The Horsemaster's Daughter by Susan Wiggs

Author:Susan Wiggs
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Harlequin (UK) Limited
Published: 1999-09-10T04:00:00+00:00

“Papa?” a voice called, trembling slightly.

“Belinda, what’s wrong?” Hunter asked his daughter. She was the one bright blossom in his life; she gave him a reason for emerging, at least once a day, from the fog of whiskey he usually hid inside. He bent down on one knee and held out his arms.

She came to him, her face curiously solemn for a seven-year-old’s. “I have something to tell you, Papa,” she said.

He held her for a few moments, moved by the pure sweetness of her scent, her voice, the warmth of her body. Over her head, he watched the stallion in the paddock adjacent to the stables. The last time Finn had been penned there, he had been caked in mud and possessed by madness. Now he stood placidly, flicking his tail at flies. Later this afternoon, Noah would begin working with him, and if things went well Finn would be taken out to the mile oval to see if he would race again.

Hunter tried to remember the last time Belinda had smiled for him, the last time he’d heard the sound of her laughter. It had been too damn long. Feeling awkward and unworthy, he picked her up in his arms. How light and delicate she was. How fragile, like a butterfly.

He kissed her golden blond curls. She had a great, beautiful mop of hair that more than compensated for the threadbare condition of her dress, which she was fast outgrowing. He’d have to ask her grandmother Beaumont if she could search her attic trunks for another of Lacey’s childhood gowns. If he thought about it too hard, the idea of his little girl wearing her dead mother’s dresses would make him insane.

“Tell me what’s on your mind, sugar pie,” he said, setting her down. “I’m all ears.” He took his and waggled them, hoping to coax a grin from her. He wished she had dolls and fairy tales on her mind, but Belinda had left those behind two years ago, putting them to rest with the same solemn finality with which he had buried his wife in the family plot.

She didn’t smile. If anything, she grew more somber still. “It’s about Blue.”

His heart took a dive, though he didn’t let it show in his face. “What about Blue?”

“Well, he didn’t come to Bonterre for lessons today. Master Rencher said he’d take a switch to him.”

“Master Rencher will get his skinny neck wrung if he lays a hand on Blue.” Hunter spoke mildly, but he was surprised by his own vehemence. The protective instinct his children roused in him was almost violent. Why couldn’t he just love them? he wondered. Why was it so easy to be fierce, yet so hard to be simply affectionate? “So where did Blue go?”

“He climbed up to Uncle Ryan’s old lookout platform and he won’t come down.”

“He’ll come down when he gets hungry,” he assured Belinda.

“He’s been up there since early this morning,” she said. Her eyes, round and blue as china plates, accused him with their complete lack of guile and calculation.

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