Pegasus by Marilyn Holdsworth
SATURDAY WAS A WARM, sunny day, just as Win had predicted,
and the drive out of Los Angeles was a welcome change from the heavy
work schedule Hannah had been demanding of herself for the last few
days. Sitting next to Win, wearing a plaid shirt and jeans with her hair
pulled back and fastened with a barrette at the nape of her neck,
Hannah looked young and vulnerable. The miles sped by, and they chatted
easily together, but Win made no further mention of what was so
important for her to see at the ranch.
“I’m looking forward to riding today. I haven’t been on a horse for ages. Hope I haven’t forgotten how,” she worried.
“Like riding a bicycle,” he laughed. “Once you learn, you never forget. You’ll do fine.”
Win
turned the sleek, midnight-blue Jaguar into a long, narrow drive
flanked by split-rail fencing. On either side, rolling green pastures
spread as far as she could see. An arched gateway marked the entrance to
the ranch. Mounted at the top of the crescent was an imposing round
emblem emblazoned with a large metal sculpture of Pegasus at its center.
“Pegasus, the winged horse,” she exclaimed. “What a wonderful name for a horse ranch. Do all your horses fly?”
He
smiled. “I’m sure when my dad was so into racing, he wished they could.
But it was my grandfather who founded the ranch and named it Pegasus.
He named it after the Greek mythological horse in hopes of pleasing my
grandmother. She was a very scholarly lady of Greek heritage, very
interested in the arts, especially the Greek classics. Grandfather spent
his entire lifetime trying to please her, but I’m afraid to no avail.
I’m told she detested the West and the ranch, preferring Eastern city
life and its more sophisticated offerings. They separated shortly after
my father was born. She kept her Eastern townhouse, attending operas and
grand parties while he built his empire out here.”
“Sad she
couldn’t have enjoyed it with him,” Hannah said. “It’s so wonderfully
tranquil here, a truly rare and beautiful setting with the mountains in
the background and the rolling green hillsides. Didn’t she ever see the
horses race? Not even when the ranch’s prize winners were entered in all
the country’s grandest races?”
“No, she never did. And
it was a great sorrow to my grandfather. But, oddly enough, he never
divorced her. He always hoped she’d change her mind, come back to him,
and learn to love the land as he did. My father was raised by Mary
Little Deer’s mother here at the ranch. He was an only child, of course,
and the lifestyle Grandmother lived in the East was not meant for a
boisterous little boy. So he grew up at Pegasus and loved the ranch
until his dying day. Now it’s mine, and I must say, I share his deep
love for the place.”
They had pulled up to a sprawling
Spanish hacienda with a red tiled roof and thick adobe-brick walls.
Built around a central courtyard, the house had the look of an early
California mission.
“It’s really the picture of the Old West, Win. I can see why you love it here,” she said as he helped her out of the car.
The
house’s thick walls and Mexican tile flooring made it cool and
inviting. He ushered her through wide carved doors adorned by large
bronze knockers shaped like horse heads. As they stood together in the
dimly lit hall, Hannah blinked to adjust her eyes. From a stained-glass
window at the end, a prism of light slanted across the floor,
illuminating a majestic bronze sculpture of Pegasus standing like a
sentinel in the massive entry. She stared at the beautiful sculpture.
“It looks like it would take flight at any moment, leave its marble
pedestal for the heavens.”
“My grandfather had it made in Europe,” Win explained as she continued to study the art piece.
“Another
futile attempt to win back Athena’s heart, I suppose. The artist who
did the piece has become quite famous. Perhaps you know of him—P. J.
Mene. He did some smaller renditions of the same subject for him. One is
in the garden, but I’m not sure where the others are now.”
Hannah
walked closer to the exquisitely detailed bronze statue, gently
touching its flowing mane and extended wings. “He certainly captured the
spirit of the horse.”
“I thought you might like it.”
“And is this what you wanted so much for me to see?”
“No,
it isn’t,” he said, smiling mysteriously. “You’ll have to wait for
that,” he teased. “Now let’s see if Mary Little Deer left us a snack in
the library.” He led her through wide double-oak doors into a large
high-ceilinged room with open carved beams. At the far end was a massive
stone fireplace surrounded by walls lined with bookshelves.
