Time Will Tell (Timeless Series) (3 page)

“Well
, good, because I’m likely to repeat a lot of information. Anyway, back to Pride. Sam doesn’t race her. He quit all that back when he started the camp, but her foals add to the farm’s income. Sam runs her daily, which gives her a chance to show us she knows what she was bred for.” He let go of the horse and faced her. “Well? Have I convinced you yet?”

She indicated Pride with her nod. “Brought out the big guns, huh? You didn’t need her. I was ready to sign on the minute I drove up the gravel road.”

“Great. There’s more to see. Then I’ll need to get to work.” He turned to leave. “When can you start?”

“Not for two weeks.” Libby stroked Pride one more time and whispered good
-bye before catching up with Doug. “I still have to give a notice. I can be here after work and on my days off, if that’s OK?”

“I’ll take any time I can get. Just let me know your schedule and I’ll work around it.” They walked through the stable with him pointing things out as he went. “The last ten are pregnant mares we saved a couple of months ago from a farm in Montana—that’s all we could take. We’ll sell the foals to help with finances. They’re outside right now. Since they’re used to harsher climates, we’re able to let them graze more in the open. It helps with the workload and overhead. I only bring them in when the temperature gets too cold at night.”

“They must have been the horses running free that I saw on my way in.”

“Yeah, the left pasture.
Close to the road.” The two departed the main stable and headed toward a two-story building. Doug continued talking. “The good thing about having more horses is that after they foal and the foals are weaned and sold, we’ll be able to help more kids. We’ve renovated the bunkhouse. Added a few more rooms.”

He stopped and looked around. His chest puffed up with pride. “We can accommodate up to fifty-five kids at a time. Of course it doesn’t always work out that we’re full, given that some kids stay only a week and some stay the full month.
It’s best if each child cares for the same horse for his or her entire stay. That always creates a few scheduling dilemmas.”

She smiled. “I take it Thorpe’s Pride isn’t one the kids practice on?”

“Hardly.” Doug grunted. “Thorpe’s Pride, Black Mystic, and Mary’s Choice are the only three mares we breed. They’re descendants from the farm’s original two horses and each has a special place in Sam’s heart. We geld the stallions. They’re easier for the kids to handle. Sam takes care of Thorpe’s Pride and Bev takes care of the other two. She works with our vet the rest of the time.”

They toured the bunkhouse. On the way out, Doug glanced at Libby. “Does it bring back memories?”

Boy did it ever! Images of the kids and the camp rushed into her head. This place was as unique as the kids who came through it, sometimes providing solace to a dying child, and at other times the means to aid in confidence-building or nurturing the healing process. Nodding, she said, “Yes. I’ve always loved it here.”

“Are you interested in seeing the cabins?”

She nodded. “I’m thinking of moving here full time.”

“They’re not too far.” He headed down the same path they’d come. Within minutes, ten small cabins came into view through the trees. “Sam wanted these built away from the house for privacy. He hates people living right on top of him. That’s why he’s out here. Come on, I’ll show you a vacant one and you can decide if you like it.”

At the third cabin, he took out a ring of keys, unlocked and then opened the door, and stepped aside. “It’s not the Ritz, but the cabins are insulated, and all have adequate furnishings.”

Libby strolled through the modest unit. Cheery and comfortable came to mind. The bath and kitchen were adequate and held possibilities. “This is nicer than my apartment.” She offered a slight smile. Dave wasn’t going to like it. For that matter, neither would her dad. Thinking of the two men, Libby wondered how she was going to tell either.
“Sold.”

“Now that we have that solved, let’s go find Sam. Once you’ve talked to him, we can go over the schedule and I can put you to work. That is
, if you’re willing?”

“Of course I’m willing.” She increased her gait to catch up with him.

When they neared the house, Doug slowed. “I’ll be in the rear stable. One of the Montana mares is due to foal any time now. Sam should be in his office. Go on up, I’ll see you later.” He turned in the direction of the stables.

