Page 28 of Chasing Justice
Maya had been so engrossed watching the beautiful partnership that she realized she hadn’t said anything. Not even a hello.
“Cat got your tongue?” her grandfather asked, continuing to massage the filly’s head, his hands now massaging down the horse’s face and jaw.
“No. Hi. Nice filly. How old?”
“She’s three. Last foal out of Daisy.”
“Really? I didn’t think the old girl had it in her to have another foal.”
“I wasn’t sure, but Doc said she was good for one more. Since I’d sold her colt, I thought I’d give it a try. She gave me a good one here. I think I’ll be able to use her for some mounted patrol work.” Maya’s grandfather went to the edge of the round pen and picked up a halter. The filly followed him, sniffing at his elbow. She stayed in place as he put the rope around her neck.
“Who’s the sire?” Maya asked.
“A nice quarter horse in the Parker area. Poco Bueno breeding with some Doc Bar on his mother’s side. Typical quarter horse breeding, but I thought it would cross well with Daisy’s racing bloodlines.” Pops opened the gate and led the filly out. The filly stepped her hindquarters over as he turned and shut the gate. “But something tells me you didn’t come here to ask about Velvet’s breeding.”
“Velvet? Really, Pops?”
“What’s wrong with Velvet?”
“I just didn’t peg you to pick such a girly name.” Maya had been the one who had named Daisy long ago. Pops had given her a hard time about the guys taking him seriously when he rode a horse named Daisy with the mounted patrol.
He started to lead the horse into the barn. “Did you really stop in to give me crap about what I named my horse? Plus, she’s named afterNational Velvet.”
Maya shoved her hands in her pockets. That had been one of her favorite movies growing up. As they walked into the barn, scents of hay mixed with manure and shavings hit her nose and brought her back to her childhood.
Her grandfather led the filly into a grooming area and tied her up. He started to untack her, carefully loosening the back-cinch and breast collar first.
“I didn’t stop in to give you crap, Pops. I wanted to say hi.”
“I’d like to believe that.”
Maya’s face flushed. “Why can’t you believe that?”
“After what you did, lying to me, I can’t believe anything you say.”
“I know. I understand. I hope you can start to trust me again.”
“That will take time.”
Maya bit her tongue.You’re not here to fight.“Pops, I’m sorry. Maybe someday we can talk about that. When we’re both ready. There’s things you don’t understand.”
“You’re right. I don’t understand.” Her grandfather pulled the saddle off and placed it on a saddle stand. He began to rub the filly with a currycomb. The young horse started to paw and dance a little in place. Pops put a hand on Velvet’s neck and spoke to her until she settled.
“Look, I didn’t come here to start a fight. And you’re right. I have a question,” Maya said, watching him calm the horse. When she was a little girl, he’d come into her room and had done much the same thing after her nightmares.
“What’s your question?”
“Do you want to finish putting her away? Maybe we can have some coffee.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
He brushed down the filly and led her over to an open stall. Warm breath came on Maya’s neck and she turned to find herself face-to-face with Daisy. Maya stroked the old mare’s face, cupping her soft muzzle in her hand. Her whiskers tickled Maya’s palm as the mare nuzzled her, searching for treats. Contentment filled Maya—Daisy was beautiful and a piece of home Maya missed.
Her grandfather hung up Velvet’s halter and started marching toward the house. Maya followed him in silence, stopping to check on Juniper in her climate-controlled area. She had curled up and fallen asleep, so Maya left her in the vehicle.
Pops hung his hat and vest on the pegs inside the door. Maya took off her boots out of habit. Nana had been a stickler about not wearing boots in the house. She noticed Pops left his boots on.
Maya saw Nana’s touch everywhere from the curtains to the watercolor mountain-scene paintings hanging up on the wall. Nana had loved artwork and learned to paint when Maya was in high school. She’d given Maya several of her paintings, but she had left them in boxes. They were too painful to look at.
