Spring Loosened the Reins

I was tightening the girth on a borrowed bay when Evelyn Mercer stepped into the tack room with a parcel under her arm. "You'll freeze your knees off riding in those," she said. I looked down at my breeches. They were perfectly respectable, if a little thin for the damp March morning. "I'm used to the cold." "That's what people say right before they get used to a bad idea." She set the parcel on the bench and pushed it toward me. I didn't open it. The Mercer house had been full of gifts since the wedding: silver candlesticks, a pair of engraved champagne flutes, a cashmere throw I'd already worried I might ruin. Every one of them seemed to carry a silent instruction about how to belong. "What is it?" I asked. "Open it." I lifted the paper. Inside was a pair of deep green fleece-lined knee warmers, made to fit beneath riding breeches. They were expensive, practical, and nothing like the pearl earrings the wedding planner had suggested I wear for family portraits. "I saw you out yesterday," Evelyn said. "You were shivering when you came back." "I was fine." "You were shivering." I ran my thumb over the soft lining. "Thank you." "You don't have to thank me for noticing you're cold." The words landed harder than the gift. I had been married to her son for three days and in the Mercer home for four. I'd spent every hour trying to determine what everyone expected of me. Evelyn had apparently been paying attention to my knees. She glanced past me, toward the open doors and the strip of wet yard beyond. "You're taking out the bay?" "Only for a walk. I'm still learning the trails." "You've ridden here before?" "No." "But you've ridden." I paused. "I used to." Evelyn nodded as if that were enough. "Take the east track. The lower ground gets slick after rain." I pulled the warmers over my breeches. They fit as though she had guessed my size without asking. I didn't know whether to be grateful or unsettled by how quickly she'd noticed me. The bay, whose name was Finch, tossed his head when I led him outside. The yard smelled of wet leather, hay, and spring mud. Beyond the stables, the Mercer property rolled toward the coast in green fields divided by old stone walls. The house was a broad gray structure set on the highest ground, with tall windows that caught every change in the weather. It was beautiful in the way places could be beautiful when they had been kept by other people's labor for generations. I swung into the saddle. The knee warmers softened the cold immediately. "Ms. Mercer," called a voice from the stable office. I looked over. Tom Alvarez, the head groom, stood in the doorway with a clipboard. "Could I borrow you for a second?" I dismounted and walked Finch back to the tie rail. Tom was in his fifties, with a weathered face and a dark cap pulled low. He had shown me where to find the horses' feed and how the ancient boiler worked. He had not yet asked me what I planned to do with my life. "Have I done something wrong?" I asked. "Not at all." He glanced at the clipboard, then at me. "I need to know whether to put Finch's name down for the auction inventory." My hand tightened on the reins. "Auction?" Tom's expression changed. "I thought Owen had told you." Before I could answer, a car door slammed outside. Owen came around the corner of the stable, his phone in one hand and his dark coat open at the throat. "Tom, I've got the call in ten minutes." "I'm sorry," Tom said. "I was asking about Finch." Owen's gaze moved from Tom to me. "We can talk inside." "About the auction?" "Not in the yard." Tom lowered his clipboard. I felt suddenly foolish, standing between the horse and two men who both knew something I didn't. Owen set a hand at my elbow, lightly enough that I could step away. I didn't. "The sale is an option, not a done deal," he said. "Of the stable?" "Of the north paddocks and the indoor school. The family trust needs to close a debt. There's a buyer interested in the whole property." I stared at him. "You're selling the stables?" "We're discussing it." "You knew I wanted to ride here." "I thought you wanted to ride. I didn't know you wanted to build a life around it." The difference between those statements felt like the width of the entire yard. "I don't know what I want yet," I said. "But I didn't expect to find out that the place I just moved into is about to be dismantled." His jaw tightened. "I'm trying to keep the estate solvent." "I didn't say you weren't." Tom shifted his clipboard against his chest. The conversation had turned private without moving out of public view. Owen lowered his voice. "I should have told you before the wedding." "Yes." "I didn't want to make the first week about the trust." "It's not the first week anymore. It's the fourth day." He looked at me, and for one small moment I saw how exhausted he was. Then he glanced toward the house, as though the estate might be listening. "I'll explain tonight," he said. I could have asked him to explain now. I could have said that I had left enough of my old life behind already. Instead I picked up Finch's reins. "I'm going for a ride." Owen nodded once, without trying to stop me. "Take the east track. The lower ground is slick." I recognized the phrase from Evelyn. It bothered me that I liked hearing the same advice from him. I put my foot in the stirrup and mounted. Before I rode out, I looked back at the stable. Tom had lowered his eyes to the clipboard. Owen stood beside him, already checking his phone. The green knee warmers felt soft against my legs, but my hands had gone cold around the reins.