Chapter 3 #2
"And people pay to breed their mares with your stallions," Jake said. His business brain was already clicking into gear—I could practically see him running the numbers.
"Exactly. Breeding season runs February through June. Mares come in from all over—California, Arizona, Nevada. They stay for the breeding, we monitor them, they go home pregnant. That's where the real money comes in."
"And you do live cover only," Jake said. "No artificial insemination. I read that in the files you sent."
"Grandpa Earl was traditional. Some Quarter Horse operations use AI—it's allowed by the breed registry—but he believed in doing things the natural way. Said it was better for the horses, better for the bloodlines." I shrugged. "It's part of Sierra Sol's reputation now. Quality over quantity."
We reached a large paddock with a pristine shelter and fresh water troughs. Standing in the center, watching us approach with an almost regal bearing, was Sovereign Sun.
I'd seen him a dozen times over the past two weeks, and he still took my breath away.
He was a golden palomino with a white mane and tail that gleamed in the sunlight. Massive—easily sixteen hands—with muscles that rippled under his coat as he moved. He looked like something out of a movie, too perfect to be real.
"Holy shit," Tre breathed.
"Gentlemen," I said, "meet Sovereign Sun. The crown jewel of Sierra Sol."
"Champion bloodlines going back four generations," Hector added, coming up behind us. His voice softened with something like reverence. "Your grandfather spent twenty years building this breeding program. Sovereign Sun is the result."
"What are his stud fees?" Jake asked.
"Twenty-five thousand per breeding. We book fifty, sixty mares a season with live cover."
Jake whistled. "That's one and a half million dollars. From one horse."
"When it works," Hector said. "When the mares take. When nothing goes wrong." His expression darkened. "Lot can go wrong in this business. Injuries. Illness. Bad breeding seasons. Your grandfather knew how to manage the risks. Kept this place running smooth for thirty years."
The implication was clear: could I do the same?
Hector's gaze drifted toward the property line, where Sierra Sol's pastures met the neighboring ranch. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"You'll want to keep an eye on the fences along the eastern border," he said. "They've been needing more repairs than usual lately."
"Weather damage?" Jake asked.
"Something like that." Hector's tone made it clear he didn't believe that for a second. "Just keep an eye on them."
I waited for him to say more, but he'd already moved on.
"What do we need to do?" Jake asked, pulling out his phone to take notes. "To get ready for breeding season?"
Hector looked at him—then at me—with something like grudging respect. At least someone was taking this seriously.
"Lot of work," he said. "Fences need fixing. Equipment needs servicing. Mare bookings need confirming. And you—" he looked at me— "need to learn everything your grandfather knew, in about a quarter of the time he had to learn it."
"Then keep teaching me," I said. "I'm a fast learner."
Another long look. Then, slowly, Hector nodded.
"Alright, city boy. Let's talk about teasing."
"Every stud operation needs a teaser," Hector explained, leading us to a smaller paddock adjacent to Sovereign Sun's. "A horse that tells us when the mares are ready for breeding."
"How does he tell you?" Tre asked.
"He flirts with them across the teasing wall—that partition over there.
" Hector pointed to a solid wooden barrier between paddocks.
"If the mare's in heat, she'll show it. Tail raising, squatting, letting him get close.
If she's not ready, she'll kick or pin her ears back. Cisco reads them, we read Cisco."
"So he does all the romancing," I said, "and Sovereign Sun closes the deal."
"That's the job. Keeps our main stud safe—mares can be dangerous if they're not ready. Cisco takes the risk, tests the waters."
I looked at the horse in the paddock. He was smaller than Sovereign Sun—maybe fifteen hands—a plain brown gelding with a white blaze on his face. Nothing flashy. But there was something about his eyes—soulful, knowing.
"Does he ever get to... you know?" Tre asked.
"Some farms let their teasers breed a few mares each season. Nurse mares, usually. Keeps them from getting too frustrated." Hector shrugged. "Your grandfather was soft on Cisco. Let him have a couple."
I walked to the fence. Cisco ambled over and nudged my hand with his nose, his breath warm against my palm.
"Buddy," I said quietly. "I feel you."
Tre grinned. "Classic Blaine. You would identify with the wingman horse."
"Very funny."
"The wingman horse who does all the work and gets none of the glory. I'm dying over here."
I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling. Cisco nickered softly and leaned into my touch, and something clicked into place.
"Hey there," I said, stroking his neck. "We're going to be friends, aren't we?"
Cisco nickered again—a low, contented sound.
"Well," Hector said, watching us with an unreadable expression. "At least you've got good instincts about horses."
It was the closest thing to a compliment he'd ever given me.
That night, after Jake and Tre had settled into the guest rooms and Hector had gone home and the ranch had quieted into darkness, I sat on the porch with a beer and stared at the stars.
There were so many of them out here. In San Francisco, the light pollution drowned out everything but the brightest. Here, the sky was thick with them—a river of light stretching from horizon to horizon.
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
Foal's doing great. Mare too. You're off to a good start.
A second later: This is Caitlin, btw. Dr. Miller. From the foaling.
I smiled. Like I could forget.
Thanks for letting me know , I typed back. And thanks again for saving her. Sunrise is my favorite thing about this place so far.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Sunrise is a good name.
You said that already.
It bears repeating. Most city people name their animals something ridiculous. Champagne Sparkle. Princess Buttercup.
I considered Princess Buttercup, actually.
Don't even joke about that.
I laughed out loud, the sound startling in the quiet darkness.
How did you get my number? I asked.
Hector. He said you might have questions. About horse stuff.
Do you always give out your personal number to clients with horse questions?
A pause. Then: Only the ones who show up at 2 AM and don't run screaming.
I stared at the screen, trying to figure out how to respond. Was she flirting? Was I imagining it? Did it matter, given that I barely knew her and I was drowning in a ranch I didn't understand?
I had questions about running , I finally typed. But the horse kind works too.
Ha. Get some sleep, city boy. You've got a lot to learn.
So I keep hearing.
Goodnight, Blaine.
Goodnight, Caitlin.
I set the phone down and looked back up at the stars.
Somewhere in the barn, Sunrise was sleeping next to her mother. Somewhere in the paddock, Sovereign Sun was dreaming whatever champion horses dreamed about. And somewhere in a smaller paddock, Cisco—my new favorite—was probably wondering why he always got the short end of the stick.
I had a lot to learn. The ranch needed work. Breeding season was coming and there was so much to prepare. Hector still thought I was in over my head—and he wasn't wrong.
But sitting there on the porch, beer in hand, stars overhead, I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time.
Hope.
Maybe I could do this. Maybe I could learn. Maybe this place could become something more than just a family obligation—maybe it could become home.
And maybe, just maybe, I'd get to see Dr. Caitlin Miller again soon.
For professional reasons, obviously.
Horse questions.
Nothing more.