An August evening in Florida, the night purpling the sky, the sun slanting through the tall pines on the west side of Leprechaun Farms. An afternoon rain had made the air thick and humid; steam wafted from the paved asphalt of the drive. David Livingston waited for the gate to close behind him, standard procedure on a horse farm, just in case one might be loose and anxious for a walk off the property.
As David angled his old Ranger up the curving drive, he saw Marcus Denton, the farm’s owner, riding a jump course in the west ring. He rode Smarty Pants, a big bay gelding from Smarty Jones lineage. The two of them arced over the jumps, porpoising against the twilight.
David slowed the truck to admire Marcus’s broad-shouldered form over the course: a simple-looking fold at the waist, hands
