“Two are mine,” Tory said, looking confused by the subject change. “Buttercup makes three. Why?”
“I’m buying Buttercup from you, so that makes two.” She lifted a hand when Tory started to argue on the buying part. “At the very least I’m paying you back whatever it cost to get him away from those meat grinders.”
Tory shuddered, but simply nodded.
“You have a trailer?” Chey asked.
She nodded. “One-horse. Had a two, but it fell apart and I haven’t had the chance to upgrade again. I use the Parmenters’ ranch trailer when I need anything big—”
Chey talked over her. “Fine. I’ll put Buttercup in your one-horse, and leave the two-horse I hauled here. When the time comes, drive it back east for me and we’ll swap back.” She eyed her friend, wouldn’t let her look away, and stuck out her hand. “Deal?”
“Chey—”
“You’ve got no family left. I’ve got no family left,” Chey baldly stated in a way she wouldn’t have done with anyone else. “Blood family, anyway. I have three close friends who are family to me now. We own and run our farm together, and it turns out that has come with a whole town full of adopted family. The Parmenters are pulling up stakes.” She smiled. “I’m sure you’ll write long, lovely letters to each other and you can visit over the holidays. But in the meantime, you’re a horse trainer in need of a job. And a new home. And I just happen to have one of each I can share.”
“You came out here for Buttercup,” Tory said, but Chey already saw the considering look in her eyes, and the way her shoulders had straightened a bit. Both good signs.
“Lucky me, then,” Chey said with a smile. “Twofer.” She wiggled the fingers on her still outstretched hand. “Deal?”
“I don’t know when it will be,” Tory said. “I promised to stay until they got things completely settled here.”
Chey just kept wiggling her fingers. “Stop stalling.”
Tory rolled her eyes and Chey’s smile split into a wide grin. Now, that was the Tory she’d gone up against in the ring.
Tory took Chey’s hand in a grip that was unsurprisingly strong and deliberate. “If it will keep you from nagging, sure, I’ll come east and save your sorry little tush from being so overwhelmed you can’t even handle a few measly mounts.” Her utterly inelegant sniffle ruined her superior tone when she added, “I don’t know how you’ve managed to get along without me all these years.”
Tory didn’t let go of Chey’s hand and instead pulled her in for a tight hug. Chey stiffened and Tory just held on tighter. “Thank you,” Tory whispered in her friend’s ear. “You saved two lives today. I won’t forget this.”
Chey relented then. Hearing Tory’s choked gratitude undid something inside her. She’d been in a place far lower than Tory’s in her life, and she knew what a kind hand meant more than most. “Good,” she said gruffly. “I hope you still feel that way after harvest.”
Tory let Chey go, but immediately slung her arm over Chey’s shoulders as they turned to face Buttercup. “You gonna still feel that way when I farm the hell out of that lavender better than you and take all your students away?”
Chey hooted. “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be? We’re not in the show ring any longer, you know.”
“What, you think I’ve grown soft and complacent over the years?” She eyed Chey. “Have you?”
Chey looked at the horse. “You hear that, Buttercup? Big words. She has no idea, does she?”
The horse snuffled and ducked his head, as if he was agreeing with Chey. Chey and Tory both laughed. “I have a witness,” Chey said, looking at her friend and grinning. “You’re on.”
* * *
This time around, Chey did keep in touch, albeit not quite as loquaciously as her friend did. Three months had passed since Chey had successfully transported Buttercup back across the country to his new home in Blue Hollow Falls. Spring had arrived after a particularly stubborn winter had finally made its long-delayed exit, and things on the farm had started to hop.
Chey’s to-do list felt like it had tripled overnight, but she took a moment, folded her arms on the fence rail, and propped her chin on them. She watched from under the brim of her hat as Buttercup grazed contentedly in the pasture just beyond the paddock. The old gelding still had a long way to go, but he’d been slowly and steadily putting weight back on. His coat still looked pretty shabby, but it was growing back in, and his mane, though still thin and stringy, had an actual luster to it now. Best of all, the gelding’s eyes, despite being permanently clouded with age, were alert now, and focused. Buttercup wasn’t a fully healthy horse—that would take a much longer period of time, if it ever happened—but he was a happy horse. She’d take that.
Her gaze shifted from the pasture they’d dedicated to the horses to the farm beyond. Row after row of lavender bushes filled the landscape all the way to the horizon, where the peaks of the Blue Ridge rose up and filled the skyline, and her heart. It was a vista that never failed to move her. Now the lavender was coming to life, the buds creating a hint of that gorgeous purple hue, and the fields were showing signs of green. “The season is coming. Ready or not,” she whispered.
The sound of Foster, one of her rescues, kicking his stall door, drew her from her thoughts and she headed back inside. The rambling old stone stables had come with the farm, as had the stone and wood stable manager’s house that was now her home. It had been over a year since Chey had teamed up with her three “life warrior” friends and taken on rehabilitating the farm property and turning it into both their collective home and future livelihood. This would be their first complete beginning-to-end season, with Lavender Blue Farm and Tea Room fully open and operational.
The tearoom stayed open all year, though on reduced hours just three days a week in the off season. They held special events for each of the seasonal holidays from late October through May, but were otherwise closed to the public during that time.
Over the past sixteen months, like the rest of the property, both the stables and her house had undergone endless renovations to make them livable and functional after sitting empty and abandoned for many years. Decades of them. Given the age of the buildings, that would likely be an ongoing, lifelong chore. Chey would happily take it on.
She continued scanning the property until her gaze landed on the main house, and she smiled thinking about how far they’d come already. All four of them. Seeing Tory again had made Chey a little more reflective than she generally allowed herself to be, but these memories were all good, warm, forward-moving ones that filled her with optimism and hope. Hard to believe, from the outside looking in, that four uniquely different women, from very disparate paths, not to mention varying generations, could come together to not only forge this new life venture, but develop a bond so deep it rivaled any family unit. “And from that, we did this,” she murmured, shaking her head, still finding it hard to believe.
Chey knew she didn’t stop often enough to appreciate things; she was always too busy racing ahead to the next thing. She knew that came from a lifetime spent not allowing attachments to form, affections to grow, whether for a place, or the people who inhabited it. She’d always be leaving soon, so why set herself up for heartbreak and grieving over things, people, places lost?