Page 76 of Coming Home to Sturcombe Bay
Only a couple of the stalls were occupied. The rest of the horses were in a large paddock at the far end, and she recognised Missie at once — a beautiful bay with a white blaze down her nose and one slightly crooked ear.
Cassie called her name softly, and to her delight, the horse seemed to recognise her and trotted over.
“Well, hello there. Yes, I remembered the polo mints.” She held one out on the palm of her hand, and with a little whicker, the gentle mare took it from her and looked for another one. Cassie laughed. “Still as greedy as ever.”
“You got that right.”
She took a moment to compose herself, stroking the horse’s sleek neck, then turned with a bright smile. “Hi. Are you coming out too?”
“I need to see how Hector up at the end there is doing. He’s had a bad dose of pneumonia and I had to do a thoracotomy to clear it up. Do you want a hand to saddle her up?”
“No. I can manage, thanks.”
She opened the gate and Missie walked through, following her across the yard to the tack room. By the time she had her saddled up Liam was ready, mounted on a handsome bay.
“He’s a fine-looking lad.”
“He is.” Liam patted the bay’s neck. “He’s coming along well. He should be able to go home in a few days.”
“That’s good.” She led Missie over to the mounting block and swung herself up into the saddle. She immediately felt comfortable — the big mare’s gait was smooth, her ears relaxed, showing that she too felt comfortable.
They rode out of the gate and turned along the South West Coast Path. To their right was a large field, bright with buttercups, where a dozen horses, several ponies and four donkeys were grazing peacefully.
“That big roan is Luke’s,” Liam pointed out. “The chestnut is my dad’s. And that beautiful black mare is mine.” There was a world of pride in his voice. “Gitana — Spanish for gypsy.”
“It suits her.”
The horse had seen him and trotted over to the fence, whickering. “Yes, okay. It’ll be your turn tomorrow,” he promised, stroking her nose. “It’s Hector’s turn today.”
Cassie laughed. “She really is beautiful. And very intelligent. And I’d guess that’s Robyn’s Biscuit?” The shaggy-maned Shetland was happily grazing at the side of the field.
“That’s right.”
“I love that she called him Biscuit. I bet she’s a good little rider.”
“She is.” The warmth in his voice conveyed his love for his small daughter.
“And those others — they’re from the Rescue Society?”
“Most of them.”
She could see that several of the animals looked badly out of condition, their ribs and hip bones visible, their coats dull and ragged. “It’s so sad to see them like that, but good to know that they’re being cared for now. How many are you looking after?”
“We’ve got fourteen rescues here at the moment, and a few dozen more living out in foster homes, as well as the ponies and donkeys.”
“It’s grown a lot since I went away.”
“Unfortunately, the need’s grown.”
“It must cost a fortune to run.”
“We get support from donors and charities, and we do some fundraising ourselves. And we have a GoFundMe site attached to the website.”
“Sounds like a lot of work.”
“It is.” He smiled, his eyes warm as he glanced back over his shoulder at the herd contentedly cropping the lush grass. “But it’s worth it.”
Cassie watched him silently. This was his life’s work — his whole heart was in it. He would never have left it to travel the world with her ten years ago, and he would never leave it now.
