Anna:Very well then. Trust the journey. I’ll see you soon.
Yes, you will.
Even though she knew she’d done the right thing, a dark emptiness hung inside.
She walked home wondering what she’d do the next time there was a work party. Anna would say something like,Maybe you’ll meet someone now that you’re not tied to the wrong man.
I don’t think I’m ready to try that again. I’ll concentrate on having fun with Anna over the holidays, and work. Work is always good, or it used to be.
On a brighter note, now she could avoid the distraction of the numerous phone calls from Robert trying to convince her to change her mind about meeting him at his parents’ while she was shutting down Porter’s. That was a plus, because this assignment was going to be hard enough as it was.
Relationships might not be her specialty, but she’d done the kind of job required for the Porter’s project a dozen times. This she knew how to handle.
CHAPTERSEVEN
The morning was brisk. Mike pulled his collar up. Vapor clouded from the nostrils of the large black horse with each stroke of the brush. This quiet time he spent with each horse was part of their personal bond. Some loved it more than others, but it was a good way to get his hands on every inch of the animal and check for problems, while giving them the reward of something that required nothing of them.
Big Ben and Mike had this down to a science.
“It’s okay, Ben. There you go, old buddy.” Ben was the first Percheron Mike ever purchased by himself. He’d saved for two years to buy this horse, and they’d been together a long, long time. His oldest draft horse, Ben stood 18.2 hands and last time they’d weighed him he came in at 2,540 pounds. Just shy of the weight of Mike’s first car, a sporty Ford Mustang that he and his dad had restored together.
“Your age is showing.” He rubbed his hand along the graying hair under Ben’s chin. “Don’t feel bad. So is mine.”
The horse dipped his head down close to Mike’s face, blowing a puff of air from his vocals. Mike hugged his neck.
Ben might be old, but he’d come to Mike with years of experience. He was the best horse he owned. Every horse they trained was held up to the standard of this one, and with that they’d built a reputation for breeding excellent show Percherons.
There wasn’t anything like a team of solid black Percherons pulling a wagon. Sure, the Clydesdales were popular, but Mike wouldn’t trade his team of Percherons for all the beer-wagon horses in the world.
“Hey, Dad.” Misty picked up a brush and headed for one of the stalls. “I’ll get Box.”
“Thanks. No homework tonight?”
“Not much. I’ve got time to help.”
“Are you okay? You seem a little quiet lately.”
She shrugged and muttered “I’m okay” as she led Box out into the alley and tied his lead rope to the outside of the stall. She brushed with long sweeping motions, settling her other palm on the side of the horse’s neck as she poured soothing comments with every stroke.
Mike finished up with Ben and led him over to his stall door. As Ben ambled in, Mike handed him an apple. Ben brayed a thank-you.
Mike looked around the barn, thankful for all he’d been able to do here. These horses, and Misty, were his team.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Mike said. “I used the leftover pot roast to make my vegetable beef soup. Your favorite.”
“That sounds perfect. I love soup nights. I can make some fried corn bread to go with it.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” They exchanged a quick smile. They worked quietly through the rest of the team, and then Mike swept out the alleyway in the barn until Misty got done.
She led her horse to his stall.
Mike walked over to her. “What’s going on? You’re never this quiet.”
“Nothing really. I just have this feeling.” She used the back of her hand to brush back her bangs. “I love my job at Porter’s.”
“That’s a good thing. It’s been in the family forever.”
“I know, but I overheard Lilene talking. Someone from corporate is coming to town.”
