Ms. Mia and Murder at Bluegrass Run

Chapter 1: Helping Friends

A gleaming white F-350 diesel truck pulled up beside Mia at the airport arrivals curb, its engine rumbling like a big cat. The window rolled down. “Want a ride?” boomed a deep voice.

“Hank!” Mia exclaimed. “How wonderful to see you!”

The tall, broad-shouldered man made his way around the truck and stood in front of Mia, beaming. He tipped back his cowboy hat, nodding at the stack of luggage that dwarfed her. “That all yours?”

“It is.”

“Don’t pack light, do you?” He lugged the polished leather bags into the bed of the pickup truck. They landed with a solid thunk. “They’ll ride fine back there.”

Mia admired the bright new logo of the Spinel family’s newest resort on the side of the truck, tracing it with her fingertip. “That turned out well,” she said, then looked up at the tall step of the F-350. For a petite woman, it was a very long way up.

“Grab the handle and haul,” Hank advised, grinning.

Mia heaved herself up into the seat. The diesel engine roared as Hank swung out into traffic. “Welcome to Kentucky.”

“You know, Bluegrass Run is the first new hotel we’ve created since Leo died. The kids have been very excited.” Mia was the widow of Leo Spinel, the owner of Spinel Hotels, a boutique hotel chain. Her stepson, Alec, had been in charge of the transformation to an inn—his first solo major project. “I’m looking forward to seeing the place,” Mia said. “Photos never show enough. What do you think of the hotel and Kentucky?”

“

She’ll do,” Hank said. “I prefer Arizona, but Becky likes it here, at least to visit. She grew up here, you know.” The truck maneuvered down the highway in a lane that felt impossibly narrow to Mia, but Hank handled it with effortless ease.

Mia’s close friends Becky and Hank Butler lived on the Spinel resort in Arizona, the Desert Sunrise Resort, where Becky managed the riding stable, and Hank was the local sheriff. Now, Becky was setting up Bluegrass Run’s riding stable, and Hank had taken the month off to help.

“How’s Becky’s old teacher?”

“Kat’s not doing so good.” Hank touched his Stetson’s brim. “Becky didn’t realize how bad off Kat was until she got here. Kat had been talking for a while about winding up her farm and finding homes for her horses.” He changed lanes, slotting the big truck neatly between two compacts. “But when Becky got here, and saw the state of the books—well, she knew things had to be done quick. The farm was bankrupt, and all her horses were about to be auctioned off.” He shook his head. “A lot of those old beauties wouldn’t have made it.”

“That would have been a shame.”

“Glad you stepped in and bought the whole lot of those fool beasts.”

“I was glad to,” Mia said. “With Bluegrass Run already housing the former owner’s horses on the property—his will stated that his retired horses stayed on the farm—adding a few more wasn’t much trouble.”

“Becky’s getting all that set up—organizing the books, getting the stables running smoothly, and tucking the horses in at night.” Hank’s eyes danced with amusement. “That wife of mine sure is crazy about her horses. She can’t wait to get everything running in tip-top shape.”

Mia laughed. “They’re amazing creatures. I’m looking forward to riding while I’m here.”

“That’s good to know—because there’s no way you’d get out of Becky taking you.”

They both chuckled.

“Alec said most of the renovations were done before he left, only a few odds and ends to go?”

“Yeah, it’s looking good.” Hank smiled. “You can see for yourself.” He pointed to the low wall on the right, with stones turned vertically on the top course. Green fields and white barns stretched beyond. “That’s Bluegrass Run.”

He swung the truck into a wide drive bounded by massive limestone pillars. A stone gatehouse was built into one side of the black gate. From the row of hanging laundry peeking above the stone wall, someone lived inside the small building.

“Apparently, the gatekeeper came with the property. Alec says he’s quite a character.”

“He’s all that and then some,” Hank said, then tapped the horn lightly.

An elderly man emerged from the gatehouse, walking steadily but excruciatingly slowly. Sun had etched deep lines into his wrinkled brown face, and his back was weighed down by his years, but he walked without a cane. He squinted at them with annoyance, then rasped, “Names?” He flourished a small notebook.

