moved even faster.
Instead of pulling him back, Rafe let him run. And run he did. Rafe felt as if he was shooting through space. The air stung his eyes and he admonished himself for not wearing goggles, but he couldn’t have anticipated this. Last week Rafe had pushed Rowan to nearly thirty-eight miles an hour, but today he knew they were moving much faster. Most Thoroughbreds’ stride was twenty feet, but Rowan’s was twenty-six. He was a highly unusual horse, and it was becoming more apparent to them all that this year Rowan was about to meet his destiny.
But what confused Rafe was the fact that Rowan had never displayed this kind of power before. Why had he held so much back?
They were nearly halfway around the track before Rowan’s speed diminished even a millisecond. The horse was breathing so hard, it sounded as if his lungs would explode, though Rafe knew well that Thoroughbreds had exceptionally efficient cardiovascular systems. Breathing through his nose, Rowan drew in air when he extended his long legs, and he exhaled when his legs came together.
Finally, without any instruction from Rafe, Rowan slowed, turned around and galloped back to the fence gate where Angelo and Curt were clapping and grinning at them.
“That was unbelievable, son!” Angelo shouted with both arms raised jubilantly over his head, his stopwatch still in his right hand.
Curt opened the gate so Angelo could walk through and hug his son.
Rafe jumped down and wrapped his father in a tight bear hug. “Did you see that? Amazing! There aren’t enough words.” Rafe unfurled his arms from around his father and threw them around his horse’s neck.
Rowan stamped a hoof and bobbed his head as if he was taking his rightful accolades. “Way to go, boy! You are the best. The best!”
Angelo hugged Rowan, as well. “I knew this was a special horse the first day we saw him in Tennessee.” Angelo held the reins and stared into Rowan’s deep brown eyes. “He has soul, Rafe. You remember that. This is no ordinary horse. He deserves your time.”
“Time.” Rafe snorted. “It’s spring. Just when I should be helping Curt train him, we’re working twenty hours a day to get the tilling and planting done. If only Gabe were here.”
“He’s not,” Angelo ground out. Gabe’s marriage to Liz Crenshaw was a sore subject with Rafe’s father. Angelo believed the marriage was an excuse for his eldest son’s defection, but Rafe understood Gabe’s need to have a career of his own.
Rafe, on the other hand, couldn’t imagine a more perfect life than what he had here on the farm. Though the work was backbreaking and exhausting at times, he couldn’t conceive of any other way to live. And it was worth it for the horses, which had been part of the farm since before Rafe was born. Though Angelo hadn’t begun purchasing Thoroughbreds until Rafe was in his teens, Rafe couldn’t remember a time he wasn’t riding. Gabe and Mica were enamored of sports cars, and though Rafe appreciated their passions, animals occupied that special place in Rafe’s heart.
Over the years, Rafe had gained every bit of knowledge and expertise he could about Thoroughbreds. Until Curt Wheeling came along, Rafe and his father had not seriously considered entering races to win a purse. The horses they’d been able to afford weren’t “star” material. But Rafe understood his father’s strategy to keep buying horses and trading them “up” until he was able to afford a quality racehorse.
When they’d driven to Tennessee to see Rowan, the owner wasn’t much interested in the young colt who took up space in his stable and time with his trainers because he already had an entrant in the Kentucky Derby.
But though Rowan was only a year old when Rafe met him, he would never forget the way the horse seemed to sense his presence. Rowan had been grazing in a grassy paddock with his mother. The owner had pointed him out to Rafe, and while Angelo and the owner talked, Rafe had wandered over to the fence to take a closer look.
Rafe was still yards away from the fence when suddenly, Rowan lifted his head from the grass and looked directly at him. There was no fear in Rowan’s eyes as he turned away from his mother’s side and strode slowly toward Rafe.
Rafe reached the fence at the same moment as Rowan, and when he reached out to touch his snout, Rowan eased his head under Rafe’s hand. Then the horse curved his neck around Rafe’s shoulders, as if he was hugging him.
Rafe got chills. “You’ll be coming home with me,” Rafe had whispered. “I’ll care for you all my life.”
Rafe put his arms around Rowan. Then he kissed him just as his father and the owner walked up. Rafe was shocked at the lump in his throat. He’d barely known this horse and yet he felt he’d known him forever.
He remembered the compassion and understanding in his father’s eyes as Angelo considered the purchase. His long pause filled Rafe with dread that the owner was asking too much for Rowan and that Rafe’s strong reaction might have negated the sale. “Is he the one, son?”
Knowing that his father was a shrewd businessman, Rafe tamped down his emotions and found his voice. “I need to ride him, Pops. See what he can do before we decide.”
Angelo remained stoic and nodded as he turned to the owner. “That all right with you?”
The owner agreed and signaled to his trainer to saddle Rowan. Then he explained that Rowan needed training. He could run, but he wasn’t making any promises. Angelo and Rafe would have to provide substantial instruction.
Rafe put Rowan through a few paces on the training track, but it only took one turn for Rafe to realize the potential that the Thoroughbred packed.
Angelo made the deal. Neither of them ever looked back on the drive home to Indiana.
Rafe returned to the present and looked at his father. “Dad, remember when I rode Rowan for the first time?”
“Never forget it,” Angelo replied, folding his arms across his chest.
“Well, something happened out there on the track today. You saw it.” He glanced at Curt, who was giving him a wary expression. “Hear me out. All this time, we’ve been racing Rowan on a track like Churchill Downs. That’s adequate for places like Arlington and such, but I think it’s too short for him.”
“What are you saying?” Angelo asked.
“I think he’s a Preakness-type runner. That race is a mile and three-sixteenths, not just the mile like the Kentucky Derby. Rowan didn’t hit his stride until we passed the finish line. I want to take him on another round right now and see what he can do. He should be tired out, but he isn’t. And to keep him running these shorter races is a disservice to his talent.”
Curt scratched his head. “How could we have missed this?”
Rafe put his hand on Curt’s shoulder. “How could we have known? It was a brutal winter. He hasn’t had a chance to let it rip for months. Two weeks ago he was running through muck and mud. This is the first time the track’s been in decent shape this season.”
“Logical,” Angelo said with an odd grimace. “Listen, you take him out. I’m tired. I’m going up to the house...to see if breakfast is ready.” He hugged himself again.
“But, Dad, you gotta see this. You have the best eye ever.”
“Oh.” Angelo stared at the ground. “All right,” he said quietly.
Rafe couldn’t understand why his father wasn’t sharing his enthusiasm, but he wouldn’t let Angelo’s attitude get to him. “Excellent!” Rafe smiled broadly and slung himself up onto Rowan’s back. He pulled on the reins and turned the horse around.
Rafe and Rowan waited at the starting line while Angelo leaned against the fence and held his stopwatch. Curt did the same. As usual, Curt held up the red bandanna he used to signal the start of the trial, which was easy for Rafe to see.
Curt dropped the bandanna, and Rowan shot ahead. Rafe could tell that Rowan had made the first turn in a shorter