Page 2
She told me about Hank Daniels, a man who doesn’t know I exist. He’s apparently a widely known breeder in Montana, responsible for several champion racehorses and show horses. I’ve scoured his website a million times since my mom told me the truth.
If it even is the truth. I’m not sure if the woman is capable of saying anything that’s not a lie. Until last year, I always blindly trusted my mother. She’s the woman who raised me. I didn’t have any reason to question her…until I did. Now I doubt everything that comes out of her mouth. I doubt her motivations, her character, everything.
But Hank Daniels being my father must be true, because I look just like him. So much so that I sobbed until I threw up when I stumbled across his photo on the Whispering Pines Ranch website.
As my parents’—or should I say Mother and Raymond’s—sprawling home and paddock come into view, I gently pull back on Oakley’s reins to slow her down. She slows to an easy trot. I lean forward and run my hand down her chestnut brown mane. My sweet Appendix Quarter Horse whinnies in response. Oakley is a cross between a Thoroughbred and a Quarter Horse—bred by my birth father.
“Good girl,” I say, wondering if Hank Daniels would remember Oakley. She’s entirely chestnut brown, except for the unique white star right between her dark eyes. I’ve felt more attached to Oakley in the past few weeks since she’s a link between me and Hank. Like being near her will somehow help me understand the missing pieces of my history, the gaps in my identity. Deep down, a part of me hopes Hank is the dad I’ve witnessed in my favorite movies. The kind who’s supportive and affectionate, the kind who always has a word of encouragement or a wise statement.
I blink the thought away. If the father I grew up with wasn’t like that, why would my birth father be any different? This isn’t a fairy tale.
Oakley walks steadily toward the barn. My trainer, Loren, leans against the barn door, staring up at me.
“Are you both warmed up and ready to train?” he asks in his Swedish accent, arching one sardonic eyebrow.
Oakley bristles, making me laugh…but not Loren. He’s all business. “You ready, Oakley?” I ask her, avoiding Loren’s gaze.
I’m not quite ready to admit the truth…that I have no desire to train for next year’s show jumping competitions. Maybe it’s the emotional exhaustion of the last month, or perhaps it’s that I’ve spent my whole life training, and after competing in the Olympics a few months back, I’m physically exhausted, too.
She blinks slowly and continues her trot inside the white barn, past her stall and then stops in the designated area with crossties where our groom tacks and untacks the horses.
Swinging my legs out of the stirrups, I place my hands on Oakley’s neck for balance and slide off her. The groom, a middle-aged man who’s worked for my family since I was a kid, takes the reins from me with a smile.
“Thank you, George,” I tell him with a smile.
“How was your ride today?” Loren asks from behind me. “It looks like it’s going to rain.”
I turn to look at him, keeping one hand on Oakley’s neck. Loren is dressed in his usual distinguished way with riding pants and a half zip, with his salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed.
“The clouds are moving in,” I answer. “But my ride felt good. Helped me clear my head.”
He nods, placing his hands in his pockets. “Did you make any decisions?”
George makes quick work untacking Oakley, then leads her forward. I watch her walk away from me through the wide aisle of the barn, and it feels like watching my lifeline disappear.
I spin on the heel of my riding boot, giving Loren my full attention. “I want to meet my father. My competitions are over for the year, so now’s the best time.”
He nods again, his eyebrows scrunching as he considers my decision. “Okay. If you take one week off, I think we should be good. I’ll rework your schedule.”
“Oh, thank you.” I blink in surprise…I’d thought he might try to talk me out of it.
“If you don’t go, you’ll be distracted, anyway.” He sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. “Plus, things are rather...uncomfortable here at the moment.” Loren wrinkles his nose, not one to appreciate drama.
I nod, unsure of what else to say.
My relationship with my mother is struggling, to say the least. Raymond apparently knew all along about her infidelity and agreed to marry her, anyway. Which explains why I grew up calling him Raymond instead of Father. On some level, I think I always knew I wasn’t his. He never acted like a dad…more of an aloof teammate. He managed to applaud dutifully at my competitions—the ones he made it to.
But Raymond is the only father figure I’ve ever known, so I don’t know what to expect when I meet Hank Daniels. How will Hank react to finding out he has a twenty-five-year-old daughter? Will he be angry he missed all that time with me? Will he be upset that I came to find him? Or even worse, what if my mother told him about me, and he wanted nothing to do with me?
“What if he’s married…or has other kids?” I blow out a breath. “I could stir up a lot of drama.”
Loren eyes me. There’s something in his eyes that makes me wonder if he shares the same concern. “You said he owns Whispering Pines Ranch, so there must be information about the man online. He bred the last two Kentucky Derby winners, for goodness’ sake.”
I shake my head. “I haven’t found a bit of personal information, no interviews, nothing.” His website offered a single photo of Hank in front of his ranch and a short paragraph about how he runs the ranch with his dad, who’s a veterinarian. “The horses are front and center.”
Grabbing my coat from the hook near Oakley’s stall, I slide it over my arms and start the walk from the barn to the ranch house. Loren walks with me.
We’re in no rush as we walk along the stone path that leads to the Spanish-style, stucco manor house that sits atop the hill. The manor boasts ten bedrooms, eight thousand square feet, and has its own heated pool, sauna, and tennis court. The Townsend name—and wealth—is most likely why Raymond turned a blind eye and went through with the wedding after my mother’s affair.