“Mr. Doug, it’s Hank. You just let me out of here an hour ago.” Hank said impatiently.

Mr. Doug peered into the truck’s interior as if hunting for contraband, standing on his tiptoes. “Gotta check everyone in and out. It’s the rules.”

“I’m driving a Bluegrass Run truck, you durn fool,” Hank growled. “All you have to do is buzz me in.”

Mr. Doug’s bleary eyes focused on Mia. “And who’s that? She’s not in my book.”

“She’s one of the new owners,” Hank said, exasperation thickening his voice as he tapped the steering wheel.

Mia said clearly, “Mia Spinel.”

Mr. Doug wrote that down. “Your business here?”

“Observation,” Mia told him with a demure smile.

He cocked his head at her. A small spark lit in his faded gray eyes. “You can pass.” He shuffled back to the little house. After a long minute, the iron gate creaked open as slowly as the man himself.

Hank looked at her, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Quite a character,” Mia agreed smoothly. She resisted the urge to pull out her own notebook to record the problem.

“Straight to the stables or to the inn?”

“The inn first, please.” Mia rolled down her window and looked with interest at the lush, blue-green grass, ringed by undulating black fences. Massive, century-old oaks lined the long drive, meeting overhead in a grand arch that made this truck seem small. Bluegrass Run was three hundred acres of rolling fields, a relatively small farm by Kentucky standards, but all she could see was grass, barns, and horses—no signs of modern life. It might have been a horse farm from a hundred years ago.

“Great, we’ll get you checked in, then Becky can parade the horses past you. She can’t wait to introduce you.”

As they crested a hill, Mia gasped in delight. The Inn at Bluegrass Run was a classical white mansion with sweeping columned porches and a chimney-studded roofline. Two additional wings flanked the sides, recent additions for its new life as a boutique inn.

Alec and the architect had done a fabulous job, Mia decided, blending old and new with deft skill. If she hadn’t seen the plans, she couldn’t have guessed where one ended and the other began.

She swung her legs out of the truck, then looked a long way down at the gravel. Hank came around the side of the truck and laughed at her expression. His big hands encircled her waist; he swung her down as if she were as light as a feather. “There you go, little lady.” He tipped his hat. “I’m going to go check on Becky.”

“Thanks for the ride, Hank. I’ll see you both soon,” Mia told him. She left her luggage in the truck—someone would bring it in—and looked up at the imposing building. Limestone foundations rose to what seemed like acres of freshly painted white clapboard. The bones of the structure were pure Colonial, but wide porches with white columns had been added over the years. Dark green shutters with charming horseshoe cutouts framed each window.

The landscaping was arranged in varied tones of green, with neatly trimmed hedges framing the house and each garden bed. Blooming balls of pink hydrangeas spilled over the hedges beside the front door. Broad limestone steps trimmed with a black wrought iron railing led up to the front porch. The sweet smell of honeysuckle wafted through the air as Mia grasped the warm iron of the reassuringly stable railing. The porch floor was laid in stone squares, honed smooth by generations of footsteps. As she approached the cherry-red door, it opened. A tall man with a tanned face came out to greet her, his smile wide and welcoming.

“Ms. Mia, it’s been a while.” His posture was superbly erect. He was only around forty, suntanned and slim, with the twitchy whippet energy of a lifelong runner. His crisp button-down shirt fit him perfectly, and his khakis had a razor-sharp crease. “I’m glad to see you.”

“Hi, Bill,” she greeted her old friend, the new manager of the Inn at Bluegrass Run. “How do you like the hotel so far?”

“It’s a good place. I think it’s going to be a showpiece. Quite a change from Denver, though,” Bill told her. He had been the assistant manager at the Spinel Denver. “Angie’s loving it. It’s her lifelong dream to live on a horse farm.”

“That’s terrific—and Tad and Gerry are settling in?”

“The kids are loving it too. They’re already begging for riding lessons.”

“Consider that a perk for the family as soon as the riding instructor arrives.”

