By Susan Wiggs
As soon as a privileged son of the South, Hunter Calhoun now stands a widower shadowed through the scandal of his wife's demise. Burying himself in his luck with breeding Thoroughbred racehorses, he is left his relations to collapse and forgotten easy methods to convenience his grieving young children.
When a prized stallion arrives from eire crazed and unridable, Hunter is compelled to hunt aid for the beast. faraway from the area of wealth and social privilege, Eliza Fylte has inherited her father's famed present for gentling horses. And while Hunter arrives together with his wild steed, her therapeutic spirit reaches additional but, drawing her to his shattered kinfolk and to the serious, sour guy who wishes her, simply as she wishes him.
Eliza is aware what Hunter refuses to see—that love is the best healer of all. yet can her variety, humble being have the ability to educate such an untethered guy what actually issues in life?
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He understood what it meant to get a horse to lie down. It was the ultimate exercise in trust, for a horse was at his most vulnerable when lying on the ground. Hunter took the shank of the halter and tugged it down. The horse resisted. Hunter let him resist, time and time again, not fighting him but not letting up either. He touched the horse, spoke to him in a low, compelling voice. Eliza felt entranced by the sight of Hunter’s big hands skimming over the horse’s hide, the sound of his dark, nonsensical whispers.
She sent him an insolent, sidelong glance. ” he demanded. “I might just choke on all that Virginia charm,” she retorted, flipping her plaited hair with a toss of her head. She made him want to stay long after common sense told him it was time to leave. Hunter watched the struggle between Eliza and the stallion with a mixture of admiration and hopelessness. There was something to be said for being stubborn enough not to give up, but how long should he let her keep denying the truth? The difficult battle of wills might go on for weeks, months, maybe even longer.
Cel—” “Cielito,” she said, correcting his pronunciation. “It’s north of gold country, and the land is there for the taking. Wild horses run free for thousands of miles. ” Agitated, she recoiled, as if sensing she had revealed too much. She shut the heavy book with a thud and put it back in the trunk. Hunter sensed something more was going on than the simple display of her treasures. She was telling him her dream. Like the dance she had done with the stallion on the beach that first morning, she was doing a dance with him.
The Horsemaster's Daughter by Susan Wiggs