Gerta heard the chorus of agreement and felt a sudden lightness in her chest. She went to greet Katherine, and the two women commiserated briefly over what might happen to their properties in Florida. But it wasn’t the time to talk, and they kept it brief.
All the women gathered around the petite woman carrying a clipboard. Nancy Corte was the stable manager. Highly organized, she gave out instructions and divvied up the work. Nancy explained that some of the horses in this group of stalls were from a South Carolina riding center, while the others were rescue horses from a Georgia facility.
For once, Gerta was not the one in charge. To her surprise, she enjoyed feeling part of the group—part of something bigger than herself.
The barn hallway was unusually wide, with ample room for horses and people to pass. As she walked toward the stall of her assigned horse, her gaze swept the barn, catching details others might miss. There were water spigots and fans at each stall, as well as larger ceiling fans in the hall. A nice breeze ran through the barn, cooling it even on this steamy day. Tack rooms were on either end of the hall. Katherine did a nice job taking care of both the horses and those who tended them, she thought.
The horses seemed content, despite the turmoil they’d been through. They stood with their heads hanging out the stall windows and watched the humans with curiosity. Because of her leg, Gerta had been given the task of walking the horses. As she passed the stalls, one horse lifted its head and whinnied very loudly, demanding. Gerta stopped in her tracks and swung her head to look at him, as did most everyone else in the barn. She met his gaze, and he nickered in satisfaction.
“Well, hello,” she called back.
The horse was a big dark bay with brown eyes that stared at her with unusual intensity. His ears were forward and his neck seemed to be craned toward her while his nostrils were wide, exploring. She liked the looks of him—and more, his attitude. When she smiled, he looked back at her with confidence that bordered on cocky.
“You have to wait your turn. But I’ll be back,” she said, and began walking away.
The horse whinnied again, more insistently, and kicked the stall door for good measure. Gerta stopped and turned back, questioning.
“Okay. You’ve got my attention,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “What’s the matter, big fella?”
As though in response, the horse shook his mane and blew out air.
Caroline walked by pushing a wheelbarrow of hay. She chuckled and said, “I think he likes you.”
Gerta huffed out air in derision. Of course the horse didn’t especially like her. Most horses didn’t. If anything, they respected her, as she respected them. But like? No. Gerta had hardened her heart against such emotions. She hadn’t tried to get a horse to like her since Razzmajazz. There had been only one horse for her. Enough for her lifetime. She couldn’t feel that way again for any horse. Never again . . .
Gerta frowned and turned to go. Once again, the big bay stomped his feet and neighed loudly, clearly demanding her attention. This time she turned and walked back to the horse and faced him squarely, giving the horse her full focus. The horse shifted his head so he could gaze at her from his right eye. Gerta smiled. She knew that because of the placement of horses’ eyes, they could not see what was directly in front of them, but had to shift their heads to the side to get a good view of something straight ahead. So this horse was, in fact, staring her right in the eyes.
“What’s going on with this horse?” Gerta called out to Katherine, who was filling the water buckets in the next stall.
Katherine stepped out of the stall and leaned against the gate. There was a sprig of hay caught in her hair and her cheeks were flushed. “I’m not sure,” she said, then smiled wryly. “Other than that he wants your attention. Why don’t you walk him first? I don’t think he wants to wait,” she added with a chuckle.
“What’s his name?”
“If it’s not tacked onto the stall, that means he’s probably one of the rescues and doesn’t have a name.”
Gerta glanced at the front of the stall. No name. So he was a rescue. She felt a sudden pity for the horse. He had too much personality for such an uncertain future. She approached the bay’s stall slowly, speaking soothingly. The horse’s ears remained relaxed as he pulled his head into the stall and stood watching. And waiting. Gerta slid open the gate and got her first good look at him.
He was a bit thin—to be expected in a rescue, she thought. But he was indeed a good-looking horse with his rich bay coloring, elegant black stockings, and one white sock on his rear ankle. His black mane and tail were matted. Nothing a good brushing couldn’t fix. Quite pretty, she amended, coming closer and narrowing her eyes in perusal. She placed a hand on his neck, calm and reassuring. He had to be more than sixteen hands with a rectangular build. She let her hand glide along the long sloping shoulder to the strong hindquarters, assessing. As she put on the halter and lead, she studied the finely chiseled head with its broad forehead.
“Katherine?” she called out to the next stall. She heard the thwack of water turning off, and a moment later Katherine rounded the stall.
“Yes?”
Gerta stood back from the horse and put her chin in her palm. “I’m not sure, and I’m not crazy, but I think I’m looking at a Trakehner.”
Katherine’s eyes reflected surprise, and she came closer to study the horse. If it was true, this would be a valued warmblood from Germany. Not something that one usually found among rescues.
“You never know with a rescue. Don’t they usually have the Trakehner brand on them?”
“Ja,” Gerta said, feeling the thrill of the hunt. “Let’s take a look.” She moved to the hind flank while Katherine searched the bay’s shoulders.
“Here,” Gerta called out, her voice high with excitement. Her fingers had rolled over the small scar made by the brand on the right hindquarter. “See? This is the double moose antler.” She bent to peer closer. “And yes, it has the dot in the center.” She stepped back, stunned by this confirmation. “This is definitely a Trakehner. From Germany. The product of nearly three centuries of breeding. And here we find him in a rescue facility.” She put her hand to her cheek. “It’s quite unbelievable.”
“You know German warmbloods as well as anyone,” Katherine said. She gazed at the horse with wonder. “There’s a mystery here. These horses just came in yesterday. Tell you what—I’ll see if I can dig up his paperwork and get back to you.”
“That would be wonderful,” Gerta said. “Something is not right. A Trakehner should never have ended up a rescue. The Klugs have raised Trakehners in Bavaria for many years. The Germans are very protective of them.” She looked at the horse, wondering what circuitous route he had taken to end up at this stable. “Don’t you worry, Mr. No Name. I’ll take care of you.”
Gerta began talking to the horse in German as she led him out of the barn—knowing his origins, it just felt right. She didn’t have to walk far to reach the grazing areas. They were spared a scorching sun as heavy cloud cover created a low gray sky. Strange how one forgot about the hurricane up here, she thought, until one looked at the sky. She shuddered at the realization that the storm was moving toward them in its inexorable path.