“Thanks, Ms. Mia!” He opened the substantial door for her. She stepped into the cool, softly lit room. Bill’s hand swept around the lobby. “What do you think? Alec did a great job, didn’t he?”

“He did indeed.” Mia gazed around the expansive space. Classic Southern high ceilings soared above the original heart pine planks with airy grace. The long central hall ran the full depth of the house, ending in large French doors that framed rolling pastures beyond. The graceful curve of a staircase swept to the next floor. Spacious openings to either side revealed antique rugs anchoring groupings of comfortable, leather club chairs and green velvet sofas. The designer had wisely left the hall floor bare, expecting muddy riding boots. Paneled walls were painted a warm, pale cream, with crisp white trim.

Horse-themed details appeared everywhere, from the wall showcasing Bluegrass Run’s many trophies to the horsehead andirons in the fireplace. A brimming basket of enormous pinecones sat inside the seasonally dormant fireplace. Green ferns in burnished brass pots were scattered around the room. Bouquets of lush red roses in crystal vases perfumed the space.

Everything about the lobby said luxury, but a quiet, practical luxury that welcomed riding clothes and Kentucky weather.

As in most Spinel hotels, the concierge and front desk shared a long antique library table—easily staffed by two during rushes. A young woman stood as Mia approached. She said warmly, “Ms. Mia? It’s so nice to meet you. I have your room key right here. Is there anything I can help you with? Maybe a glass of sweet tea?”

Mia read her name tag. “Chloe? It’s nice to meet you, too. A glass of sweet tea would be terrific.”

“Would you like to have it on the back terrace, Ms. Mia?” Bill asked. “There’s a panoramic view of the property.”

“Perfect,” Mia said.

“It’ll be right out,” Chloe said cheerfully.

The limestone terrace spanned the full width of the main house, spreading past the wings. Stone paving edged by purple lavender and bounded by lush lawn gave way to rolling green hills. The view was magnificent. Massive oak trees shielded the main house from sun and high winds, their shadows dappling the broad lawn. The smooth grass merged into blue-green fields. Black fences zigzagged across the fields, tracing the deep folds of the land. A small herd of horses ran on a distant hilltop, their long tails streaming.

Mia sank into a cushioned silver teak armchair and propped her feet up on the ottoman. She inhaled the heavy sweetness of lavender mixed with fresh mown grass. After the stale air of her plane ride, it felt good to have the sun on her face and her tired feet up on a chair.

Bill sat down at a nearby table and said, “It really is a splendid view, isn’t it?”

“It is—almost a dream of a farm.” She watched the far-off horses slow and gather around a hay feeder, hazy in the afternoon light. “You’ve done a lot with this in a short time.”

“Alec did the heavy lifting on this project. Then the poor guy had to leave on a crisis just as it was coming together, before he could enjoy it.” Bill stretched his legs out in the sun, his leather shoes sliding on the stone. “There’s still work to do, of course.”

“Hotels are always works in progress.”

“They are. We’re at the fine-tuning stage.”

Mia suggested, “Mr. Doug at the gate?”

“That one’s going to be tricky. Mr. Doug has to stay on the property, but he’s not suitable for a hotel gatekeeper. And he’s been the gatekeeper for about sixty years.”

“Then we need to find a more congenial job for him.”

“Exactly.” Bill looked up as a waitress placed a tall iced tea next to Mia. “Thanks, Nancy. Let me introduce you to Ms. Mia.”

Nancy nodded, “Hi, Ms. Mia. Anything else? A snack to tide you over?”

“No, thank you, I’m good,” Mia told her.

“Okay.” The waitress left to fill more orders, brown ponytail swinging with each step.

Mia gazed at the horses in the distance. “Tell me what you think about the place. Bluegrass Run is our first time combining a resort and a working farm.”

Bill’s head bobbed enthusiastically. “That’s what’s so amazing about the place. The house was a perfect setup for a hotel—just needed a few more guest rooms, a restaurant wing, and some event areas. Guests can experience life on a working horse farm right in the heart of the Kentucky bluegrass.” He gestured extravagantly out at the rolling green hills, faintly hazed with blue. “I’m still learning about the horse farm business. I rode horses in Colorado, but I’ve never been part of anything like this. It’s a breeding stable only, Thoroughbreds through the yearling stage. They don’t train or race the horses here.”

