Over the last couple of months, I’d come to find out the horses were more than four-legged animals from impressive bloodlines. They all had names and personalities.
Mandalay, an Arabian, was fast as hell, but whenever one of the guys whistled, he’d come running straight to them. Kigali and Valkyrie, Akhal-Tekes, were rare but so flipping beautiful it hurt to look at them sometimes. Mercury, a Dutch Warmblood, jumped and ran like it wasn’t taking any energy and effort, and I knew he was highly sought after because his breed was well known for their performance.
And Maasai Mara, a Friesian, may well have been one of my favorites. His intelligence and how friendly he was had melted me the first time I’d met him. He’d nuzzled me, then pushed me toward the apple I’d been eating when I’d come in that I’d left on the table in the stables. Luanda and Darien were Thoroughbreds and held records in racing and jumping, and their offspring had followed in their footsteps.
And finally, Hayes, the Shire horse who’d hurt me after he’d been injured himself. That sweet baby was magnificent to look at and watch him galloping across the grass, but he was a gentle sweetheart who loved human companionship.
Actually, that wasn’t finally. Gibraltar and her little Rocky, my two equine best friends. What if she proposed stealing the foal?
Their voices lowered as I worried my lip with my teeth, desperately trying to hear what they were saying. After a while, I twisted so that my hair was under me and lowered it onto the carpet, cringing at what was on it. The problem was, I could only hold my head up for so long until my neck began to spasm and shake.
One thing I was grateful for was that I’d sprayed perfume on, and my deodorant smelled like baby powder, because it was cutting through the smells in the trunk of the car. I’m sure I could pick up fast food through the general stench, and it reminded me of a stall near where my parents lived. The guy sold the typical hot dogs and hamburgers, chili cheese fries, and stuff like that, but he also made the best corndogs I’d ever had in my life. Unfortunately, I had a sinking feeling this would put me off ever buying one from him again when I visited my folks.
Thinking about for, the sandwich Sadie had been telling us about, one I hadn’t been sure of as she described it at the time, suddenly sounded like the best thing I could eat.
We’d been talking about grilled cheese versus a toasted sandwich maker and which one we both preferred when it’d come up. Just to say, I was buying a toasted sandwich maker. I’d been planning to do that today, but with my phone in Marcus’s home, that wasn’t happening. Something about the way Sadie had argued against grilled cheese not being grilled and it being fried, and the best version coming from the ‘toastie machine’ had made it a must purchase for me.
But then she’d told us about the sandwich. Two pieces of bread with peanut butter thickly spread on one slice, jelly—or jam—on the other, and sliced bananas in the middle. Yum! And if I wasn’t in the mood for peanut butter, toasted bread with banana and honey on it.
She’d sold me on all of it, except for putting butter instead of mayo or cream cheese on my sandwich. Mom made it with butter, and when I was at school, I’d throw the sandwich away at recess because I couldn’t bring myself to eat it. In high school, I’d begun making my own under the ruse that I wanted to save her time and effort, but really it was because I just couldn’t do the damn butter. Maybe now I was older, my tastes had changed?
Noticing my anxiety levels going down, I blew out a breath. What would be the next hot topic to keep my brain occupied? The state of affairs in Azerbaijan? The location of Atlantis? Why did we say potato-potahto when no one ever actually pronounced it potahto?
“I want three and a transporter for them, Marni. Don’t fuck this up.”
I stopped thinking about bullshit and waited to see what was said next.
“Three? I can maybe steal one, but not three. I was thinking I could take Valkyrie out for a ride and tell them I was thrown from the saddle and he took off, after we’ve loaded him onto the trailer.”
“What the fuck am I gonna do with one horse?” Well, if he had Marcus’s horse porn talents, he’d soon find out.
“Haldon, I can’t get more than th—” The sound of flesh hitting flesh followed by a cry cut her off, making me wince.
“Three!” he bellowed, and I heard her whimper. “And I want that fucking money.”