It shouldn’t have felt like walking towards a prison. Barn Five was painted crisp white with forest green accents on the shutters and doors, and a classic red rooster weathervane sat atop the cupola. But it felt like prison to Marcus Denton. All of his life, he had run towards horses and into happiness: manure-scented walkways, hay-filled stalls, a life awash with gleaming horseflesh. No longer.
It was a brisk winter morning in Florida, the second of January. Marcus carried a steaming coffee cup as he walked through the dawn’s mist. He stopped at the north end of Pasture Fourteen. A slender groom led a horse into the gate, turned the animal to face him, and unhooked its halter. The horse twisted, gave its little free-at-last buck and kick, then cantered towards Marcus. He heard the thud o