“And the guest riding stable is new, as well.”

“Yes, Mr. Phillips kept a few horses for himself and his guests, but that’s all new. We renovated an old tobacco barn for his retired horses.” Bill waved a hand toward the far fields. “Luckily, the horse operations are completely separate from the inn. Lee Kennedy, a top breeder, runs the farm, so there’s not much for me to manage there.” He chuckled. “Since I know next to nothing about Thoroughbreds, that’s a relief, both for the horses and me.”

Mia let out a small laugh. “I wouldn’t know what to do on a horse farm either.”

“Lee’s a bit cranky, but he won’t interact with the guests unless they’re here for farm-related business. The working farm portion definitely brings in its share of the income—and adds to the fun for the guests. They get to see some of the most magnificent horses in the world while relaxing here.”

Mia gazed out over the pastures. “We’ve never had a farm as part of a Spinel hotel before. It should be an interesting addition.”

“There’ve been several foals born recently—cutest creatures on earth. The kids are in love with every one.” Bill chuckled, propping a foot up on his knee and bouncing it. “Becky’s been setting the riding program up—she’s so efficient it’s a bit intimidating. She’ll tell you all about it.”

“I’m sure she will,” Mia said. “So tell me about the guests we have here now? It’s a bit of a soft opening, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Bill agreed. “You’ll finish setting up the spa and all the finishing touches while you’re here, of course.” His eyes traveled off into the distance. “It’s a good group of guests. Mike and Joanna Edwards came here for the horses. She’s always wanted to ride, and now that he’s semi-retired—enough to be out of the city and building a house near here—he’s buying her a horse. Nice couple.”

Mia nodded.

Bill continued, “Three friends who brought their horses to ride here—we’ve got great facilities, you know. Deb, Barb, and Susie. I’m not sure which are the divorcees and which the golf widow, but they have plenty of money and seem to spend it mostly on horses—that’s their lifestyle.”

“So the horse farm really generates business for the inn?”

Bill gave a low laugh. “Right now, the farm is the business, and the inn is just a convenient place to stay. But horse breeding is volatile—one year’s all top sales, the next you’re down. By next year, the hotel will be the premier place to stay in Kentucky horse country.” He shot out his cuff and checked his watch, a classic Tag Heuer.

“Interesting.”

“We have a wedding party staying—bride, groom, and all their family along to see them hitched right.”

“I do like weddings,” Mia said cheerfully.

“It’s a good one. Happy young couple. They’ll be married this Saturday in a little chapel on the grounds, looking out over all this.” He waved his arm at the sublime view. “Chapel renovations finished just in time—it’s over a hundred years old. Beautiful place.”

“Perfect.”

“Let’s see, who else? Finn Powell, a businessman. Plenty of money and into horses in a big way, from what he’s let drop.” He frowned slightly. “Chris Cooper and his wife—he’s here for Keeneland’s betting windows.”

“I see.”

“And we’ve got some women from Boston that adore horses. They’d feed them treats for hours, given the chance.” He smoothed his hair. “I think that’s about it right now. A few other couples—it’s an easy soft opening.”

“Well, isn’t that wonderful?” Mia said. “I knew this estate was too gorgeous to pass up, but I’m delighted at how well the farm and inn business are meshing.”

“And don’t forget the distillery. Bluegrass Run Bourbon is serious stuff in the craft distillery world.”

“I look forward to trying it,” Mia said.

Mia relaxed, gazing out over the blue-green fields. Several expansive stables, all white with dark green trim, dotted the view. Elaborate cupolas with pointed finials topped each long stable in a practical nod to ventilation and a charming one to decoration. Copper-winged horses turned slowly at the pinnacles, marking the wind direction.