“What a lovely room, and such a collection of fine books,” Hannah said, scanning the leather-bound volumes.
“Another
of Grandfather’s attempts to please Athena. All the classics are there,
with a very special collection of Greek literature and ancient
mythology. I’m afraid the architecture he chose when he built the ranch
and its name do seem a bit incongruous, but when you know the history of
the place, it fits together after all. I’m rattling on about the past
too much,” Win said, suddenly glancing across the room. “Sure hope
you’re hungry, Mary Little Deer’s done her usual I see. Light snack just
isn’t in her vocabulary. Unless she hears the legs groan the table
isn’t set, “ he laughed. A tray of assorted sandwiches , a large fruit
bowl and a plate of freshly baked cookies with a pot of coffee stood
waiting on a long, low knotty-pine table in front of a deep saddle-brown
leather sofa.
“It all looks delicious, “ Hannah said. “And actually I’m starved.”
When
lunch was finished and cleared away by the silently efficient Mary
Little Deer, they went in search of the stables. Once again, Winston
Caughfield III was right; it was like riding a bicycle. Hannah settled
easily into the saddle on a bay mare. Riding next to her, astride his
favorite horse, Alabaster, Win guided them around the barns, past the
corrals and the training track, and toward the gently rolling hills.
They rode for more than an hour, enjoying the sunny afternoon and clear,
fresh air. The bay mare responded eagerly when Hannah nudged her into a
canter. Although spirited, the horse was smooth-gaited and perfectly
trained, and Alabaster pranced, tossing his head to show off for them
both. Win rode with the grace and skill of an accomplished rider. It was
obvious how much he loved the horse as he reached over to pat his
arched neck when they pulled up after galloping across an open meadow.
He
called to Hannah as she reined in beside him. “Over there,” he said,
pointing to the ridge. “Just over that crest is where we’re going.” He
urged Alabaster into a trot, beckoning for her to follow. At the top of
the rise, they pulled the horses up, and Hannah gazed down into a small
valley. Several corrals dotted the landscape, each with its own
enclosure and hay bin. A feed storage shed stood close by, and a barn
was under construction at the far end.
Hannah looked
questioningly at Win, but he said nothing, just guided his horse down
the slope; she fell in behind him. Hannah’s mare picked her way down the
hillside and came up next to Alabaster at the base of the hill. “Well,
this is it,” he said, spreading his arm wide to indicate the corrals and
structures.
Hannah looked at him blankly. The corrals were empty, and there seemed to be no one around.
“Come
on,” Win said. “I want to show you something.” They dismounted, tied
the horses, and walked toward the newly erected barn. He swung the door
wide for her to enter.
“Almost finished. Some work inside and some paint outside left to do,” he said with satisfaction.
“This week will do it, and then we’ll be ready for occupancy. Don’t you think?” He turned to a very puzzled Hannah.
“Yes,
it does seem to be almost finished,” she responded. “Are you planning
on moving some of your horses here from outlying pastures or the main
barn?”
“No,” he said. “I’m not. This is where I thought we could put your adoptees.” His eyes were twinkling with delight now.
“My adoptees?”
“I
read those articles you gave me last month,” he said soberly. “And I
know how you feel about what’s happening to the American wild horses,
the mustangs. You told me yourself about wanting to do a series of
stories on the Adopt-a-Horse Program sponsored by the Bureau of Land
Management and all the problems plaguing the plan. I thought if you had
some space to save a few yourself, it might ease the pain I know you
feel for those animals. And we do have room here at the ranch to take in
a few.” He looked at her hopefully, wanting so much to please her and
let her know he understood how seriously she took this cause.
“Win,
I can’t let you do this for me,” she said. “Even if I wanted to, it’s
not right. And besides, I could never afford it. At best, I might scrape
up the money for the initial adoption fees.”
“Who says
it isn’t right?” he broke in quickly. “We can make it strictly a
business deal. You can rent the space at a price you can afford, and
I’ll give you the feed to start you off. Simple as that. Now it’s
settled. How soon do you want to see about the adoption? I’ll even throw
in a little assistance in the training program if you’ll settle for one
old trainer, me. We’ll turn them into trail mounts and find homes for
them. When you begin to turn a profit, you can start buying the feed,
stock, and all that. I know there must be good homes to be found for
well-schooled riding horses.”
