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Whistling between his teeth, Michael sent Zip into a raging gallop, bursting out of the woods into the sun like a flaming fire. The little demon could run, Michael thought. He'd be sorry to lose him, but the offer that had come in that morning closed the deal.
In a matter of hours, the speedy little colt would be on his way to Utah.
"Going to have some fun with the fillies up there, kid. And breed some champs."
And the asking price meant that Michael could close the deal he'd been negotiating for a particularly fine-looking Palomino mare and her doe-eyed foal.
The mare was ornery, he mused, had twice tried to kick him and her handler during the inspection. Michael liked her the better for it, and for the fact that she'd bred such a tough little foal. A foal he was already planning to raise for stud.
Couple more years, Michael thought, the new colt would cover twenty mares, and at four his full complement of sixty.
They'd do fine together, he decided. That snippy Palomino ma
re and the energetic little buckskin she'd birthed would help him start a new phase of his business.
Within two years, he projected, Fury Ranch was going to mean something—something more than livelihood and survival. It was going to mean quality. And that, Michael thought as Zip tore around the stables, was something he'd lived most of his life without.
It would have been impossible and, worse, embarrassing, for him to explain to anyone that he had always wanted quality. Not just for what he had, or what he built, but for what he was. He'd always wanted to come from something. To be something.
And he had come from nothing. That he'd had to face, couldn't be changed. Nor could he change the fact that it left a sore spot inside him that was never really eased.
He'd gone years telling himself it didn't matter what his parents had been, how he'd grown up, or how he'd lived. But it did matter; now more than ever, he knew it mattered. There was a woman in his life who shouldn't have been there.
Sooner or later, he had no doubt, she'd see that for herself. The insult of it, and the inevitability, made him push the colt for more speed. Not for a minute would he have admitted that he was racing away rather than toward. Nor would he admit, even to himself, that his emotions had been in turmoil from the moment he'd stepped inside the stables last night and found her.
As if she was meant to be there, with him. For him. As if he could take, and hold, maybe even deserve something as lovely and fine and vital as Laura. And be for her what she could be for him.
The hell with that, Michael told himself, squinting into the sunlight as the colt flew over the ground. No way he was going to start fashioning pretty little dreams about a life with Laura. If he was one thing, he was a realist. His time with her was temporary, and he would damn well pack as much into it as he could while it lasted.
He was already into the run, the colt bunched for the leap when Michael spotted the figure loitering at the paddock. They sailed over the fence, spewed up dirt and dust.
"That's a hell of a horse," Byron called out as Michael trotted to him.
"He is." Bending, Michael slapped Zip's neck, then dismounted. "Sold him today. Guy in Utah." After uncinching the saddle, Michael hung it over the fence. "Wants to breed for speed."
"He'll get it." Byron leaned over, patted the colt's sleek throat. "Isn't even winded."
"Nope. He'll tire his rider out first."
"I'm surprised you're not using him for stud yourself. He's prime."
"Yeah, he's prime. But I have more foundation to build before I add a stud." Couple more years, he thought, picturing the foal again, and we'll both be ready. "Right now it's horse trading and building on the investment."
"You've got a good start. That walker there." Byron gestured. "What are you asking?"
"Max?" Michael glanced around, watched the horse swish his tail. "I'd sell my own mother first." He held up his hand, and Max walked over. "Glad to see me, Max?"
Max peeled back his lips so his teeth showed and split the air with a horsey laugh. "Give us a kiss, then."
Max nibbled affectionately on Michael's chin, and being nobody's fool, snuffed at his pockets. "True love is never enough. Want one?"
"A kiss from your horse or a carrot?"
"Whichever."
"I'll pass on both, thanks." But he stroked Max's mane as the horse crunched the carrot. "You got some fine-looking stock here."