The shimmering blue tops of the grass bowed in the stiff breeze. Trees were planted between pastures as shady windblocks, safely protected from the horses’ destructive reach. Neat black fences encircled a few stately oaks dotting the pastures. Dark wood fences and stone walls enclosed the entire farm. Within these formidable barriers lay individual fenced paddocks, so feisty Thoroughbreds could be moved safely between grazing grounds.

She spotted Becky in the distance, striding across the green fields. Her loose-limbed gait swung effortlessly up the steep hill. Her short hair blew in the wind, standing on end in a glossy wave. Her new wedding ring flashed in the sun as she held her hand high in greeting. As she drew close, Mia saw how happy she looked. Her tanned face almost glowed, and the lines around her eyes fanned out as she smiled in welcome.

“Ms. Mia, I can’t wait to show you these horses!” Becky began enthusiastically. “My Quarter Horses are wonderful, sturdy beasts, well adapted for life out west, but Thoroughbreds are pure poetry in motion. I’ve missed them sorely.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Hank’s checking out the Sanctuary horses right now.” Becky swept her hand through her soft brown hair, silver highlights glinting in the sun. “They’re settling in well.”

“

Then let’s go,” Mia said. She took a last sip of her iced tea, and they set out across the fields, Becky visibly slowing her long strides to match Mia’s.

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you stepped in to buy Kat’s horses,” Becky said. “I don’t know what we would have done otherwise, with her farm being broken up so quickly.”

“Don’t say another word about it,” Mia said. “I couldn’t imagine the poor things not having a good home.” She strode along, enjoying the blue sky overhead and the warm sun on her back.

Becky squinted into the distance at the stable. “The Bluegrass Run Sanctuary horses are in the farthest barn, of course. Away from the business and the riding stables.”

“That makes sense. They deserve a quiet life.” Mia wondered just how far they were walking. After the long plane flight, it felt good to stretch her legs, and she could always get a lift back.

Becky waved her hand at the first stable as they passed. “Want to take a look? That’s the riding stable.”

“Of course.” She scanned the crisp white paint and the sparkling glass windows of the cupolas. The flying horse creaked on its post as the wind shifted.

They entered the shady barn, and the sweet smell of hay filled their nostrils. Soft, welcoming whinnies met their ears as the horses turned to greet Becky. She grabbed a few chunks of carrot out of a bucket hanging on a peg, motioning Mia to do the same. She ran a sun-spotted hand over each nose as she fed them their treats. “They’re good, calm horses, these. We’ve put together a fine little riding stable for guests. A few retired racehorses like this guy,” she stroked a sleek head as he gently took a piece, “plus some warmbloods, to be easy on the less experienced guests.” She nodded at a few empty stalls. “I think some of the horses from Kat’s will join them, but I want to get them used to the farm first.”

Mia lifted her hand to a velvet muzzle, feeling a tickle as the mare gently took the treat. “Absolutely. They need time to acclimate to their new surroundings. And we don’t have many guests yet—it’s early days.”

“Early in the season, too—the hotel will fill up soon enough. A few guests brought their own horses, but they’re housed in a smaller stable around that way.” She pointed to a far corner of the farm. “Like to keep the unknown quantities separate.” Becky gave a last rub to the Thoroughbred’s forehead.

“Yes, we don’t want to risk injuring these charming animals if a guest’s horse is aggressive—or sick.”

“Exactly.” Becky continued walking past the empty stalls and out the opposite door of the barn, a breezy passage through to the open air. They walked down the long drive, fine gravel crunching under their shoes. “They keep the breeding stock well separated from the other stables. Stallions and broodmares are valuable property, and yearlings need space to run.”

Mia nodded. She’d studied the balance sheets during due diligence. Thoroughbred breeding was big business in the Kentucky bluegrass. The grass here was the finest in the world for raising horses, thanks to the mineral-rich limestone beneath it.

Leaving the main drive, Becky crossed several pastures to an isolated stable with only one stall, its opening guarded by a locked iron grate. “This guy’s the star of the farm. Chase the Wind’s a grand stallion.” She pulled some carrots out of her pocket and offered them to the powerful mahogany bay. His rich red-brown coat glowed with health and strength. He thrust his nose into her outstretched hand and took his treat, turning his head to regard Mia with an intelligent eye.

