Back at Chestnut Ranch
Fresh-cut grass, hay, and pungent horse manure permeated the air. The latter was amplified by the scorching midday sun. Scarlett Myers took a lasting inhale. While some people might find the stench of ripe droppings repulsive, she found comfort in the odor. Or at least she used to. It was, after all, what she’d grown up smelling every day after school and for myriad hours each weekend for most of her childhood.
Once an avid rider, it had been nine and a half years since she’d last been on a horse or been here at all. (The horsiest she’d been in the past decade was wearing a strapless horse-print dress from Chloé’s spring/summer 2001 collection by Stella McCartney; one of her most treasured garments.) Chestnut Ranch used to feel like her second home. Now, standing on the gravel drive in her faded riding boots, tan breeches, and short-sleeve polo shirt, she felt an apple of apprehension in her stomach.
But she had made up her mind: today was the day she would ride again.
A bale of sorrow blocked her throat as she remembered the final time she’d stroked her lissom Thoroughbred, Lily. After the accident, Scarlett couldn’t bring herself to ride. It wasn’t Lily’s fault, she’d reacted naturally. Still, Scarlett couldn’t overcome the damage that had been done. She had known that the saddle wasn’t right before she’d gone out into the arena on that cool, crisp autumn morning. She’d tried, unsuccessfully, to warn her coach but there wasn’t time. She was up next and had a competition to win. Everyone was counting on her. She was a skilled rider, she could handle it, it was nothing to worry about.
Except, she hadn’t won. She’d barely cleared the third jump before being violently thrown to the ground, coarse sand billowing around her; Lily startled and trotting away with a whinny. A broken collarbone, wrist, and mild concussion later, Scarlett was too terrified to get back on the horse. Any horse. Including her beloved Lily.
Her parents had kept Lily boarded at Chestnut Ranch for a year after the . . .