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“Just out of curiosity, how much would she cost?”
“We’ll get her with foal. Bumps up the price. $250,000?”
“A quarter million dollars for a pregnant horse?”
He moved to the stall and touched her nose. “Well, depends on the father. And we aren’t selling a pregnant racehorse. We’re selling a potential champion.”
“You are crazy.” Unwillingly, she counted up how many chairs in Aiden’s house would add up to $250,000.
“Everybody wants Blue Roan.” He pointed down the length of stalls.
She was curious. She couldn’t help herself. She walked down the row full of horses until the end.
She came to a triple stall with a padded window where an enormous horse leaned regally over the lip and looked down at the both of them.
He was blue, but this close she could see the color came from black and gray hair.
“Everybody wants Blue Roan,” Paul repeated. “Last quarter horse to win the triple crown.”
“He won the Kentucky Derby?”
“The other triple crown.”
“There’s another triple crown?”
“The point is everyone wants his foals. One even on a damn medal. Can’t believe we let him go.”
She looked back down the row of stalls. “You’re going to get her with him? That’s wrong.” She flinched. Who was she to say?
“You’re a breeder?”
She shook her head. “Never been on a horse until yesterday. Or the day before?” It was blurring together.
He didn’t laugh her out of the stable but just looked at her with a little crease between his eyes.
Breeding this horse to the mare at the end was the wrong move. She couldn’t understand how she knew. This one could get so much air. The mare already had that; she didn’t need more. Blue Roan’s foals with her wouldn’t have the legs to run.
The mare needed endless, towering legs to go with her huge lungs.
This was ludicrous. How did she know that? She just did. Their lineage spooled out before her eyes and her magic. She’d never heard of a scribe being able to read anything but words.
Kathleen’s words came back to her; magic existed long before books.
She rolled her eyes. DNA was made of four letters. She remembered that much from high school biology. Maybe it was just simple enough for her to understand.
“He’s the wrong horse,” she said confidently.
“Who’s the right horse?”
She spun in a circle, trying to click back into her weird sense of magic, but it wouldn’t come. “I don’t know.”
“Okay.”
Suddenly, he spun around, listening intently to nothing. Seconds later, Goldie heard a rhythmic squeaking, and a huge cart came into the aisle full of foul-smelling hay.
“Louis, not now.”
Goldie froze. She remembered that name. Aiden had said that name to her. He was one of them.