Libby ran up the porch stairs and into the house. She’d been here before, so she knew where his office was located. Sam glanced up from his desk as she approached. He stood and smiled expectantly. “So, what’d you think of all the changes?”

“You’ve added a lot since I was last here. The cabins are really nice.”

“Have a seat.” He sat back down and motioned toward a chair across from the desk. “It helps with the bottom line. They’re very basic; believe it or not they were fairly inexpensive to build.”

“I’m impressed.” Sam had told Libby long ago that Twin Oaks was his and Mrs. Thorpe’s dream of leaving something for future generations to appreciate. This part of Kentucky had always been horse country, yet more and more farms were selling out to big developers, who in turn were chopping up the land and creating urban sprawl. The way Sam saw it, stud farms like the one that had been his family’s livelihood for generations were all too quickly disappearing.

“It’s part of my long-term plans. Since none of my kids want the hassle of running it, I’ve begun the task of putting the farm in a trust.”

Libby nodded. “So is Mrs. Thorpe around? I’d like to say hello.” She wondered why she hadn’t seen her during the tour.

“No.” Sorrow crept over Sam’s face. He shook his head, sighing sadly. “She died last year, so it’s just me and Doug now.”

“I didn’t know,” Libby said softly, wishing she could disappear. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His wistful smile replaced sadness. “She’s no longer suffering and we had thirty-nine wonderful years. Now I just need to make sure this place lives on after I’m gone, mainly for Mary. It was her idea to turn the farm into the camp once we retired. Her death taught me things happen quickly. One minute she was healthy and then three months later I’m mourning her passing.” His smile turned warmer. “I can’t believe it’s been eleven years since we helped our first camper.”

Sam stood, came around the desk, and leaned against it. “Do you have any questions? I know Doug’s pretty thorough. In case he missed something, feel free to ask.”

“Well, I do have one question. Is it
OK if I ride Thorpe’s Pride?”

The edges of his eyes crinkled into deep lines when his grin widened. “Most people would want to know about the pay or if there is medical coverage.”

“I guess I should ask those questions, too.”

“You’re not going to get rich working here. Most of our hands love what they do and they love the kids, so turnover isn’t too much of a problem. We do offer a basic health policy, but we only kick in fifty percent,” he explained briefly. Then he chuckled. “To answer your question—you can ride Pride whenever you feel up to the challenge. Maybe I should go with you for your first time. She can be stubborn when the mood strikes.”

Libby’s grin stretched. “How about now?”

“I can use a break.” Sam straightened and motioned toward the door. “Let’s go.”

After saddling Thorpe’s Pride and Mary’s Choice, both riders spent time warming the horses up. Having worked the highjinks out of the mares, they headed out at a slow trot, which built until both mounts were given full freedom to run.

Libby’s laughter caught on the wind. She leaned in, urging Thorpe’s Pride faster as the mare’s swift gait ate up the ground. Libby had forgotten how energized she’d always felt riding this magnificent animal—the air rushing past her face and the countryside speeding past in a blur of green—her idea of heaven.

When they neared a stream, Libby pulled back on the reins and slowed, allowing Pride to catch her breath. Sam followed. They ambled. All the while she scanned the spectacular scenery.

“I’d forgotten how beautiful it is.” It was still too early for the deciduous trees to leaf. But the hearty wild flowers bloomed in the meadows, adding purple and yellow to the rain
-soaked bluegrass, laid out along the rolling hills like a carpet for miles. “Makes me feel alive, like I belong here,” she added fervently.

Since no job in the past four years had made her feel this way, Libby realized her sentiments spoke volumes.

Sam nodded but didn’t speak.

The two rode in companionable silence for more than a mile, still on Thorpe land. On the return trip, they traveled along the same gravel road Libby had driven in on, paralleling the same white fence that seemed to go on into infinity. While passing the trees that had caught her attention earlier, trees she’d seen a million times, Libby once again felt their pull. Strange thoughts of having been here in another era flitted through her mind, which was totally crazy.

