She turns back to the stallion and finally sees what I’m seeing. Her face goes beet red. I can’t help chuckling at her reaction.
“Come on,” I say, gesturing to her to follow me down.
As we pass, the horses poke their noses out of their stalls and neigh with interest. Jessa rushes to each one and pets them in turn. She strokes their noses and whispers sweet nothings in their ears.
I have no idea what she’s saying, but it doesn’t really matter in the end. I just like watching her with them.
She’s a natural. Each horse seems as riveted with her as she seems to be with them. We get to the end of the stalls and Jessa’s eyes light up.
“This one,” she says with confidence. “She’s one of the pregnant mares.”
I check the name underneath the stall. “Satin Princess.”
“What?”
“Her name,” I say, pointing to the nameplate.
“That’s such a pretty name.” She turns to the horse, placing one hand under her head and the other on her nose. “A pretty name for a pretty girl.”
This time, I pay attention to what she’s saying to the creature.
“I hear you’re pregnant,” Jessa whispers. “Me, too. Feels a little strange, huh? But it’s nice. Like you’re special all of a sudden.”
That makes me frown. Is she implying that she wasn’t special before?
“Want some hay, pretty girl?” she asks, grabbing a fistful from the bale next to Satin’s stall. She holds it up, underneath the horse’s mouth and the animal plucks it up between its teeth carefully.
“I can bring you back one day,” I tell her. “When you’re up to riding.”
“Seriously?” she asks, turning to me.
“I don’t see why not.”
“That would be amazing!”
She looks like a little kid who’s been told that Christmas has come early.
“But I could maybe try riding one of them today?” she asks cautiously. She knows before the words have even left her lips that I’ll allow that over my cold, dead body.
I narrow my eyes. “No. There’s more for you to see anyway. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the owners.”
She falls into step beside me as we exit the stables. Two figures are meandering across the lawn towards us. We meet them halfway across the expanse of green.
“Jessa, this is Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer,” I say. “Our hosts.”
Margaret’s eyes sweep over Jessa the same way they swept over me when I first arrived here. As if they see everything that’s there to be seen. She’s a sharp one, no doubt about that.
“Hello, dear,” she says, extending her hand out to shake. “Please call me Margaret. And this is my Thomas.”
“Hello,” Jessa says. “Your horses are wonderful.”
“Aren’t they?” Margaret gestures to her husband. “I have to give my husband the credit. He oversees the horses. I’m usually puttering about in my garden.”
“What do you grow?”
“I like to dabble in a bit of everything,” Margaret says proudly. “When possible, anything that’s cooked here at the manor is plucked right from our own gardens.”
“That’s amazing. Is there a greenhouse for the cold season or do you dry and pickle things for the winter?”