Page 79 of All We Carry Home

Warren reached to take my small bag to load into the truck, and he whispered in my ear, “You look stunning.”

My neck went hot.

Even now, holding Phantom’s lead rope among two dozen other horses and handlers swirling around us, I felt dizzy at the memory of his words, his breath on my ear.

Now wasn’t the time for such distractions. Or ever.

Phantom’s eyes took in everything, his nostrils flaring. Our hundreds of hours working together shone through as he watched me, listened to me. Though I was prepared for him to jump or lash out, I kept calm.

No matter how we placed in the class, I’d be able to keep Phantom at Birkstrom. At least that matter was put to rest. I’d need a strong placing to truly capture the attention of potential clients. I couldn’t keep my farm afloat with just one or two horses to train.

I had to rebuild the empire.

Warren sat in the stands with Annie. The young girl took in the sights with saucer-wide eyes. He looked nonchalant, but I caught his frequent glances my way. It wasn’t because he was nervous about the horse. At least, I guessed as much. Good. If I turned his head, perhaps the judges would remember us too.

A few hushed voices brushed my ears. “That’s Birkstrom’s granddaughter.”

“Oh, I remember her.”

Just before our class began, Cheryl walked into the practice arena and beamed at me. She also wore a fine coat and slacks in a dark red hue that brought out the auburn in her hair.

“I never would have recognized him.” She motioned to Phantom. “Or you, for that matter.” Then she frowned at Keith, who walked in a wide circle on the outside of the warm-up arena. “Is Merrick giving you any trouble?”

“Not yet.” I scratched Phantom’s neck in his favorite spot, right at the edge of his shoulder. “That yearling of his is going to be stiff competition.”

Nearly identical to the filly he’d brought to Birkstrom, Halima was solid chestnut with a white streak down his forehead and four tall white stockings on his legs. He moved like he floated on a cloud, and his neck arched with perfect precision. It was what the breed books would have labeled the ideal Arabian horse, in every way. Halima was of Egyptian breeding, which had been a popular preference of the judges, per Cheryl’s gossip.

Would the war orphan from Poland get any notice?

“Colt yearlings!” the show steward announced.

That was our cue to line up and enter the main show ring, which spanned a hundred yards in length. The center boasted a small dais where the panel of three judges watched and evaluated each horse and handler. Each competitor would guide their horse in a loop along the rectangular arena, walking, trotting, or halting as directed by the steward.

“Good luck,” Cheryl sang as she skipped out of the arena and toward the stands.

I inhaled deeply, remembering Gramps’s deep, comforting voice. He’d always stood right by the entrance gate, in the same spot.

“If you’ve done the work, there’s nothing you can do except put on a good show for the judges.”

It was time for the judges and other trainers to see what made Phantom so special—what I’d found in Europe. His distinct bloody shoulder mark was a showstopper.

As the other horses moved into place to enter the show ring, I fell into line behind Keith and his colt.

Keith looked over his shoulder, his blond hair oiled back and his shoulders rigid in his black suit. “Good luck, Eva.” He smiled kindly, and I saw the boy I’d once loved.

“Yeah.” Victor appeared on the railing. In Gramps’s spot. “Good luck, girlie.”

“Let me guess,” I shot back at Victor. “You’re here to pay off the judges so Halima and Keith have a fighting chance.”

“Not only that,” Victor said after Keith moved forward into the arena. “I’m here to remind you that my offer has a time limit. If we don’t make a deal before the summer ends, I can’t guarantee my business partners will remain as docile as they’ve been thus far.”

Docile? The line moved forward, and my head wasn’t in the right place. Phantom tensed beside me, snorting forcefully.

All the attacks we’d faced at Birkstrom, and it would only get worse.

I had to get myself together, but my thoughts reeled as we ran into the arena.

Ready or not, the show must go on.