She hugged him. “Oh, Win, it’s perfect.”
“One
stipulation,” he cautioned her sternly. “You do your articles on saving
the horses, but leave all the corruption, especially Vincent Rossi, out
of it. He’s major trouble.”
Her brow furrowed, “Well, if he’s involved in any way, that will be hard to do. But I’ll try. I give you my word on that.”
“Good.
Then let’s get down to business. As I understand it, all you need is a
$125.00 adoption fee and a horse trailer to haul the animal. Do you have
any idea where to go to get these horses? Are they rounded up out in
Montana, Wyoming, or where?”
“I’ve gotten some information, Win, but I’ll get more next week. I think a lot are in Nevada. I’ll find out.”
“Good.
I’ll wait to hear from you about it in a few days,” he said. “Now we
better get back to the ranch and to the city. I have an early-morning
deposition to prepare for if I’m going to continue to have any law
practice.”
All the way back to the ranch house, she
chattered excitedly about the mustangs, the Adopt-a-Horse Program, and
their plans. Win smiled happily at her, knowing the project was sure to
bring her closer to him. The idea had come to him almost immediately
after she had shown him the tiny newspaper clipping about the BLM’s
horse adoption program. Her passion and love for her work involving the
humane treatment of animals really did impress him. She was dedicated
and tireless in her efforts to expose animal abuse and exploitation. He
was really looking forward to helping her, but mostly, he had to admit,
he just wanted to be important in her life. He’d known that much after
their first date.
They had met so unexpectedly. She was seated
with friends in the box next to his on the opening day of the Penbrook
Park Races. Quite by accident, they were introduced by his friend Neil
Jacobs, whose thoroughbreds were running that day. She immediately
impressed him with her quiet, unassuming manner. Neil had spoken of her
articles and told him she was sure to be a candidate for the Pulitzer
Prize one day.
Long ago, after losing his first wife to
cancer, Win had resigned himself to a solitary life. But looking at
Hannah’s young, eager face today, he felt how much he wanted her near
him. At forty-five, Winston Caughfield III was a handsome, distinguished
man, and he was very aware that he was fifteen years her senior. But
when they were together, the age difference seemed of no importance to
either of them. In many ways, she seemed mature far beyond her years,
perhaps because of her total commitment to her work and the tragedy of
her young husband’s death. She seldom spoke of her loss; only once had
she mentioned that ill-fated Chicago flight. She was very courageous. He
looked over at her now, long stands of hair loosened from the barrette
streaming in the wind as she rode. He never would have suspected that
there was such strength in that delicate figure riding beside him, but
more than once he had seen her face her adversaries with determination.
Some secret source of energy seemed to well up and spill out of her.
He’d known when she started her investigation into this horse thing that
she would be relentless. He looked forward to sharing in it, but at the
same time he felt a foreboding sense of fear for her. Above all, he
wanted to protect her and keep her near him.
As a descendant of James Monroe, I did extensive research at the James Monroe Museum in Virginia about him and his wife Elizabeth Kortright Monroe. I also visited their home, Ashlawn/Highland in Albemarle County. This resulted in my novel, The Beautiful American. Making Wishes, was based partly on my experiences as creator, owner and operator of a greeting card company.
When Abby discovers a hidden diary stuffed inside a secret compartment in the desk, she can hardly wait to read the spidery, faded script. As she carefully turns the tattered pages, she reads the captivating story of two remarkable women from opposite backgrounds who somehow manage to form an unforgettable bond against the backdrop of a fledgling America struggling to find its place in the world. Elizabeth Kortright Monroe, the wife of James Monroe, and Jasmine, a young slave girl, develop an extraordinary relationship as they are united by pivotal historic events, political intrigues, and personal tragedies.
Hannah’s search to discover the animal’s true identity leads them into a web of black marketeering and international intrigue. Action packed with crisp colorful dialogue the story propels the reader to a race against time conclusion. Marilyn Holdsworth delivers a gripping tale of mystery, adventure and romance guaranteed to hold the interest and capture the heart. She brings true-life characters together with real-life issues to create a fast-paced irresistible story.
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