Matt,” he said. “When can you start?”
The bargain struck, Aly drove out to Cedar Hill to inform Marshall that Sampson had a new home. She found man and horse in the barn and paused just inside the door, reluctant to interrupt the last moments between them. They were in deep conversation—Marshall talking in low tones and Sampson occasionally responding with a soft whinny.
What a wrench it had been for both of them when Marshall had left for college. The stallion had refused to eat for several days and remained listless and despondent for weeks afterward. At Christmas, they’d had a glorious two weeks together before Marshall had to leave again, and once more Sampson pined.
“It happens that way sometimes with unweaned foals,” Willy explained, referring to the spindly-legged, malnourished little colt that Sampson had been when Marshall bought him. Rejected by his mother and neglected by his busy owner, the little fellow was slowly dying of starvation when Marshall heard of his plight.
Marshall had gone to the owner and offered the only thing of value he owned in exchange for the colt—a prized flintlock gun left him by his grandfather. The owner had agreed to the trade, and Sampson had gone to live at Cedar Hill, where he and Marshall became all but inseparable. Now after six years, Sampson was to have a new home for a while, his master was explaining, but he’d come for him as soon as he could.
“Marshall?” Aly called softly.
Both master and horse looked in her direction, their eyes grave and unwelcoming. Feeling an intruder, she said kindly, “I have a place for him.”
“Where?” he asked shortly, but Aly knew that pain made him brusque.
“At Matt Taylor’s. He’s agreed to let me keep Sampson at Green Meadows.”
“At Green Meadows?” Marshall said in surprise. “How did you swing that?”
Aly shrugged, smiling slightly. “Offered him one of my special deals. Now how about us? Do we have one?”
Intrigued, Marshall came close to her, one corner of his mouth lifting in a grin. “We do,” he said. “Let’s shake on it.” When Aly gave him her hand, he laughed. “Come on, Aly. How’d you do it? How did you get Matt to agree to board Sampson?”
“I never give out trade secrets, Marshall,” she replied, liking the strong but sensitive feel of his hand. No use telling him about the bargain between Matt and me , she thought. She was confident that her labor at Green Meadows would be beyond reproach. Sampson was in no danger of being lost because of shabby work. She planned to make herself indispensable.
Marshall’s brown eyes glowed in admiration. Aly knew he was relieved that Sampson would have such a good home. “You are something very special, Alyson Kingston,” he said approvingly. “Why haven’t I ever noticed before?”
“You never looked,” she said with simple candor, hoping that now that he was, her freckles weren’t standing out like copper pennies. At least she had gone home and changed, not wanting to make her father any madder than he already was when she went to the bank. At home she’d also trimmed her bangs and applied a light touch of makeup. “But then,” she added hastily, “there’s not much to see.”
“There’s plenty to see. But you have to see it first, Aly. Then make the most of it.”
“I wouldn’t know how to do either one—”
“Get Victoria to help you.”
“I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction!” Aly said, suddenly angry. How did this conversation get turned around to Victoria! She realized he was still holding her hand. He held it firmly when she tugged at it.
“Hey,” he said mollifyingly, “don’t get your dander up. It was just a suggestion.” He released her hand. Aly thrust both of hers into the pockets of her skirt.
“Okay, so we have a deal,” she said. “I’ll leave Sampson here until after the auction.”
“Aly, you can change your mind, you know.” Her heart began to beat faster as Marshall stepped
The bargain struck, Aly drove out to Cedar Hill to inform Marshall that Sampson had a new home. She found man and horse in the barn and paused just inside the door, reluctant to interrupt the last moments between them. They were in deep conversation—Marshall talking in low tones and Sampson occasionally responding with a soft whinny.
What a wrench it had been for both of them when Marshall had left for college. The stallion had refused to eat for several days and remained listless and despondent for weeks afterward. At Christmas, they’d had a glorious two weeks together before Marshall had to leave again, and once more Sampson pined.
“It happens that way sometimes with unweaned foals,” Willy explained, referring to the spindly-legged, malnourished little colt that Sampson had been when Marshall bought him. Rejected by his mother and neglected by his busy owner, the little fellow was slowly dying of starvation when Marshall heard of his plight.
Marshall had gone to the owner and offered the only thing of value he owned in exchange for the colt—a prized flintlock gun left him by his grandfather. The owner had agreed to the trade, and Sampson had gone to live at Cedar Hill, where he and Marshall became all but inseparable. Now after six years, Sampson was to have a new home for a while, his master was explaining, but he’d come for him as soon as he could.
“Marshall?” Aly called softly.
Both master and horse looked in her direction, their eyes grave and unwelcoming. Feeling an intruder, she said kindly, “I have a place for him.”
“Where?” he asked shortly, but Aly knew that pain made him brusque.
“At Matt Taylor’s. He’s agreed to let me keep Sampson at Green Meadows.”
“At Green Meadows?” Marshall said in surprise. “How did you swing that?”
Aly shrugged, smiling slightly. “Offered him one of my special deals. Now how about us? Do we have one?”
Intrigued, Marshall came close to her, one corner of his mouth lifting in a grin. “We do,” he said. “Let’s shake on it.” When Aly gave him her hand, he laughed. “Come on, Aly. How’d you do it? How did you get Matt to agree to board Sampson?”
“I never give out trade secrets, Marshall,” she replied, liking the strong but sensitive feel of his hand. No use telling him about the bargain between Matt and me , she thought. She was confident that her labor at Green Meadows would be beyond reproach. Sampson was in no danger of being lost because of shabby work. She planned to make herself indispensable.
Marshall’s brown eyes glowed in admiration. Aly knew he was relieved that Sampson would have such a good home. “You are something very special, Alyson Kingston,” he said approvingly. “Why haven’t I ever noticed before?”
“You never looked,” she said with simple candor, hoping that now that he was, her freckles weren’t standing out like copper pennies. At least she had gone home and changed, not wanting to make her father any madder than he already was when she went to the bank. At home she’d also trimmed her bangs and applied a light touch of makeup. “But then,” she added hastily, “there’s not much to see.”
“There’s plenty to see. But you have to see it first, Aly. Then make the most of it.”
“I wouldn’t know how to do either one—”
“Get Victoria to help you.”
“I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction!” Aly said, suddenly angry. How did this conversation get turned around to Victoria! She realized he was still holding her hand. He held it firmly when she tugged at it.
“Hey,” he said mollifyingly, “don’t get your dander up. It was just a suggestion.” He released her hand. Aly thrust both of hers into the pockets of her skirt.
“Okay, so we have a deal,” she said. “I’ll leave Sampson here until after the auction.”
“Aly, you can change your mind, you know.” Her heart began to beat faster as Marshall stepped
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