And since when had I gotten so poetic?
“Ah. That was taken in August of ‘81 at the Hampton Classic. Jack Be Nimble.”
“Excuse me?”
“The roan gelding he’s riding. Quinton named him Jack Be Nimble. Surely he mentioned Jack? He was very fond of that horse.”
I let the corner of my mouth crook in a smile. “Teenage boys aren’t likely to talk about horses, Mrs. Mann. Not to each other.”
That surprised a snort of laughter from Novotny.
Mrs. Mann gave a little laugh herself. “Yes, I imagine you’re right, Harriman. It was a perfect ride.” Her smile was filled with pride.
“I’m not surprised.” Mann would have settled for nothing less.
And if I’d been waiting in the stable when he returned from accepting the blue ribbon for that ride, I’d have tumbled him into the nearest empty stall, stripped o
