Lizzie
The horse rescue was everything Lizzie had expected. A little more run-down than the places where she’d ridden as a teenager, but with the feel of warmth that comes from the presence of such magnificent animals.
From her initial thought of just going to see the place, she’d progressed to thinking of adopting a horse. After all, she could afford to board a horse in style, and Murphy was right. She did need something in her life besides work.
Murphy had insisted on coming, maybe to be sure that Lizzie actually took the time off. But Murphy’s interest in horses was limited to the small figurines of unicorns on her desk—which was the reason Murphy hadn’t bothered to change into more appropriate attire.
Lizzie stepped out of her car and spotted the man who ran the place leaning on a fence that enclosed a green pasture and ten horses in the field. He waved at her. She waved back.
As they headed for the enclosure and the horses, they passed a woman with two children. The grandmother, maybe. She was too old to be their mother, but the children were holding on to her hands, faces filled with smiles.
The possible grandmother had graying hair pulled back in a bun and a pleasant face. Something seemed familiar about her, but when Howard called “Lisette,” her old name, she let go of the thought.
“Wow. You look great,” Howard said.
He had aged well. Dark hair streaked with gray, his face not showing the passage of years since she’d last seen him.
“Thanks, Howard.” Lizzie leaned on the top rail and gazed at the horses in the field. They were a mix of breeds and colors, but just the sight and smells brought her back to her earlier self. “How are you?”
“Good. Good. As you see, I’ve given up teaching rich kids how to ride.”
“But I bet you’re hitting up their parents for donations.” Murphy might not know how to ride, but she knew how nonprofits worked.
He laughed, not offended. “How else could I run this place? It’s like when Willie Sutton was asked why he robbed banks.” He pointed to a chestnut mare. “That’s the one I was thinking of for you, Lisette.”
“Lizzie. I go by Lizzie now. Why her?” The mare looked like she had Arabian blood, with the distinctive facial lines of that breed, but she was a little larger than the average Arabian, maybe fifteen and a half hands.
“Spirited. Young, only six. Reminds me a little of your old horse, Shadowfax.”
“What’s her name?”
“Nutmeg.”
“Are you kidding me? You named her after a spice?”
“You adopt her, you can change it. Call her Frodo for all I care. You were always partial to Lord of the Rings.”
“Is she green?” Lizzie used the term for a young, untrained horse.
“No, she’s well trained, but she needs an intermediate rider or better. You were better than intermediate back in the day.”
“It’s been years.”
“Still… want to try riding her?”
“That’s why I’m wearing paddock boots.” Lizzie watched the mare play chase a pinto, with a smooth confident gait. “Not in this field, though.”
“Of course not. We have a ring, other side of the barn. Let me go catch her for you.” He ducked between two fence railings, grabbed a halter that had been sitting on the gate, and walked out among the horses.
“He’s going to get his head kicked in,” Murphy said.
“He’ll be fine. He’s one of the best horsemen I know.”
“If you say so.”
Lizzie did say so, but it wasn’t worth repeating. Instead, she watched with a critical eye as Howard approached the herd. The horses calmly accepted his presence, nuzzling him as he rubbed necks and backs. Despite his age—which she guessed was somewhere in his sixties—he moved quickly when the horses moved, staying out of range of flashing legs. Nutmeg watched his approach impassively, lowering her head to allow him to slip the halter on. In less than five minutes, he was leading the mare towards them.
She moved beautifully, and her coat shone in the sun. Lizzie opened the gate to let Howard and the mare pass, and she closed it again.
“Your phone’s ringing,” Murphy said.
Lizzie took out her cell and glanced at the number. No one she knew. It could be something, or it could be nothing. She handed it to Murphy. “I’m going to ride Nutmeg. If it’s anything important, wave me down.”
The small dirt ring was marked with hoof imprints and had a low fence in the middle. Nutmeg proved to be everything Howard described; she responded to a shift in Lizzie’s weight, to a slight touch of a leg. She wanted to canter, and Lizzie let her, feeling the surge from the mare breaking into a rolling canter gait from the choppiness of a trot. They cantered twice around the ring, and then with a slight pressure from Lizzie’s right leg and the movement of Lizzie’s body, Nutmeg turned towards the center of the ring. Her ears pricked forward, and she increased her speed. Lizzie guided her towards the small jump, and Nutmeg soared over it almost effortlessly.
Howard, leaning against the fence to watch, clapped. “You haven’t lost it.”
Lizzie was as pleased as she was surprised that the muscle memory had flooded back so quickly. She was even more pleased at how much she was enjoying herself. In her teenage years, riding had been one of her few true joys. It had been an escape from the social pressure that her mother exerted on her to fit in with the country club crowd, and it had been an escape from her obsession over avenging the murder of her father.
Not enough of an escape to direct her away from her revenge. But that part of her life was over, and she was back. Back in Austin. Back to whoever she might have been had she not pursued her father’s killers.
Maybe. But if she hadn’t pursued that path, would she be running a detective agency now?
Did it matter?
She brought Nutmeg to a walk and then guided her over to Howard. She leaned over to pet the mare’s damp neck. “She’s wonderful.”
“I knew you’d like her.” Howard reached out and let Nutmeg nuzzle his hand. “Any thoughts?”
“I think I’m going to adopt a horse. Once I line up a good boarding stable.”
“I have names and numbers of some places within a half hour or so of downtown Austin. Assuming money’s not an issue, now that you’re out on your own.”
She smiled. “Not really. Would you mind lining one up?”
“Absolutely not. And transportation as well. By the way, I do charge an adoption fee, and I keep an eye on my former rescues.”
“Not a problem.”
He looked like he had something else to discuss, but he was waiting for her to bring it up.
She guessed what it was. “And I was thinking, an additional donation to your rescue would also be a good use of my stepfather’s money.”
“I wasn’t going to ask, but since you bring it up, I’m happy to help you channel your money in a good direction.” Howard grinned at her. “Want me to set up a higher jump? You could do four-footers back in the day. I could set up a three-footer. Nutmeg is a natural, and she loves to jump.”
It was an appealing thought, but she saw Murphy striding towards her, waving. The phone call that she’d passed on must have been something after all. “Unfortunately, it looks like work is intruding. I’ll call to work out the arrangements.” She petted Nutmeg’s neck again—although once the mare was fully hers, Lizzie was going to do something about that name—grasped the reins and Nutmeg’s mane in her right hand, stood in the stirrups, and swung her right leg around the saddle to dismount.