, knowing their thoughts on the horse likely didn’t align. To him, the mare sounded like a good fit; something his Nana Jo could plod around on without the worry of being tossed off. Because they both knew Alpine, her current horse, couldn’t claim that same reliability. That gelding was the very reason her shoulder still gave her trouble on cold days and was also why she hadn’t even been in the saddle in months. Of course, Nana would never blame any of that on Alpine. It was arthritis, she’d protest, even though her hospital stay and the prescription pills she still took were a direct result of Alpine’s unpredictability.
“I’ve got another family in the valley that’s wanting to look at her, so if you don’t think she’s going to work out…” The cowboy adjusted the halter another notch on the pretty roan’s face, his voice holding the threat of a missed opportunity.
The horse really did have a kind eye. Trusting and tender. In Spencer’s book, that alone was worth more than any testimony from a horse trader looking to make a quick buck. You could tell a lot from a horse’s soulful gaze.
Still, he knew his grandmother.
“I’m not sure she’s the one for us,” Spencer answered reluctantly, feeling a pang of guilt at the thought of letting such a sweet horse slip through their fingers. But he could read Nana Jo like a book. Convincing her that this was the type of horse she needed at this stage in life would mean more than just persuading her of the mare’s suitability—it would mean coaxing his grandmother to acknowledge that it was finally time to slow down. And no one dared broach that subject with Josephine Major, not unless they were prepared for a battle of wills, one they would surely lose.
“Shame,” the cowboy said with atskof his teeth and shake of his head. “She’s a good one.”
“We’ll take her,” Josephine interrupted, her voice firm and decisive as she stepped around the front of the mare after finishing her inspection.
“We will?” Spencer’s brow buckled in surprise. He hadn’t seen that coming. He was sure his grandmother was going to send the horse and cowboy on their way. Would’ve put money on it, in fact.
“Spence, go get the first stall in the barn ready while I look for my checkbook.” Her tone brooked no argument, and he knew better than to question her. Truth be told, he couldn’t be happier that he’d read the entire situation wrong.
With a nod, Spencer set off toward the barn, the relief that his grandmother was willing to settle for a calm and quiet horse fueling his steps. Because nothing about Nana Jo was calm and quiet. The rowdy bunch of animals that currently inhabited the barn stalls served as a reminder of that truth. Even Doodlebug, the pony that was older than Spencer and as cantankerous as they came, was an ornery, stubborn sprite of a thing. He had more attitude than horses twice his size, and enough sass for the entire herd.
Josephine’s barn was filled with misfits, and for a moment, Spencer worried the new mare might feel out of place among the chaos.
But then again, maybe the horse could reset the tone of the place. Spencer knew from his own life experience that a good woman had the power to soothe even the most wayward of souls. Maybe it was the same in the horse world, too.
It didn’t take long to get the stall ready with a fresh bag of pine shavings, a full trough of clean water, and a flake of hay tucked in the corner as an afternoon snack. He was just about to poke his head out of the barn to see if his grandmother needed help tying up ends with the horse seller when the chorus of greetings clued him in on the incoming commotion. Every animal in the barn whinnied, a synchronized greeting loud enough to send the resident rooster into a crowing fit. If Spencer had any hope of this new mare making an entrance without fanfare, that was long gone.
Even Doodlebug, who was too short to see over his stall door, sensed the arrival of the roan, his little hooves kicking against the wood as he nickered from his place in the corner.
“Settle down, everyone,” Nana Jo ordered. “This isn’t the circus, after all.”
“You sure?” Spencer teased.
Nana Jo snorted. “Not entirely.” She passed the lead rope to her grandson so he could guide the new horse into the designated stall. “You mind getting her put away for me? I’ve got Trinity coming over in a few and I’d like to wash up first. Still got dirt under my nails from digging out the carrots from the remnants of the summer garden. Feel free to toss the mare a few if you like. They’re in the bucket near the tack room.”
Spencer’s feet anchored him in place, his ears perking up just like the new horse’s. “Trinity is coming by?”
“Just dropping off a fresh bouquet for the entryway. Said she had an extra from a wedding she did the floral arrangements for over the weekend and didn’t want it to go to waste. Don’t think she’ll stay long.”
Trinity Tillman, the local florist and owner of Joyful Blooms, often came by the ranch with her beautiful creations in tow. Sometimes, she would have her two young children with her, too. She’d become a single mother nearly a year ago when her life took a tragic turn and her husband was killed during routine highway patrol duty. Despite the hardships she faced, Trinity remained strong not only for her kids, but for her community. She donated her beautiful arrangements to the local church to adorn the piano each Sunday, and she often gave away her extra flowers at the end of the week to the nursing home to brighten the rooms of the residents there. She was others-focused and noticeably generous.
Spencer didn’t know her all that well, but what he did know he deeply admired.
Spencer also couldn’t help but notice the way her daughter would keep her eyes trained on the pastures and the horses racing around within them whenever they would stop by the ranch. He could sense a horse lover a mile away. But Trinity seemed less comfortable around the animals, always ushering her kids away from the fence line. He wondered if there was a reason for that.