“You’re gorgeous,” Mia breathed. Chase’s coat shone with the fluid sheen of heavy silk, powerful muscles flowing beneath with every step.

“Wait until you see Chase run,” Becky told her. “That’s something to see, for sure.”

Mia stroked the immense, almost black nose as he snorted softly, drawing in her scent. “I look forward to it.” Chase blew out his nostrils, making a huffing noise.

A compact, wiry man hurried around the side of the stable. “Hey, you can’t—” He stopped abruptly, looking at them, lines deepening on either side of his mouth. “Oh, it’s you, Becky. Thought you were more tourists.”

Becky stroked the stallion’s forehead one more time. “No, just introducing Chase to the boss.” She nodded toward Mia. “Ms. Mia, meet Lee Kennedy. He runs the breeding stables.”

Mia held out her hand. Lee took it briefly in a tight, clammy grip. “Ms. Mia,” he acknowledged, then dropped her hand abruptly.

“These horses need to be kept separate from the riding ones,” he stated. “Chase, here, he’s worth the lot of them.” He scuffed his worn boot in the dusty ground, looking down. “Bred multiple graded stakes winners off this stallion... including that G3 filly last year.”

Mia raised a delicate eyebrow. “I’m well aware of his value.”

“And my mares need to be left alone. Don’t want tourists bothering them.” He slapped a freckled hand on the stallion’s neck.

“Becky was about to show me the broodmare stable. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to give me a tour?”

He looked up, briefly meeting her eyes with his narrowed hazel ones. “Fine.” He walked off at a rapid pace, not looking back.

Mia trailed behind at her own speed, taking in the farm. Walking beside her, Becky pointed ahead at an elongated stable. “The broodmares are stabled in there. But in this weather, most of the broodmares are out on the grass.”

“It’s a gorgeous day,” Mia agreed.

The figure of Lee Kennedy strode across the field, cutting diagonally across the road. He reached the paddock, stopped, and gave a shrill whistle. The graceful little herd of mares and foals looked up from the grass, then started ambling over to him. He patted them, pulling red and white peppermints out of his pocket, giving each one in turn, patting broad foreheads as they nudged him. The horses crunched, and the sharp smell of peppermint cut through the scents of grass and warm horse. The mares remained clustered around him, their soft mouths searching for more treats.

A tight, narrow-lipped smile flashed on Lee’s face. “These are my girls. Some of the mares are ours—part of our in-house breeding program. We board a good many here, too.”

He nodded at a glossy black head. “That mare, she’s already produced a runner. Sound as they come.” He pointed to the gray. “And that mare hasn’t missed yet. Every one of hers has been correct.” He slapped a hand on a tall chestnut’s warm brown neck, “This one’s out of a stakes family. Her first foal brought a strong number at Keeneland.”

A long-eared head popped out from between the glossy flanks. Unkempt, fuzzy sides shoved hard. Big teeth grinned cartoonishly, and a little donkey stuck his head out between the rails, straining to get at the peppermints in Lee’s pocket. With a slight scowl, Lee handed the blocky guy a mint.

Becky chuckled. “Sebastian does like his treats.”

Mia proffered a carrot. Sebastian grinned back at her, taking the chunk with oversized teeth and braying his signature “Hee-haw!”

Mia laughed. “He’s a bit out of place in this elegant group.” The scruffy little guy was half the size of the tall, elegant mares.

“He’s protection for the herd,” Lee said gruffly. “Killed a coyote this spring that was trying to get at the foals. He earns his keep.”

Impressed, Mia scratched the donkey’s rough coat. “What a brave little man.” He brayed at her, butting her pocket. She fed him another piece. He chomped it in bliss, eyes closed, big yellow teeth working like mad, and his long ears twitching. One of the sleek Thoroughbreds bowed her head over his, blowing gently, and Mia handed the mare a carrot. The two leaned together as she turned to leave.

Lee walked up the hill to the barn, the women trailing behind his energetic, bowlegged stride. The wide doors were open, letting the cool breeze flow through the length of the building, smelling of fresh-cut, green grass and the clean, summer sun fragrance of hay.

