Angel made a sound of exasperation. “This spoken by a trainer of dressage.”
Karl pushed on. “Try to think of it as if they were dancers. And they all learned the basics of ballet. What are they called . . . ?”
“The barre exercises,” said Grace.
“Yes. This is fundamental.” Karl spread out his palms. “Dressage is the dance in the horse world. It’s a ballet where the rider and horse are harmonious.” He moved his hands. “It’s one fluid motion. They are one mind. The first time you get a moment like that is an exhilarating, almost spiritual experience. You remember it for the rest of your life.”
A hush settled over the table. Grace saw that Charles was mesmerized by the possibilities. It had been a long time since he had felt a connection like that to a horse. The possibility of feeling it again was like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man. In contrast, Elise’s brows furrowed as she slumped back in her chair.
“That said . . .” Gerta paused. She had picked up a knife and was gently tracing a line in the linen. Grace studied her friend’s face. She looked like a feline ready to pounce. Grace waited pensively. She knew Gerta hated to lose an argument. Gerta let the knife rest on the table and raised her head to fix her hawkish gaze on Angel.
“Your horse . . .” she said as though she’d forgotten its name. “Butterhead.”
Angel stiffened as though slapped. Gerta Klug was an expert and raised some of the world’s finest horses. Her opinion mattered.
“She could, I suppose, be retrained in dressage. But I do not believe she is the right horse for a beginner in the sport.” She turned her attention to Charles. “My friend, though you are an experienced jumper, you are not experienced in dressage. You need a horse that can help you make the transition. You don’t need a horse that you have to help make that transition as well. That is a recipe for failure.”
Angel’s face colored. He opened his mouth to speak, but Grace beat him to it.
“I think,” Grace said, setting both hands on the table and cutting off the discussion, “we can continue this conversation tomorrow. My friends, it’s late, and you haven’t yet settled into your houses. Before we adjourn, there are a few things we must discuss. First, as always, the horses. We have only one groom, José. There are too many horses for him to tend alone. I realize you will all take care of your own horses’ needs in the morning and evening. But we’ll need to take turns going down for the late-night barn checks. Especially with Karl injured. We can draw straws, or . . .” She smiled and let her palms flip up.
“I’ll take tonight,” Charles volunteered. “You’re all exhausted.”
“I’ll go tomorrow night,” Angel volunteered.
“I’ll take the following night,” said Gerta, raising a hand and wiggling her fingers.
In short order, the nights were assigned. Grace sensed a universal urge to retreat as people dabbed their mouths with napkins and set them on the table.
“There’s coffee in your houses. I’ll have breakfast here every morning by seven, should you choose to join us. Dinner we can take in our strides. I love to cook. We can go out too. There are some lovely restaurants nearby. Now, leave everything and go,” she told them, her fingers wiggling as though chasing them all away. “I have your keys.”
The group began to rise, exchanging comments of farewell. They were gathering at the door when a new sound rose up over the rest. It was the high-pitched grind of a truck coming up the driveway. Grace felt her heart quicken. She swung open the door and stepped out on the stoop. Coming around the curve she saw the front grille of her daughter’s mud-splattered Range Rover, a horse trailer behind it.
“Moira’s arrived!”
* * *
“Mama!”
Moira waved, then stepped down from the cab of her big black Range Rover, feeling the blood circulate through her legs. Ever since she could remember, just seeing her mother’s face meant being home. She was beyond exhausted, but a sudden burst of adrenaline spurred her to run into Grace’s arms.
“You’re here!” Grace exclaimed by her ear as she squeezed Moira in a rocking motion. “I was beginning to worry.”
“Oh, Mama, it’s good to be here.”
“Thank you,” Grace said. “You did heroic work to go to Camden and fetch the dogs.” She pulled back to look at Moira’s face. Moira saw fatigue etched in her mother’s tanned skin, but her eyes were bright with excitement. “Which reminds me. Ron called and told me to tell you again how grateful they are. They’re in Palm Beach now, hunkering down for the storm. He said the entire state is in mayhem, fleeing the storm or madly boarding up houses. I feel for them.”
“I feel for the whole coast. My own house included.”
Moira felt the gentle squeeze of reassurance on her arm. Oddly, she wasn’t afraid for her house. At this moment, now that she was back at Freehold Farm, she didn’t care if the whole house just blew away. There wasn’t time to think about that, however. There was work to be done. Moira inhaled the scent of her mother’s perfume and treasured the feeling of her arms around her for one second longer, then slowly released her.
A high-pitched yapping sounded from the car. Moira turned to see Gigi standing on the seat, her rear wiggling as she tried to determine if she could make the jump to the ground.
“Gigi, wait,” Moira ordered as she hurried to the car.
At seeing Moira, Gigi of course did not wait. In her excitement she leaped from the car and began dancing around the clustered cars, running to the guests and leaping on legs.
“Mama, can you put Gigi inside the house? She’s in heat, and the last thing I need is for a bunch of randy dogs to start howling.”
“In heat? Good God,” Grace exclaimed as she hurried after the dog dancing around her friends. Angel scooped her up in his arms and, a smitten female, Gigi began eagerly licking his face. Laughing, he handed Gigi to Grace, who took her inside.
That done, Moira looked at the trailer and sighed with resignation at the havoc she was about to unleash. “I’d better get all these dogs out, watered, and fed, pronto.”
Her father stepped up, beaming at her. “Daddy,” she whispered on a sigh as she gave him an equally long, heartfelt hug, feeling as she always did on returning home how strong their bond remained. As Moira pulled from her father’s embrace, she looked over his shoulder to see other guests emerging from the house in that hesitant gait of uncertainty.
She immediately recognized Gerta. Though small boned like Elise, with her height and carriage, she tended to stand out in a crowd. Behind her she spotted Hannah, also tall with her long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail—always beautiful and chic, even in jeans, always with her makeup perfect. Then her breath hitched when she caught sight of Angel de la Cruz. It was startling to see him here, in the flesh. He looked just as he did in his pictures, only perhaps even more handsome, all scruffy and . . . real.
But her smile widened at seeing her old friend Elise. It had been years. She seemed smaller and thinner, if possible. She looked like a Pre-Raphaelite with her strong cheekbones and her piercing blue eyes, and her blond hair flowing in ripples nearly to her waist. Elise hung back, but her eyes were gleaming with expectation.