She pointed to the oaks. “I’ve never noticed before, but those trees look so out of place out there.”

Sam’s gaze followed her hand. His features lit with amusement. “Those two trees are special.”

Libby squinted. “Oh?”

“Yep.
The kids started calling them wishing trees a few years back.”

“Wishing trees?”

“Yeah, you know like a well? Only with trees.” He winked and added in a conspiratorial whisper, “According to family legend, all sorts of things have happened under them over the years.”

“I believe it
.” Libby nodded. “Don’t laugh, but when I passed by here earlier, they seemed to call to me. Like right now. I have this funny feeling that I’m here for a reason.”

“Trees or no trees, that’s not so hard to figure out. You belong at Twin Oaks.” The crinkles surrounding Sam’s eyes deepened as his grin widened. “I know how you are around horses. It’s a rare gift few people possess.”

Libby glanced at the oaks again and shrugged. “They look old.”

Nodding, Sam looked in the same direction. “They are.
Maybe even centuries. For over a hundred years, the number one rule in the Thorpe family has been to leave them alone. That’s what my daddy told me, and his daddy told him, all the way back to my great-grandfather.”

“And no one’s cut them down? How amazing that something lasts so long.” That right there made them special.

“About sixty years ago, my daddy planted the other trees away from those two and made the road where it is, but he left those two intact. I only know that I can’t touch them and my kids have been given the same instructions. Of course, our rule has only added to their mystique.”

Libby shot Sam a questioning glance. “Do they work?”

“Who knows? I wished for a long and happy life with Mary when we got engaged under them and my wish came true.” He chuckled. “I would’ve liked more time, but sometimes we have to be happy with what life or the trees give us.” Sam sighed. “One thing’s for sure. No one in the near future will cut them down. They’re timeless. Add continuity and peace to the surroundings.”

“You’re right,” Libby agreed. “I do feel at peace here. Time seems to stand still.” Then she laughed and rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind me. I’ve been having strange thoughts all afternoon.”

“The trees have a way of making people feel that way. It’s not new. I’ve heard it before and I’ll probably hear it again.”

They approached the paddocks surrounding the stables.

“Thanks for the company.” Sam dismounted and opened the gate. “I’m glad you’re back, because I meant what I said. You belong here.”

Libby nodded and guided Pride through the gate before dismounting. Sam led his horse inside before closing the gate behind him.

In the stable at one of the crossties, Libby relieved Thorpe’s Pride of her bridle and saddle. She began grooming the mare as Sam groomed Mary’s Choice in a similar area several stalls away.

First, she grabbed a hoof pick to check each hoof for caked dirt and small pebbles, then working her way up the leg, she inspected for strains. Finally, Libby took a dandy brush and started to brush the dust, mud
, and other debris off the legs in short, quick strokes, using another brush to rub down her back. Done and with everything put away, she guided the mare to her stall. Before leaving, she stroked Pride’s neck and whispered how happy she was to be back.

Libby met Sam on his way out of Choice’s stall.

“It’s a lot of work.” He stretched. “I’m just happy it keeps me in such good shape.”

Libby smiled. Her arms ached from the exertion. “I forgot how hard it is.”

“You’ll be up to it in no time. You’re young. I have to work on my scheduling, so I’ll see you later.”

“
OK. Thanks for the company. I enjoyed the ride.” She turned to look for Doug as Sam started off in the opposite direction.

“I ride every day,” he said over his shoulder. “Let me know when you can be here and I’ll ride with you if I can.”

“Thanks, Mr. Thorpe. I will.”

“Oh
, and Libby?”

He stopped his retreat as she halted in midstride and glanced back at him with eyebrows raised. “Yes, Mr. Thorpe?”

“Unlike Doug, I know I’m old. But I still don’t cotton to all that formality around here. I like things friendly and informal—so call me Sam, OK?”