left, but the only sounds were coming from the stable barn to the right.
Hope wandered over to it and went in through the gigantic hangar-like doors. Her eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the dimness. Down each side were stalls and some contained horses. One large dark-brown animal had its head hanging over the door. It watched Hope as she approached, its liquid brown eye on her. Its head shifted slightly and Hope held up her hand and very carefully touched the horseâs face. It allowed the caress, so Hopeâs fingers slid to its nose. The skin was like velvet and prickled with thick whiskers. She stroked cautiously down its face again. Then, suddenly, it dipped its head and butted her, hard, in the chest, sending her stumbling backwards into something solid. A pair of arms closed around her and she yelped in surprise.
âFleet, thatâs no way to treat a lady.â Cal set Hope on her feet.
The horse nodded wildly, as if laughing, and Cal tutted at his lack of remorse.
âHeâs a joker.â He ran his hand down the horseâs neck and gave him an affectionate slap. âBut heâd never hurt you.â
Hope rubbed her breastbone, over her clattering heart.
Cal scratched beneath the horseâs mane. âI need to apologize, for the fact my dogâs a deviant. Itâs a puppy thing. I stuck your, er . . . stuff in with a load of laundry.â
She nodded, face still flushed.
âWhat did your mom say?â
Hope huffed and folded her arms. âShe thinks Iâve turned into a raging slut.â
âRaging, huh?â He was genuinely amused. His rare smiles were infectious and Hope couldnât help but smile back. âYou should talk more,â he added. âWasnât sure you could at first.â
They watched each other.
âTired?â
âA bit. But I need to stay awake.â
âThen let me show you something.â He led her over to a stall and pointed over the door. Inside was a beautiful black and white horse and at its feet, folded up on the straw, a tiny white spindle-legged foal with bright blue eyes.
âThis is Zach. Our newest edition. I was up most of the night with Gypsy.â Cal let himself into the stall. âHey, girl, how yâdoing?â He pulled her pricked ears. âWant to come in?â
Hope crept in cautiously and crouched by the foal with Cal.
âHey, little guy.â Cal stroked the foalâs head. Gypsy looked over Calâs shoulder, unconcerned. âSee his eyes? Heâs a throwback. They used to say horses with glass eyes were crazy, could never be tamed. Not true, is it, little guy?â
The tiny foal snorted.
âYeah, exactly,â Cal agreed. âNot crazy at all. And every couple of generations the pale eyes come round again.â Hestood. âWant to help me finish up with the hay?â
âYes, please. Well, if you like.â
He looked at her. âYou want to or not?â
She nodded.
At the back of the barn, he had been shaking out clods of packed hay freed from a large bale and pushing them into net bags. About ten already sat on the floor around them. He passed Hope a net, then took another. She copied him, shaking out handfuls and stuffing the hay into the nets. It was a while before he spoke.
âSo you want to be a scientist?â
âNo. Iâm rubbish at it . . . I want . . . to be a writer.â She waited for the usual reaction, a smirk or a joke, but he just nodded and carried on working.
When they had filled the last hay nets, they went out into the sunshine and Hope watched as Cal dunked them all in a large rain butt standing up against the barn.
âSo the dust doesnât make them cough.â Then he hung them over the doors of each stall, speaking to the horses as he went. Done, he came back to Hope and checked his watch. He was covered in hay dust and his face was dirty. âOK, itâs after six but you
George Simpson, Neal Burger