That Summer Read Free

to the mares and their foals; the paddocks that were inhabited by the yearlings; those that held the two-year-olds; and finally the stallion paddocks. Close to the stallion paddocks was a large and airy shed which hosted “the most expensive thirty seconds in sports. ” It was the breeding shed.
    Thunderhead was on the far side of his pasture, and I stood at the fence and watched as he assessed my arrival. He was a big boy, a grandson of Mr. Prospector, a perfectly balanced animal with a lovely head, a giant stride, long-sloping shoulders and powerful hindquarters. At the moment his glossy gray coat was somewhat spoiled by the dirt he had rolled in.
    I watched him watching me, then I called his name. His ears flicked. Who was this stranger that knew his name?
    He trotted toward me, stopped when he was about forty feet away, and glared. “Thunderhead,” I said. Liam had named him after the horse in Mary O'Hara's eponymous novel. He came a little closer, nostrils flaring. He was a little put out with me. This was his paddock, after all, and his farm, and who was I to intrude where I wasn't invited?
    As a two-year-old Thunderhead had won three stakes races before an injury had caused Liam to retire him to stud. Last year his first crop of foals had been two-year-olds and they had done well at the races. Now his son, Someday Soon, was one of the favorites for the Derby. If he won, Thunderhead's reputation as a sire would be made. The stallion would be worth a fortune.
    I watched him approach me, careful to keep my hands outside the fence. Stallions have a nasty habit of biting.
    “You're gorgeous,” I told him in the soft, melodious voice I always used for horses.
    His ears flicked back and forth.
    I stood there talking to him and he listened. In the distance, a cloud of dust appeared on the road and both Thunderhead and I watched as the pickup truck went by the mare's pastures and headed in our direction. The truck pulled up and Liam got out, wearing jeans and a collared navy blue knit shirt.
    “Visiting with Number-one Stud?” he asked.
    “Yes. He looks marvelous, Liam.”
    “One of his won the Fountain of Youth last year. And now Someday Soon is having this terrific season.”
    “Storm Cat move over,” I said. At the moment, Storm Cat was the most popular and most expensive stallion standing at stud.
    Liam leaned against the fence next to me. My heart beat a little faster. “I'll never get the money Storm Cat commands, not in Virginia, but if I could get even half it would be a salvation.”
    I looked at Liam's profile and he turned and looked back at me. The sun shone on his black hair and his long black lashes made his eyes look deeply blue. “Salvation?” I said. “That's a strange word for you to use.”
    His eyes looked bleak. “Things have changed around here since you left, Annie. For one thing, the stock market has crashed. Dad had a lot of money in bad stocks. For its entire existence, almost a century, the horse operation here at Wellington never had to worry about running at a profit. It was a gentlemen's avocation, propped up by private money—a small farm standing a few stallions and keeping a smallish number of quality mares. Since I've taken over, the horses have carried themselves, but Dad has always paid for the insurance and the upkeep of the farm buildings. Now it seems the money isn't there anymore.”
    I blinked. “Is your father going to sell the farm, Liam?” I asked in a hushed voice.
    A muscle twitched in his jaw. “It's not as bad as that. But he's told me that I'm going to have to lease the land from him to run my business. And I'm going to have to shoulder the entire expense of the horse business as well. So there's a lot riding on Someday Soon's success. If he wins the Derby, it should enable me to generate enough income in stud fees to pay Dad the lease money he needs. Otherwise, it's going to be tight.”
    In the pasture, Thunderhead lowered his head and began to graze, all