They had already met most of the occupants of the airy loose boxes, but one held a wobbly-legged new foal nestled close to its mother. The door was pulled back on its track, but a substantial steel grate barred the opening. Becky tapped it. “Plenty of ventilation, but this little guy is safe inside.” The dirt floor was spotlessly clean, piled thick with fresh straw. A stack of hay bales stood outside the door.

The new colt unfolded and came over to the opening, still wobbling on his long, delicate legs. His coat was short and scruffy from his mother’s vigorous grooming. His enormous eyes gazed curiously at them, long lashes blinking, and he pushed his soft nose against the green-painted metal in greeting.

“This one’ll be out in a day or two,” Lee said. “Once he’s steady on his feet. No point rushing a good thing.” He scratched the little soft nose as it pushed against the grate.

“Born a few hours ago,” Becky added. “It’s been quite a day.”

Mia reached her hand through the grid and stroked the velvet smoothness of the curious foal’s nose. “He’s a lovely little one.”

Lee stated, as proudly as a new father, “He’s got good bone already. He’ll be a runner.” With a last pat on the little head, he walked down the long aisle of the stable and knocked on a wooden door. “Ann? You in there?”

“Sure, Lee,” said an exhausted voice. A petite blonde woman opened the door, then leaned on the doorframe. “Foal’s looking good. Took his vitals a few minutes ago.”

“Yes, he’s a goodun.” Lee waved a hand impatiently in Mia’s direction. “Come meet the new boss, Ms. Mia.”

Ann emerged from her office, feet shuffling on the swept dirt floor. Her narrow shoulders slumped, as though she’d already decided the world was against her. She proffered a reluctant hand to Mia. “Nice to meet you,” was repeated rapidly as a learned formula.

Becky spoke for Ann. “Ms. Mia, this is Ann Hughes, the broodmare manager. She worked at Kat’s—we were lucky to get her.” She slapped the young woman on the back heartily. “She was up all last night with the new foal.”

Ann blushed, an ugly red spreading in blotches across her face. Her blond hair was frizzed with cheap shampoo, dark at the roots, and scraped back from a high, prominent forehead. She looked down at the floor, as if unsure what to say next.

“The new foal looks well,” Mia said encouragingly.

Ann raised her head and met her eyes. A brilliant smile lit her face, turning her sullen exhaustion into the face of a pretty girl. “The foal came last night, later than we’d like, so we were a bit concerned. There was no way I’d have left her.”

“

But he’s out now and will be on pasture soon,” Lee said. His eyes scanned the stable impatiently, his hand idly knocking on the doorframe.

Mia lingered by the little foal. His long legs were skinny, with big, knobbly knees and hooves seemingly twice the size they needed to be. His body was scruffy, stiff mane standing on end like a crew cut. His short, fuzzy tail barely covered his rear. Ribs showed under his coat, but his belly hung full with milk. His brown eyes were huge. Intelligent ears cocked at their voices, taking the new world in. She reluctantly followed Becky toward the far stable door.

Becky waved a hand at the office. “Lee and Ann share this office, but the riding stable has its own. Look at their wall of fame.”

One wall of the office was covered in photos of horses. Horses with their necks stretched taut, running flat out. Horses wreathed in flowers, owners holding trophies in the winner’s circle. An old black and white side view of a horse, a faded swatch of silks pinned to the frame. A long-legged yearling with a brass nameplate. A few showed a bent old man (Mia guessed this was Mr. Phillips), smiling proudly.

Ann had already retreated, frowning, with her elbows propped on her desk. As they passed, Mia noticed that the stacks of papers on the desk were neatly corralled in labeled baskets. A laptop stood open, and a big yellow legal pad lay next to it. One gray metal file cabinet lurked in the corner. A whiteboard hung on the wall, with horse names and details. Considering Ann had just started her job here a few weeks ago, she was remarkably organized.

Becky called inside, “We’re off to see the pensioners.”

Ann moved her head, but said nothing, her shoulders rounding into her chair.

