All the way back to the farm, Jenny keeps the little window in the back of the cab open, talking softly to the horse travelling in the rear, the mare responding with soft nickers. By the time they pull up, dropping the tailgate to lead her out, she is nuzzling at Jenny, asking for attention.
“Are you going to keep the name, Jenny?”
“Can I?”
“She’s your horse. It’s up to you what to call her.”
Jenny scratches at ears which radar forward as the mare snuffs for the apple she knows lurks in a pocket. “I’ll call her Charlie.”
“Charlie it is, then.”
“Where are we going to keep her?”
“She can have the stall next to Dancer. That’ll keep him happy too, and give them chance to get to know each other before she has her season.”
“How will you know when that is?”
Mrs Collier gives her a wry glance. “Dancer will tell us when she’s ready. Don’t worry. We won’t miss it.”
“He’ll try to get to her?”
“He’ll probably kick the stall apart if we don’t let him at her when the time comes.”
Jenny swallows. “That sounds…. violent.”
“It’s just Dancer doing what comes naturally.”
*****
grass. Brilliantly green now after the warm rains and warmer sunshine of early Summer, the grass sweeps around the legs of the horse as Jenny rides easily atop her, swaying gently with the movement of her
a trot, then a canter, before breaking into full gallop through the emerald sea. The mare’s mane and tail are a coursing black stream, flowing through the air to match Jenny’s hair, which ripples
small group watches from the gate, Chad and his
a first-class rider, and
certainly a lovely looking girl,” replies his
“It's the most beautiful thing I ever
the hint. “Why don't you ask Jenny
I? I’d
would be
like to, then it’s fine
*****
school bag, slinging it over his shoulder. But this morning, he proffers something to her, smiling a little timidly.
Chad’s hand; pale
last few under the hedgerow. They’re almost finished for the
moment, Chad
She reaches to take the tiny blooms. “They’re beautiful. No-one’s
And his blue eyes swim as
*****
are pretty, Jenny,” says Mrs Collier, as she sees the miniature bouquet peeking from a glass of water in
cheeks. “Chad gave them to me.” She sucks at her
look after
who first arrived. Tall, lithe and becoming full-figured; vivid green eyes look out from porcelain skin, all framed by a tumble of glossy auburn tresses. And the blush on her high cheekbones matches the tint at her
and with growing maturity,
know how to
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