Lee’s wiry figure was already halfway back to Chase’s stable, with no word of goodbye.

They walked down a winding road. A curved stone bridge, wide and sturdy enough for trucks and trailers, crossed a deep stream folded into the hillside. A small stable nestled at the end of the green grass hollow. The fences in the paddocks back here were a little worn, bright wood showing where the tops had been chewed by horses. Everything was in good repair, but not quite as pristine as the rest of the farm.

“Mr. Phillips left five horses to remain on the property. All ones who really couldn’t be sold to good homes.” Becky chuckled softly as a hopeful gray muzzled face appeared around the side of the stable door. The venerable horse strolled up, taking his time to inspect his visitors. “This old guy here won a few stakes races in his time. Bluegrass Echo was Mr. Phillips’s favorite horse. He rode him every day until they were both too old. He’d still go check on him in all weathers, from what I’ve heard.” She fed him a carrot and scratched his long nose. “He couldn’t bear to let anything happen to him. Man after my own heart.”

“His horse was an old friend,” Mia suggested.

“Exactly. Naturally, as a horse breeder, he bought and sold horses, but the ones in Bluegrass Run Sanctuary here were his friends. They’re too old for anything much now, but they were good horses in their time.”

“They seem like good horses now,” said Mia, feeding a treat to Bluegrass Echo. “And Kat’s horses are in the stable?”

“Hank’s checking one out now.” Since Mia had seen Hank acting before as a vet—and a farrier—she wasn’t surprised.

They entered the stables to a busy scene. Several heads hung out of their stall doors alertly.

Hank had a bay mare held in a big loose box. “Vet can’t come check her today—had to go to a foaling.” He ran his hands down the horse’s smooth, dark legs, gently stroking her. He looked up at Becky. “I don’t think she has any injuries. She’s looking fine—wouldn’t be surprised if she joined the riding stable after a bit.”

“Let her have some time to acclimate,” Mia said. She walked slowly up to the side of the copper-colored mare and stroked her head, with its white fan-shaped blaze. A few locks of her dark mane hung between her ears. The horse shook her head impatiently, her mane whipping, and snorted. “How are you, girl?”

Becky flipped through a hanging clipboard. “This one’s name is Genevieve. Nice little mare. Was walking a bit off this morning, so I wanted to have her checked.” She tapped the board. “She’ll definitely be joining the riding stable. She’s too young to be put out to pasture. Needs a purpose in life—just like the rest of us.”

She touched a stall door, and a dappled gray mare, her silky coat already silvering at her flanks, looked at her with wide eyes. Her mane and tail glowed a striking silver-gray that shimmered in the light. Becky offered a carrot, which the horse grabbed quickly, as if it might be withdrawn. “Now this one, Gray Lady, is Kat’s favorite. She doesn’t need to do anything but be a pasture ornament.” She nodded with satisfaction. “Kat will be glad to see her in her new home.”

At the next stall, a deep liver chestnut horse with a small blaze between his eyes and a faint snip on the muzzle pawed at the ground, shifting his weight from side to side with every move. His muscles twitched under his satiny coat. “That gelding’s still a little unsettled—he needs time. I don’t know if he’ll be calm enough for riders.” Becky moved to the next stall. “One of the older broodmares—we’ll see what Lee thinks about her. She might drop a few more foals yet.” A black mare, the tiny star high on her forehead starting to fade, but her dark coat still gleamed like polished obsidian in the afternoon light as she pulled at a stack of hay. She swung her graceful head around at the smell of carrot and ambled across the stall.

A dark mahogany gelding with black points sharp against his rich coat, a narrow white strip running down his nose, flicked his sensitive ears at the sound of Becky’s voice. He leaned his long head out of the next stall, twisting one way, then another, straining with his nostrils flaring and lips pulling back from his teeth. “This guy needs to calm down a bit, get a little retraining before joining the riding group. He was racing not too long ago,” Becky said. “Takes a few years to get that out of his blood.”

“He’ll have time,” Mia said. “It’s a perfect retirement home for these horses.”

“Yes,” Becky agreed. “They’ll be happy here.”